Midnight Whispers, Burning Touch

The insistent warmth was the first thing that registered, a slow, insistent heat blooming beneath the thin cotton of my sleep shorts. Not the feverish, panicked heat of a nightmare, but something deeper, more primal. A shiver crawled across my skin, followed by an involuntary exhale, and then, the unmistakable sensation of lips brushing against my skin.

“Mmph? Oh! Hey,” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep and surprise. Each word was swallowed by the insistent press of his mouth, a tantalizing invasion of my slumber. My hands flew up, fanning instinctively across his jaw line and cheekbones, desperate to deflect the heat, but finding only a deeper connection, a thrilling invitation. My fingers tangled through his dark, tangled hair, pulling him closer, returning his kisses with a desperate urgency. The scent of him, a heady mix of musk and something subtly sweet, filled my senses, pulling me further into the intoxicating haze of the moment.

His hips settled between my thighs, a warm, heavy weight that sent a jolt through my core. One hand, exploring with deliberate slowness, skimmed over my left breast, tracing the curve of my chest southward, while the other braced his upper body against me, anchoring him in place. The intimacy was overwhelming, a complete surrender to the raw desire that pulsed beneath my skin.

“Andrew?” I gasped, the question a breathless plea, but the sound was cut short by the sudden, violent rip of my sleep shorts. I was already drenched, slick with perspiration, anticipating what was to come. My breath hitched as he pulled the fabric aside, revealing the vulnerable landscape beneath.

“Mhmm,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling, a confirmation that he was indeed awake, present, and utterly focused on me. Moonlight streamed through the partially drawn curtains, painting the room in shades of silver and shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes. They were closed, relaxed, almost peaceful, as if he’d been lost in a deep, dreamlike state. Was he really asleep? The thought flickered through my mind, quickly dismissed by the undeniable heat radiating from his body.

“Andr-” I began, but the words died in my throat, choked by the sharp, insistent sensation of a long, cool finger sliding into the soft flesh of my clitoris. A gasp escaped my lips, quickly escalating into a full-blown, embarrassingly loud moan, fueled by the exquisite pleasure he was delivering. My thumb followed suit, sliding up to trace circles around my clitoris, a slow, deliberate torture that sent shivers racing through my veins. What was I even saying? The thought was absurd. The world narrowed down to this one point of intense pleasure, this exquisite sensation of being utterly consumed. Why bother talking when the world's most talented fingers were already doing all the work?

My moans grew louder, more desperate, my hips rocking against his hands, clinging to him with every surge of pleasure. I arched up, a primal cry escaping my lips as I reached the peak of my first climax, the walls of my inner world contracting and fluttering around his fingers like trapped butterflies. I opened my eyes, blurry with arousal, meeting his confused gaze. Oh, right. He really must have been asleep. A trick of the moonlight, perhaps, but I swore his eyes held a darker, more heated intensity now, a knowing glint that suggested a shared understanding of the wild, untamed pleasure we were experiencing. He drew in a deep breath, the scent of him filling my nostrils, a potent blend of arousal and anticipation.

“Andr-” I started again, but my words were cut off once more, this time by fierce, hot kisses, teeth clacking together, tongues tangling in a frenzied dance. His fingers continued their earlier ministrations, a relentless assault of pleasure, while the first flutters of my second climax began to build within me. I mewled in protest, teetering precariously on the edge of oblivion, desperate to hold on, when he pulled back, withdrawing completely, leaving me trembling in the aftermath. Never had I been so grateful for his penchant for sleeping nude than tonight. If I had been forced to wait even one more moment, I would have surely lost my mind.

His mouth swallowed my screams of pleasure until they transformed into low, ragged moans, a testament to the sheer intensity of our encounter. Only then did his kisses become more gentle, shifting into soft, sipping kisses that trailed across my lips, dragging me back from the brink. When I finally came back to myself, my inner walls fluttered and grasped once more, this time around something significantly larger than before, drawing him deeper still. He reared back, gasping like he’d just run a marathon, his entire body tense to the point of shaking as he braced his hands atop the headboard above me, holding himself back from plunging further into my depths.

Seeing I was once again present, he began to move with slow, drawn-out thrusts, in and out, pausing unbearably long before diving back into me. My heels dug into his buttocks, anchoring me firmly in place. My hands tangled into his hair, pulling him closer, before scraping down his back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I lifted up, latching onto his neck, sucking hard at his pulse point, feeding off the raw energy that surged through him, thrilling at the thought of possibly leaving a mark on his skin.

A strangled sound escaped him then, a desperate plea for release, and his thrusts became erratic, frantic, driven by a primal need. The room filled with gasps and moans, the sounds of our joined bodies, then cries of pleasure as he filled me, pushing me closer to the edge of ecstasy. We rode out our climaxes with gentle, unhurried thrusts, unwilling to let the time go, savoring every sensation, every touch, every breath.

“What a way to wake up,” he said finally, his voice husky with pleasure, as we lay tangled together, the sweat cooling on our skin. I couldn't agree more. The lingering heat, the scent of him, the memory of the exquisite pleasure – it was all overwhelmingly intoxicating. The world felt sharp, vibrant, and utterly focused on this shared experience, this sacred connection forged in the dead of night. It wasn’t just a sexual encounter; it was a release, a surrender, a primal dance of desire that left me breathless and utterly consumed. And as I drifted back to sleep, clinging to him, I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was just the beginning of our midnight delights. The thought alone sent another shiver of anticipation racing through my veins.

Did you like this story? Midnight Whispers, Burning Touch look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.