autobiographical,  The Lover

The Comfort of Routine

He always wants me naked, no pajamas, no lingerie. He says it’s about contact, about skin. I think he just wants to even the playing field so we are both naked and equal, he doesn’t do vulnerable very well.I let him call most of the shots. I enjoy his gruff demands to turn over or put my knee just so. I like that if I ignore him his gruffness becomes a softer question. In his heart he’s soft and gentle but when his cock is hard so is his heart, so are his eyes, flashing and hazel, never settling anywhere very long.

Our arrangement is simple and consistent. We’ve never discussed it much but we both like the unspoken energy of our liaisons. He usually arrives early in the morning, he brings coffee, he knows how I like it. The door is left unlocked for him and although I always pop out of bed to brush my teeth, I like to be almost asleep again when he silently ascends the stairs, two at a time. The paper coffee cup is set on the bedside table and his hand will push through my hair before he undresses and climbs into bed, a reliable big-spoon that wraps around me, a muffled, “You’re so warm,” mumbled into the back of my neck as his hand finds mine with his hardness crushed into the back of my thigh.
Sometimes we sleep a bit or chat and I sip my coffee, more often I turn around so we can kiss a bit. His mouth is shy, but warm and he touches my face as I stroke or scratch his back. We don’t linger long on niceties but the kissing is always good and we touch and tease under the blankets like teenagers until playful becomes frustrating and the urgency takes over.
He eats me until I’m slick and crying out for his cock and he asks me, don’t I want to cum first? I don’t because then I’ll want to nap and I’m not ready to settle in against him yet. I want to hear him say he wants to fuck me. I want to watch his eyes as I pull him up over me, into me, the delightful wet sounds as he clefts me with a decisive thrust. That grin, he thinks he’s so clever. With my feet on his shoulders I control the depth and I can watch as the tip of his tongue plays at the corner of his mouth. His thumb always finds my clit and I let myself go because it’s so deep and so good and I want to always feel this wet and full. I cum and it’s not enough. I need the thrusting punch of his cock deeper inside me. He senses it and urges me to turn over and I lose myself in the depth and weight of him, pushing himself into me desperately, finally orgasming quietly, only a small gasp and the leaking notch between my thighs betraying him.
He will sleep but not for long, just a cat nap, his long limbs folded comfortably around me, head on my chest or shoulder. After our short intermission we’ll fuck again. I might suck his cock, or tie him up but it always ends like it begins, quietly. He goes as swiftly as he arrives, no drawn out goodbyes, just a few lingering kisses as he dresses, the jangle of his belt and the click of the door downstairs closing behind him. Sated, I will sleep some more before waking to shower and make the bed.

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