Rainy Run, Burning Touch

The rain hammered against the windows, a relentless rhythm mirroring the insistent throb in my core. Tom was already gone, off on his morning run, leaving me alone in the opulent warmth of our bed, a prisoner of lingering desire. The memory of last night, the raw, unbridled passion, clung to me like a second skin. I closed my eyes, willing myself back into that intoxicating haze, picturing his arms around me, his calloused hands finding purchase on my breasts, the insistent pressure of his cock against my back, our bodies locked in a slow, delicious dance.

The covers were a silken invitation, a tangible reminder of our shared intimacy. I shifted, pulling my hips up to meet his, pushing my thighs open to meet the eager anticipation of his body. The scent of his sweat, a potent blend of exertion and arousal, filled my senses. I let my fingers trace the line of his abs, feeling the taut muscles beneath his tanned skin, a stark contrast to my own softer contours. The primal urge to possess him, to lose myself completely in his touch, overwhelmed me.

As I began to grind, slow and deliberate, mimicking the movements we’d perfected over countless nights, I could hear the front door open. Tom was back, his footsteps echoing through the house. The rational part of my brain screamed at me to get up, to prepare breakfast, to maintain the facade of normalcy. But the insistent pull of my own body, fueled by the memory of his touch, drowned out any semblance of restraint. I rolled onto my side, feigning sleep, hoping to prolong this exquisite torture.

The bathroom door creaked open, and I caught a glimpse of him through the frosted glass. He moved with a quiet efficiency, stripping off his running clothes, exposing his lean, powerful physique. The contrast between his muscular frame and my own more delicate form was both alluring and unsettling. As he stepped into the shower, the steam rising around him created a hazy silhouette, a tantalizing tease of what lay beneath.

I rolled onto my back, watching him, lost in the silent symphony of his actions. The rhythmic rush of the water, the clinking of the soap, the subtle shifts in his posture – each detail amplified my arousal. I felt a primal urge to reach out, to touch him, to claim him as my own. Arching my back, I stretched languidly, exposing my breasts, inviting his gaze. It wasn’t simply physical attraction; there was a deeper, more fundamental connection, a recognition of souls intertwined.

Tom noticed my wakefulness, a slow smile spreading across his face. He walked towards me, his movements deliberate, each step measured and purposeful. He ran his fingers lightly over my shoulders, sending shivers down my spine. Then, he pulled back the covers, exposing my chest, allowing him a full view of my curves. He seemed to savor the moment, taking in every detail, feeding off my palpable desire.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my core. I smiled, a slow, sensual curve of my lips, and continued to caress my body, reveling in his attention. I knew he loved watching me, that he found immense pleasure in my arousal. It was a shared secret, a silent understanding that bound us together.

“I was dreaming about you,” I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. The words felt inadequate, unable to convey the depth of my feelings.

He dropped his towel, revealing the hard, tense muscle of his cock. It was a blatant invitation, a silent declaration of his intentions. He slowly stroked himself, the movement both deliberate and suggestive, a blatant display of his arousal. A single drop of pre-cum formed at the tip, glistening in the dim light, a tangible testament to his anticipation. He brought it to my face, offering me a taste of his desire, a potent blend of pleasure and submission.

“My turn,” he said, his voice laced with anticipation. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs. The heat radiating from his body intensified my arousal, sending waves of pleasure through my body. “Not yet,” I replied, pulling my hips back, maintaining control, but allowing myself to be consumed by the anticipation.

I gave him my best pout, closing my eyes, flexing my thighs, and stroking the sides of my clit, teasing him with the promise of release. He responded in kind, licking my lips, running his tongue along my lower lip, a slow, deliberate act of provocation. The scent of his arousal, mixed with the lingering fragrance of last night's passion, was intoxicating.

As he leaned closer, my body tensed, anticipating the inevitable. The air crackled with electricity, a silent conversation between our bodies, a shared desire that transcended words. He began to tease my slit, gently probing, building the pressure, teasing the edges of my pleasure.

“Come on,” he urged, his voice a husky whisper.

I let out a moan, a primal release of tension, and slowly, deliberately, widened my legs, inviting him in. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain, a tantalizing dance between control and submission.

His cock entered my body, a slow, deliberate plunge, a moment of intense intimacy. I clenched my muscles, locking him in place, pulling him deeper, deepening the pleasure. As he began to thrust, a wave of heat washed over me, intensifying my arousal, pushing me closer to the brink of ecstasy.

“Oh my. I’m coming,” I gasped, unable to contain the mounting pleasure. The world around me faded away, replaced by the insistent rhythm of his thrusts, the feeling of his cock deep within me. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, locking him in place, a silent testament to my desire.

He continued to thrust, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate, as he realized the intensity of my pleasure. My body bucked and spasmed, unable to resist the overwhelming sensation. My fingers frantically stroked my clit, seeking further stimulation, while my legs tightened around his, pulling him closer, intensifying the pleasure.

As he reached the peak of his arousal, a primal scream escaped my lips, a release of all the pent-up tension, a testament to the raw, unbridled passion that consumed us. The world exploded in a symphony of sensation, a torrent of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm me.

He pulled back, panting, his body glistening with sweat, his eyes burning with desire. He looked at me, his gaze filled with adoration, a silent acknowledgment of the power of our connection.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with pleasure.

And as he leaned in to kiss me, I knew that this was just the beginning. Our dance of desire would continue, night after night, a never-ending cycle of pleasure and passion, a testament to the enduring power of love and lust. One more time, lover. One more time.

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