Date: Tue, 26 Apr 2011 12:09:00 +0100
From: shstbs@gmail.com
Subject: Simply Enough

She's already waiting for me outside the theatre and gives me a smile as she
sees me walking towards the doors. It's the smile that melts me the most. It
gives me the warmest feeling of joy when I feel as though she is genuinely
pleased to see me, every time. I'm sure she has that smile for everyone but
right now, knowing that it's only for me is simply enough.

"Sorry I'm late," I apologise ruefully. "The tram got stopped for ages at
one of the stations. Signal failure."

"Hey, no problem," she says, before wrapping her arms around me and giving
me one of her hugs. Her hugs are real. They're always so genuine and along
with her smiles, for those few seconds life doesn't get much better. She
smells of her own scent; she's never worn perfume all the time I've known
her. Instead it's a mix of hair serum and fabric conditioner, of the winter
night and her moisturiser. I try not to think of the time she stepped out of
the shower and let me put some on her back.

Maybe I linger there in her embrace too long because she starts to giggle.

"We need to go in, sweetie," she laughs. "It's about to start." I blush as I
let go of her and she ruffles my hair to ease my embarrassment. I busy
myself with finding the tickets and the doorman holds open the heavy glass
doors as we go in. People are filing into the main auditorium and we have
our tickets checked as we're directed to the front. I turn to her and tell
her I'm sorry that my being late means we have no time to go for a drink at
the bar before the performance starts.

"It's fine, honestly," she says. "I have some flavoured water and popcorn in
my bag anyway. Plus some nuts and a few slices of carrot cake. Oh, and a
cheese sandwich and a tube of Pringles." She makes me smile. She always
carries provisions in her rucksack; enough to last for days, as though she
subconsciously worries about a natural disaster occurring whilst she's out
somewhere. It's yet another of the inexplicable reasons I adore her.

We find our seats and I'm so excited to see that we'll have an incredible
view of the orchestra. In the auditorium we'd hear the music wherever we
sat, but for me the faces of the musicians are as important as the notes
themselves: the furrowed brows of the cellists as they sweep the bow across
the strings; the passionately closed eyes of the violinists; even the grin
of the conductor as he relishes his puppetry over the players at his
command.

We just manage to take our seats before the lights dim and we applaud as the
first violinist enters the stage, followed swiftly by the conductor who bows
and lifts his baton; the audience magically falls silent as everyone holds
their breath in enraptured anticipation. The opening notes of the music
transport me far, far away and I close my eyes and become completely
submerged in another time, another place, another universe. Before I know it
the piece has died down and we are surrounded by thunderous applause. I open
my eyes again to see her staring at me, grinning.

"You are so cute when you're listening to music," she whispers. I look back
at her and give a small smile. I want to tell her that her fingers have the
same effect on me, the same capability of making me lose myself and fall
into an abyss where there is no time, no space, nothing but the delicious
feeling of her skin on mine, tracing the outline every one of my curves,
down my chest, my stomach, my....

I have to force myself to look back at the conductor and immerse myself once
again in the music but it takes more effort than it did previously, as now I
have in front of my eyes the image of her, and it will not shift from my
sight.

The conductor leaves the stage and a grand piano is wheeled on, black and
shining in all its glory. It dominates the stage as a small, delicate man
with a spring in his step and an unruly mop of hair dances onto the stage
and takes his place on a stool in front of the piano. Without pausing to
take note of his surroundings he plunges both himself and the audience into
a mournful nocturne, as he caresses the keys and recites a story without
once uttering a word. The music takes me back to my own story.

The story of her. The story of how I was introduced to real love, the
intense, beautiful love that one can only dream of, the kind of love I never
thought I'd know. What I thought was love before simply couldn't have been.
With her, it fulfilled all the clichés. But it was a love that never
manifested itself; a love that could never be mine. Because as much as I am
free to love her, she is not free to love me. Her husband works with me; in
fact he's my manager. He runs the ward I work on and every day I have to
smile and say hello and act as though I am happy to see him, when all I want
to do is hate him for being able to go home to her every night of his life.

And now she is here, next to me, touchable and yet unattainable. The
cruellest temptation in the most exquisite guise. It's the age-old adage of
not being able to live with someone, but being completely inadequate without
them, too.

She and I met at the staff's Christmas party last year when my manager
brought her with him. I immediately noticed how clumsy she was. She caught
her dress underneath my chair and yanked it so hard the table shook. A glass
of coke was knocked over and spilled into my bag, killing my mobile phone.
She was so sorry, so mortified, and bought me the exact same model the next
day, even dropping it round at my house. Normally I would have been annoyed
at my manager for telling her where I lived but seeing her standing there,
the same rucksack, the same smile, and this time holding out a replacement
handset with her long, slender fingers, there was no anger in me whatsoever.


Of course I invited her in, and before I knew it we had spent the whole
afternoon talking about everything and nothing. When she left, she gave me
that first hug. The scent-that-has-no-name hit me as her arms enveloped me.
I lingered in the embrace too long then, too, and she realised why. She
broke away gently but only as far as touching my cheek with hers, then
slowly moving her face around letting her lips meet mine.

It was so natural and yet so unexpected. I pulled away and looked at her in
shock and her eyes widened in disbelief at what she had just done.

"I- I'm so sorry," she stammered, and went to open the door, but a force
over which I had no control pulled her back to me and I held her face with
both hands, drawing her mouth to mine and hungrily tasting her. She
reciprocated with minimal delay and we kissed as though we were reunited
after years of exile somewhere. My hands couldn't keep still and could not
get enough of her. They were on her face, her neck, her waist, her arse, and
most of all in her hair, the thick locks twisting around my fingers as we
fought with our lips the war of desire. She didn't stop me when I slid the
jacket from her shoulders. She didn't object when I took her hand and led
her up the stairs of my house to my bedroom.

It was just that once. I kept telling myself she was only experimenting.
That she was nothing more than a married woman who just happened to be in
tune with her sexuality. Or maybe a married woman who wasn't happy with a
man who I knew was more interested in becoming Unit Manager within the next
year. He spent more time in meetings and at conferences than he did at home.
It was no secret; we all knew it. It baffled me that he would spend even a
second longer away from her than he had to. It baffled me even more that she
would want to spend time with him. But when he was away she was miserable.
She said she lay awake wondering what she would do if anything happened to
him.

Hence this evening. She wanted something to take her mind off his being away
for the weekend on yet another unmissable course. I wished he was cheating
on her. Even though I knew how much it would hurt her, I wished he would let
her go. So she could realise what she was missing. Someone who would want to
spend every waking moment wondering how they could make her smile. But he
really was at work. Other nurses attended the conferences and said he was
the first guest to arrive and the last to leave. I had to live with the
realisation that my rival for the woman of my dreams was a man whose one
fault, it seemed, was that he worked too bloody hard.

It was his idea for her and me to go out for the evening. I wanted to ask
her if she would come with me but didn't have the courage. So when I said I
was thinking of going, he asked if she could come with me. At first I
thought he knew. I felt he could read my mind, look right into me and see me
with her, see that night. And not just that night, but every waking second
afterwards. I felt that if he looked into my eyes, he would see my pupils
were the shape of her form, the silhouette of her lean, never-ending legs
and her long, twisted locks. But he was completely oblivious.

"She enjoys your company," he said. "Take her for some cultural education
whilst I'm away." He even offered to pay for the tickets, but there was no
chance I'd let him. Our evening together was all mine and had nothing to do
with him.

So here we are, the most incredible woman I'd ever known, with the most
beautiful music ever written. The notes wash over me and I continue to bask
in their arrangement, whilst at the same time smiling inwardly at the way
she is trying so hard to immerse herself in the music, whereas I know she
finds it dull and will never be converted from her beloved RnB. I watched
her dance one night when we were out, as she lost herself in the heavy bass
beats the way I am losing myself now in the delicate strokes of the
pianist's fingers. I stood there that night, in the crowded club, and was
transfixed by the way she swayed, her hips moving so easily and
suggestively, and yet she was completely oblivious to all those around her.
Her eyes were closed and she had a small, half-smile on her face as she wove
her way around in her own constructed circle, under the spell of the beat
like a cobra to a snake-charmer's chants.

She seems to breathe a sigh of relief when the final nocturne is over,
although she applauds as loudly as everyone else and even sticks her fingers
in her mouth and gives a rousing whistle, grinning at me as I shake my head
in mock shame with her childish display, although secretly I think it as
adorable as anything else she does. She waits until the final encore has
ended and the musicians have left the stage, and with our hands stinging
from the applause she turns to me and says, "Pint?"

"Done."

We leave the auditorium and walk through the heavy glass doors once more,
the breeze chill and the smallest sign of snowflakes falling wispily in the
air. She links my arm as we walk into the night and towards the centre of
the city.

"Where do you fancy going for a drink?" I ask.

"Don't mind," she replies. "Quadrangle?"

The Quadrangle is the gay quarter of the city. I'm not altogether that keen
on it; I tend to avoid the scene altogether, preferring to avoid the usual
judgemental catfights and the familiarity amongst other lesbians who I find
have either slept with each other or know someone who has. But I appreciate
the gesture she has made; she wants me to feel comfortable and to go
somewhere I recognise, so I shrug my shoulders and smile.

"Sure." We walk past the tram stop and down a long side street to cut
through to the Quadrangle. We know we've entered the 'ghetto' area when the
rainbow flags begin to adorn the buildings. We naturally steer towards Fog,
a bar on the corner that we find friendlier than the average dyke bar. As we
head up the steps we notice that it's quieter than usual for a Saturday
night, but Pink is playing at the local arena and half the lesbians are at
the concert. It's warming to get into the pub from off the freezing cold
street and we head towards the bar. She swings her rucksack off her shoulder
to look for her wallet and I stop her.

"Hey, this evening is on me," I say. But she frowns.

"But you bought the tickets for the snooze-fest," she says, straight-faced,
yet with a mischievous glint in her eye. I pretend to be mortified.

"If you're going to diss the genius of Chopin, you're going to have to put
up with me paying for everything." I beckon over to the girl behind the bar
who comes over and flashes us a huge smile. She's probably grateful for the
custom as the place is so dead.

"What can I get you girls?" she asks.

"We'll have two halves of lager," I say, almost apologetically as we're not
ordering expensive drinks. I tip her healthily though and she smiles in
knowing thanks.

We take our drinks and head towards the couches at the far end of the dance
floor, dodging a couple of drunken women attempting to dance but looking
more as though they're brushing away flying insects. As we sit down she
pulls off her heavy coat and rucksack, leaving them on the arm of the couch.

"It's so warm in here!" She fans herself with a beer mat and I cannot avoid
a glance at her shirt; it's unbuttoned as far as the dip in her chest and as
she leans forward to pick up her glass I catch sight of her incredible
breasts. They sit seductively in one of her ever-practical bras, the skin
looking so soft and inviting. I want to reach out and touch them, to feel
their softness, their weight in my hand, and my stomach starts to flip. I
can feel myself blushing and straighten up.

"Just nipping to the loo!" I say, as nonchalantly as possible. I escape up
the stairs and take my time, trying not to think about the ache between my
legs that she causes without even knowing about it. I splash cold water on
my hot face, leaning over the sink and imploring myself over and over to
have some self control and not give in to the pounding desire that instead
of waning is becoming stronger and stronger with every growing minute.

When I get back to the sofa I lean into the heavy leather and take a long
drink. She has almost finished her beer and leans back with me, her shoulder
pressed against mine. I give her a smile and lift up my arm as an invitation
for her to get under it. She hesitates only for a moment before coming in
further leaning on my chest. I sigh as silently as possible into her hair
with inexplicable pleasure. She feels so incredible, I have no words. I
stroke her arm with my hand and pray fervently that she can't feel my heart
beating against my chest so hard that it seems to make my shirt twitch. She
says something but the music is so loud I can't hear her. I lean in and she
shouts in my ear,

"You're so comfortable."

I give a small smile and look her in the eyes. She raises her eyebrows
questioningly for a split second then looks at me in a way I have never seen
before. It's almost as though she is pleading with me with her eyes. She is
so vulnerable and so powerful at the same time and I can't stand it any
longer. I lean in and kiss her, not softly but not with force either. Simply
with assurance and meaning. My heart stops for what seems like forever when
she doesn't kiss me back at first. Then suddenly her lips move to meet the
shape of mine and her fingers snake up my neck to the back of my head and
she pulls me into her. It's a feeling of relief; it's a feeling of coming
home; it's a feeling of trepidation. But ultimately it's a feeling of heat,
of nothing but the physical and emotional heat we cannot help but produce.
Her soft lips part ever so slightly and I feel a release of breath that
serves only to heighten my need as my hand comes to her face and strokes her
cheek as I kiss her over and over and over again. My tongue slides over her
top lip and she gasps at the feeling and her tongue touches mine.

I do not care who is watching. Instead it hits me like a bolt of lightning
that she knew I wanted to kiss her as soon as she hugged me this evening.
She knew it had to happen. Which is why we came here, to a bar where nobody
would bat an eyelid at two women completely immersed in one another. And we
are. I am devouring her mouth with mine, tasting her tongue, her lips, her
alcohol-flavoured breath that only makes me want her more. I can feel the
vibration of her throat and even with the loud music I know she is groaning.
I am aching for her and can barely control my hands as they slide down to
her thighs, then up over her belt to her shirt. I lift it up just enough to
slide my hand up and feel her stomach, as I let my fingers travel up to her
underwire, and they are glancing further upwards when she twitches, grabs my
wrist and pulls away from me.

"Stop."

"I'm sorry..." I say, mortified that I have crossed a line, have gone too
far. She straightens her shirt and looks at her watch.

"I think it's time to go." My heart sinks as I silently pick up my jacket
and stand up. She puts on her coat, lifts her rucksack over her shoulders
and drains the last of her drink. I can't even look at mine; I feel sick now
and I am furious with myself for pushing it. She walks out of the bar and I
follow her like as meekly as a lamb, as she heads towards the high street,
towards the taxi rank. I want to tell her I'm sorry, that I went too far,
that I just want the time to apologise, but she heads to Quad Cars, the taxi
firm. There's a car outside, and the driver is sat idly texting on his
phone. He starts the car when she opens the back door.

"Where to, love?" he asks.

I have never hated hearing my address so much. Her voice is clipped and she
motions for me to get in the cab. Her mouth is a thin line of determination
and she doesn't want to talk. She avoids my desperately questioning gaze as
I slide into the seat. She shuts the car door and I close my eyes, my throat
feeling thick with a sob I almost utter. I can feel tears pricking my
eyelids and wait for the car to pull away.

Instead, I hear the opposite back door open and can hardly believe it when I
see her sliding into the cab next to me. I swallow in shock as she hands the
taxi driver a twenty pound note and tells him to go the quickest route and
he can keep the change. The drive to my house costs less than ten pounds in
a cab. She waits until the driver has pulled away, eager to complete a job
he is to be paid handsomely for, as he switches on the radio. Then she turns
to me and smiles faintly with her head slightly to one side.

"The bar was too busy for me to relax," she says. "I want you all to myself
now." I'm still stunned and remain that way for the cab ride home, my mind
still in shocked disbelief as I think of what just happened, and what is
about to happen. She grips my hand tightly and strokes my knuckles all the
way home.

"Just here," she quips to the driver when we are outside my house. He wishes
us a pleasant evening and we climb out of the cab. She asks for my keys
which I hand her and she lets herself in through my front door. I mutter a
silent prayer of thanks that I had a massive cleaning spree earlier in the
week and it almost looks presentable. I close the door behind us as she
takes my hand and leads me upstairs in the same way I led her barely a year
ago. I haven't said a word since we left the bar and now there is simply no
time to speak as she opens the bedroom door, pulls me inside, closes it
again and immediately grabs my face and kisses me.

She pulls off the rucksack without letting her lips once leave mine and by
now I have recovered from my stupor and help her off with her coat. She
yanks off my jacket and goes to undo my belt with fervent fingers before I
firmly grab her hands, pull away and look into her incredible chocolate
brown eyes.

"Slowly," I whisper and she sucks in her breath and falls into me, pressing
her body against mine, her hands over my shoulders and planted on the door
behind me as she savours my mouth. Her tongue meets mine and slowly they
dance together as she moans and presses her breasts to mine. I hold her hips
then run my hands up her sides, feeling her firm waist under the soft cotton
shirt. She pulls away and looks at me, biting her lip before licking my neck
and whispering in my ear.

"Unbutton my shirt."

Five syllables have never had such an impact on me in all my life. I groan
at the command as she continues to kiss my neck, my ears, my cheeks, I
slowly work my way from the bottom of the shirt, undoing each button with
relish. I don't want to rush a single minute. I want to savour every second
of this. It's as though I don't even know where to begin. I want to tell her
how I dream of this every day, how I play this scene over and over in my
head. But I don't have the words to describe how I feel.

I peel the unbuttoned shirt slowly down her arms and kiss her shoulders,
round, soft, chestnut orbs that merge into her long, willowy neck. I kiss
all the way up to her jaw line, my lips barely touching the skin as the
scent, THAT scent, grips me and makes my legs feel weak. Her arms encircle
my waist and she pulls me over to the bed, laying me on it gently as I
shuffle up towards the pillows, kicking off my shoes and socks as she does
the same. She climbs onto the bed, prowling like a lioness up from my feet,
setting one leg either side of me and straddling me, leaning on her knees as
her fingers play with the button of my jeans. She grins at me and I stare
back at her, looking into her eyes and asking her without words whether she
really wants this as much as I do. She gives me a barely perceptible nod
then leans forward to kiss me again, this time with more passion than she
ever has done before. Her breasts brush against me and I have to feel them;
I reach around and undo her bra with one deft flick of my wrist and she
laughs softly, her lips still on mine.

"How the hell do you *do* that?" she asks.

"I'll show you later," I reply as I slide her bra down her arms and she
lifts each one in turn to release the bra from her and then tosses it across
the room. She's still kissing me as I slowly reach up and take her breasts
in my hands, feeling their glorious weight, their softness, their
smoothness. I groan with incomparable pleasure at their familiar touch. They
are just how I remember, if not softer, smoother, and more like velvet than
ever.  I run my hands around the front of them and feel her nipples harden
in my palms. I can't resist it and pinch her nipples gently with my thumb
and forefinger and she tenses, moans and throws her head backwards.

"Oh. My. God." I want to echo her sentiments exactly as she is sat there in
all her exquisite glory, her mahogany skin gleaming in the light that
filters through the blinds of my bedroom. I rest my hands on her thighs for
a moment to take stock of what can only be described as the goddess in front
of me. Her long, thick locks cascade down her back, one or two down her
front, swaying in front of her breasts. Her stomach, ever so slightly
rounded in its adorable way, sports the thinnest line of dark hair that
disappears under the waistband of her jeans. I undo the button and slowly
open the fly, parting it to reveal her pants, which silently taunt me as to
the treasure they contain. The `zip' sound of the fly snaps her back to
attention. And she sits up again.

"Why am I the only one being undressed here?" she asks in mock indignation,
then beckons me to sit forward and when I do, she lifts my t-shirt up and
over my head in one clean, swift action. The exposure of my breasts, barely
contained in my bra, embarrasses me and I blush. I have always hated the
sight of my chest. It never seems to stop growing and I find my 36G boobs
repugnant. She, however, exhales in what can only be pleasure and plunges
her head between my breasts, kissing the tops of them and running her tongue
between them. I idly try and bat her away, nervous at the attention my
breasts are receiving but she pins down my wrists and looks me straight in
the eye.

"You're beautiful." Tears prick my eyelids and the bridge of my nose burns
as I plead with her not to mock me. But her face is completely and soberly
serious and she pulls me to her so I sit up and bury my head in her chest.
She holds me there, her chin resting on the top of my head, hugging me
tightly and sighing.

"You're just so, so beautiful," she murmurs.

A kiss to the head.

"So beautiful."

A kiss to my temple, first one, and then the other.

"So beautiful."

Two hands cupping my face as a kiss lands on my nose.

"So beautiful."

Then a kiss that convinces me of her want as she places both hands on my
back and starts to fumble with my bra strap. She pulls it one way and then
the other and I can see the concentration in her eyes as I glance up at her
furrowed brow before I explode with laughter.

"Can you manage?"

"Yes!" she grunts, and I can hear the cogs of her brain turning as she tries
to work out which side is the hook and which side is the eye of the clasp.
She sighs in frustration and I can see tiny beads of perspiration in the
hollow of her throat.

"Need some help?"

"Ugh, I was so close," she says as she holds up her hands in surrender. I
undo the clasp only and leave the bra on so she can take it off herself and
she does so, pushing me back onto the pillows gently as she flings my bra to
meet hers on the other side of the room. The she lowers herself onto me and
my breasts touch hers; the softness of them meeting together forces a dual
sigh of pleasure from our throats in unison and once more we are kissing; my
hands are in her hair and I feel it wash over me, covering my shoulders like
a thick, heavy blanket. I feel her thighs tighten around mine and as she
straddles me she begins to move her hips, grinding into me and breathing
harder with every thrust. I suddenly sit up and push her to one side, as she
flips over onto her back and now I am on top of her, and she is underneath
me, gazing up at me as I pause to absorb her image. Then slowly I kiss her
neck and trail my lips down to her right breast before taking her nipple
gently in my mouth and exhaling with sublime gratification.

She moans in response and grabs hold of my hair, pushing my head further
into her breast as she greedily wants me to suck her harder. The nipple
becomes firmer under my tongue and I flick it backwards and forwards,
sucking it hungrily, then grabbing the breast itself with my hand and
devouring it even more. She continues to moan unintelligibly and lifts my
head up by my hair, to guide me to the left breast and taste that one, too.
I am certainly not complaining as I take that nipple in my mouth also,
sucking and sucking on it as I can't get enough. Just feeling those sublime
breasts in my mouth make me moan myself and the vibrations of my guttural
cries of happiness send her over the edge.

As I am sucking her breasts over and over I can't resist guiding my hand
down to her thighs then gently moving to between her legs, letting my hand
gently cup the core of her, still concealed by her jeans. Already I can feel
her warmth, her want, and I lift up my head to look her straight in the eyes
as I pull the zip of her fly down completely and start to pull her jeans
down. Without losing eye contact with me for a second she lifts herself up
and lets me peel the jeans off her legs, as I slide them off, over her
knees, then her feet, before throwing them to meet our bras across the room.
Then I look at her and my mouth simply falls open in wonderment; she is so
beautiful I could weep. Naked except for her pants, she lies there without
moving, silently taunting me without having to even try. Then she sits up
and grabs my belt, untying it with her deft fingers and sliding it out of
the waistband of my jeans. She undoes them and pulls them down, as I step
out of them to help her and cast them away.

And once more we're kissing, moaning, biting each other as the force with
which we now need each other is so strong I'm convinced nobody could
possibly have felt this way before. She wraps her legs around my back and
pulls me to her, arms around my neck, as I bask in the warm smoothness of
her thighs around me, her breasts pressed to mine. We move together as
though I'm already inside her, her crotch against mine, sending waves of
pleasure so exquisite that I cry out as though in pain, and I can't resist
her any more. I grab her hands and pin them onto the pillow above her head,
then bend down slowly and just lick her top lip, barely touching it as she
bucks her hips against me and groans. I take my hand and hold her chin
firmly, then run my tongue over her lips again, slowly, then faster and
faster as a foretaste of what I am about to do to her. And she knows exactly
what that is. I kiss her one more time before leaving her lips, travelling
down her neck, her chest, and her stomach before resting between her legs,
revelling in what I am about to do to her. I kiss her thighs, slowly and
deliberately, breathing in the scent of her want that makes my own core
throb with pleasure. Then as I let my lips graze over the crotch of her
pants I can feel her wetness and I can't stand to wait any longer, I peel
them off quickly and cry out softly at the sight of her, the most private
and beautiful part of her. The small, soft mound of hair, surrounding the
petals of the most exquisite flower. I breathe deeply when I see the slick
hairs around her labia, soaking wet with desire. She whimpers and moves
herself towards me, desperate for me to relieve her of her frustration and I
don't want to tease her. Right now, I want to give her what she wants. What
we both want. And that is for me to take her in my mouth and devour her.

And I do. She cries out in what I feel is a mixture of joy and relief as I
plunge my tongue into her sweetness, moaning as I recall her flavour. I let
my tongue run over every curve of her, running up her lips, alongside her
clit, and then back down to her hole, which is tempting me beyond belief. I
want to make her wait a little longer though, as I continue to feast on her,
moaning and sighing as I adore her. She is groaning, crying out, whispering,
shouting and swearing as her hands are in my hair, pushing me into her. Then
she releases her hands and moves them away, as if to offer herself to me
completely, trusting me to have my way with her with no restraint. I take
the invitation readily and continue to lick her, this time moving back up to
her clit, and wanting to cry with pleasure when I feel it harden under my
tongue. I lick it slowly, then faster, concentrating on the side I know she
loves, eating her the way I have in my dreams, breathing in her musk,
swallowing her juice and sucking on her clit the way I fantasised about over
and over. I swirl my tongue around her clit, then let my teeth graze it
softly. I shift slightly and let my hands travel up her body to her breasts,
and I squeeze them with more force than before, licking her clit with vigour
and sucking on her, over and over. She gasps and pushes me into her again,
shouting my name and begging me not to stop. I pinch her nipples as I suck
her clit and she screams, pressing me into her as though she can't get
enough. She is so wet; her juices  are all over my tongue, my lips, my chin,
and more than anything I want to take her. And she wants me to as well, as
she opens her legs widely, still forcing me into her, guiding my tongue this
time into her hole.

I willingly oblige and fuck her with my tongue, in and out, again and again.
I press my face into her in order to reach inside her with my tongue as much
as possible, and she pushes me into her, sighing loudly with frustration
because it is not enough. She wants me to take her, wholly and without
restraint. She is still so wet, so welcoming, and I take two fingers and
slide them into her. She exhales in relief as I move in and out of her
slowly, as she tenses, holding my fingers inside her, before relaxing and
beginning to move to meet my thrusts. She bites her lip and moans, pushing
against my fingers, forcing me into her more deeply.

"Oh my god, that is so fucking good," she whispers. "How many fingers are in
there?"

I tell her two.

"Give me three."

I'm more than happy to oblige and slide in another finger, and she swallows
them greedily, fucking me back in return and groaning in time to the
thrusts. I lower my head and lick her clit at the same time, pushing her
further and further. She is practically convulsing, as she grabs the
spindles in the headboard and begs me to do this to her forever. I gladly
would, as I feel she can take even more of me. Without stopping to ask, I
insert my little finger too, then curl my thumb into my palm, and now she
has my whole hand inside her as she looks at me with wide open eyes, her
nipples stiff and beads of sweat shining all over her ebony skin. I don't
want to play nicely anymore. I want her to feel every second of my want, my
longing; feel the frustration of the nights I pined for her. I want her to
realise what she has been missing this past year. I curl my hand into a ball
and now I am fisting her, as she screams and the sexiest part of her
unleashes itself like an inner demon and she shouts and curses like I have
never heard anyone but her.

"Fuck my cunt!" she pleads. "Fuck it! Make it yours. Fucking claim my cunt,
baby. Yes!"

She looks at me and her mouth is set in a line of concentration and
determination as if she is daring me to stop. There's no way I can stop now.
I am pounding her, filling her cunt with my hand, rubbing on her g-spot,
claiming her like she asks. I suck on her clit again as I stimulate her from
the inside, rubbing the rough, bean-like trigger that sends her writhing on
the bed. Then I pause, and she sits bolt upright in protest, wondering what
the hell is going on, why I have all of a sudden stopped.

"Turn over," I whisper. A smile curls her lips and she obliges, getting
herself onto all fours and showing me her incredible arse, round and smooth,
without a single blemish. I lick down her back, towards the crease of her
arse and I don't stop there. I let my tongue travel down to her tight, dark
arsehole, and I only pause for a second before pulling her cheeks apart and
plunging my tongue into her. I have never done this before, either with her
or anyone, and shocked, she tenses and begins to pull away but not
completely, and I smile as I realise she is taken aback by the action, and
has probably never had anyone perform something so intimate on her before,
but is far too turned on to stop. I grip her more firmly and pull her arse
back into me, running my tongue around her hole and pushing the tip inside.
She is so wet from the fucking that her juices surround her hole and I lick
it dry, turned on so much by the sheer eroticism of what I am doing to her.
I move my hips in time to the swathes of my tongue, moaning and panting
while I eat her arsehole. She pushes further into me and I spread her arse
wider, poking in more of my tongue before licking my index finger and slowly
inserting it into her. Again she pulls away and winces at the pain, but
returns a split second later and pushes herself onto my finger, before she
takes it all and crouches there, panting.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she gasps, to herself more than anyone else, then
she starts to rock on her knees as she gently allows me to fuck her
arsehole. Her tight muscles close in on my finger and I feel her, warm and
smooth, and moist with its own lubrication. I move my finger in and out,
careful not to hurt her, and she moves with me, groaning all the more and
cursing in her possessed way.

"Fuck me baby," she cries. "Just have me." She spreads her legs wider and
whilst I fuck her arse I can see the wet lips of her cunt taunting me.

"Is this what you wanted to do to me, baby?" she asks, teasing me as now I
can feel my own wetness soaking my pants and beginning to creep down my
thighs. An instinct I can only describe as primal takes over me and I grab
her locks with my free hand and continue to pound her arse, with just the
one finger, and she fucks me back, bucking against my hand.

"Fuck your baby," she screams. "Fuck me and show me how you want me." I have
her hair in my hands as her head is flung back and she is completely mine,
to own and command with just a finger. Her juices are flowing down her legs
and I can take no more; I pull out of her and turn onto my back and in less
than a second she is crouching over me, her rock hard clit inches from my
mouth as I reach up and take it with my tongue, and I have to possess her, I
have to have her give herself to me now completely and she does so.

She grinds her pussy into my face, her hips moving quickly and roughly as I
suck her clit with grim hunger, imploring her with my tongue. I suck on her
labia, then back to her clit again as she presses me into the bed; I can't
breathe as I swallow her juices as fast as I can, my hands gripping her
arse, silently begging her, pleading with her to give me all of her. And
then it happens.

She starts to pant faster before a low, guttural moan escapes her lips and I
know she is close; she begins to fight against me and I hold her down
firmly, refusing to let her back down now. She grinds even harder into me,
and I am licking her clit, and sucking it, and grazing it with my teeth. I
can feel it rising, feel the pressure in her cunt, waiting to be released.
And then she explodes.

"FUCK!" she screams as she convulses on top of me, and as she does so I feel
her wetness flood over me, as she jerks over and over, screaming, swearing,
yelling, and her cum is in my hair, washing over my shoulders onto the duvet
underneath me, and as fast as I can swallow she floods me again, soaking me
in her orgasm over and over, twitching and grinding at the same time as I
feel her come once, then twice, and then a third time. And then, as quickly
as it began it finishes, and she collapses, gasping for air and trembling so
hard the bed is rocking.

I climb up to her as she lies face down on the pillows, panting and groaning
with shock and exhaustion. She turns to face me and falls into my chest. I
can feel her heart pounding against me as I wrap my arms around her and hold
her tightly, her hot, sweat-covered skin against mine. Then I feel something
else, warm and wet, soaking my breasts, then the judder of her shoulders as
I realise she's crying. I hold her away from me and push her locks from her
face, concerned.

"D-did I hurt you?" I stammer. "Oh God, please tell me I didn't h-"

"It's OK," she assures me. "You didn't hurt me. Trust me, you didn't hurt
me. It was spectacular."

"Then why...?"

"I'm just so sorry," she says, tears spilling over her eyes and down her
cheeks. "I never knew that's how you felt. The way you kissed me, the way
you touched me, the way you..."

"I'm sorry if it was too much," I tell her.

"It's not too much," she urges. "Really. It's just that nobody has ever made
love to me with so much passion before. It felt..." she falters for a
moment. "It felt like you meant it."

"Of course I meant it!" I exclaim. "I love you." It's the first time I've
ever told her. And to say it out loud, to her, while she's in my arms,
floods me with a warmth I have waited for all my life.

"I love you too," she whispers.

I sigh with as the last year of waiting and wishing lifts from my shoulders.
It was worth it just for this. I have no idea what the next hour holds, let
alone tomorrow. I have no idea whether this incredible woman will ever be
mine. But I love her. And she loves me.

For now, it is simply enough.