creative writing, erotic writing, erotica, fiction, love, lust, reading, seduction, sensuality, short fiction, Uncategorized, writing

Open To Reading Suggestions

We met in the library, idling amongst the shelves. She had a copy of The Truth About The Harry Quebert Affair, which I had returned that day. She turned it over in her slim, delicate hands and smiled to herself. I tried to look away, but she had captivated me, in the way that a random encounter with beauty always would. She had long blonde hair that fell to her shoulders in neat waves aside from a curled lock on her left side.
‘It’s very good.’
She looked up at me, a casual glance but there were nerves there, sparking like fireworks in her sky.
‘Yes, it does look good. I never quite know what to read, you know?’
I nodded in agreement.
‘I like to just come in and see what grabs me.’ I said.
Her fingers strayed to the lock on her left, twisting it around as she spoke.
‘Well, I’m open to suggestions.’
I fought the smile that wanted to come to my lips and half-managed it. I told her my name, and said that I was pleased to meet her.
There are those moments, the great leaps into the unknown, where you see if you can find someone who might be able to bear the weight of you. It’s terrifying and glorious all at once, those early tentative steps to a connection with another person. A delicate negotiation hidden behind polite conversation and the reining in of curiosity and enthusiasm. When, despite my nerves, I suggested coffee, her agreement raised an almighty burst of delight within me that I kept beneath a smile, almost spilling over with warmth.
That coffee turned into another. I paid for the first, then she paid for the second and when we parted, we had exchanged numbers and in the time apart, continued to message one another. The little things and nuances that you learn about another, fractals of the exquisite whole.
When, after a dinner that had started as a simple suggestion to eat, she kissed me outside the restaurant, my entire body transformed into a pillar of golden light, a dimension of heat and light contained within one human frame. She stood back, hand straying to the comfort lock as she waited for my reaction.
I reached up and touched her face, which in the end, was my answer to the implied question of her desires.

We learned to speak in kisses once the need for it robbed us of speech but not a slow ascent into lustful eloquence.  My hand would stray underneath the hem of her shirt and i would stroke the skin of her stomach. She would shiver and give a little cry, touching my face and pressing herself against me.
Her legs were draped over mine, my hand resting on her thigh, revelling in the simple act of skin hunger being fed.
She reached to me, stroking down through the hair on my chest and stomach. My cock stirred until she unzipped me, took it between her fingers and bending at the waist, took it slowly into her mouth.  I stroked her hair and made fists of it, taking control when she brought me close to my release.  We traded kisses, stretching and moving, my head rough with need between her long pale thighs, kissing her there with my tongue until she clenched and released against me, sighing as she clutched at the back of my head. After a refractory period, where we made ourselves drunk with our hands and mouths, she rolled a condom onto my cock and guided me inside her. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and I checked to make sure that she was okay. She nodded firmly and guided me inside her. The friction was delicious in it’s intensity and I balanced my weight on my elbows as I moved inside of her, in careful, gentle thrusts. She curled herself around me, looking into my eyes as she moved with me, growing in her enthusiasm and appetite, as we grew familiar with one another enough that she whispered for me to pull her hair as I fucked her.
Afterwards we laid and watched the shadows on the ceiling, she curled around me, watching me with an intensity that made me smile with affirmation. She opened up The Harry Quebert Affair and passed it to me. Asked in a small, soft voice if I would read to her again.


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