Cole finally set aside some time for me. He was on his way over and had made it clear that he only had a few hours. Not wanting to waste time on a conversation or a possible uncomfortable moment—time was/being of the essence—I wore a soft, salmon-colored trench coat, high heels, and nothing else. I greeted him at the door. We kissed. Those damn kisses melt me. I alluded to my nudeness (patience never was my strong suit). He smiled wickedly, validating my choice.
“Would you like a cocktail?” I asked.
I click-clacked to the kitchen with him in tow. It’s so weird wearing heels in my house. I generally wait until the last minute before I leave to put my heels on. This particular pair make me crazy tall, I feel like a damn model when I wear them (never a bad thing). In the kitchen, he pulled out the vodka and I cut some lemons. I was a little nervous. I’m always a little nervous before and in the first few minutes of seeing Cole. Thankfully, it’s mostly positive and happy nerves. It’s insane how badly I want to kill him one day and the next he’s in my kitchen being all loving and sweet. Goddamn pheromones are a killer.
He stood behind me while I cut lemons and put his arms around me. I bent forward, pressing my ass into his groin. He grabbed my waist and pulled me into him. Then I stood up and tilted my head back towards him, resting on his tall clavicle. My eyes closed, I sighed. My need for him is hardly human. My whole body was crying out. He pulled the hem of the coat up, caressing my legs delicately but with purpose. He pushed me gently against the counter, the crux of my hips settling exactly where the edge came into existence. The perfect height: the perfect crime. He knelt down and kissed my thighs, licking and planting his lips until he reached the curvature of my ass. Chills ran through me. He settled into my pussy. His tongue flicked and dove into me. It was delicious. Wet. Us. I reached behind and grabbed his hard cock through his pants. He pushed me back towards the counter and unbuttoned his jeans. Cock out. He pushed his head into my wet pussy. Slow and deliberate...then balls deep. He held himself there. I could feel the head of his cock bottoming out. I could also feel our pulses mixing and undulating. The position, the heels, the near nudeness, my being bent over the counter, it was optimal positioning...I knew he could come, but I also knew neither of us wanted that yet. He pulled out. We kissed wildly. We had some pulls off our cocktails and walked to my bedroom.
I kicked off the heels just as he said, “Don’t remove the coat.” I wanted to but I didn’t. He leaned me back onto my tall bed and started going down on me again. He was still fully dressed. Get that shit off, I thought. Even though there is something wickedly erotic about a fully dressed man and a practically naked woman. I was ready for his flesh. I slinked out of the coat. He ripped his clothes off.
The following next beats are a bit fuzzy, but what I remember clearly are two things—not sure of the order but I suppose I can guess by the nature of it—the first was me naked on my back with my head hanging slightly off the bed with his cock in my mouth and his fingers in my pussy. In my drunken recollection (I had taken a few giant swigs while waiting for him), he came that way, but maybe that doesn’t make sense. It was all so delicious and carnal. Then (or before) he was on top of me, our bodies positioned horizontally across the king bed, again with my head somewhat hanging off the edge and my fingers on my clit.
“Honey”, I said breathlessly.
“Honey”, he repeated.
I came. It was an epic orgasm. One of those, “we are one”, orgasms. Again with my wet-brain, but he either came inside me in that moment or down my throat in the other scenario. Or maybe we fucked twice as we are apt to do. All I know is, it’s times like this that wash away all the crazy shit.