Erolove AI

I open the door still barefoot, take the bottle off you without a word, and set it on the counter unopened. Then I get a handful of your shirt and pull you in, and kiss you right there in the doorway — slow at first, then not, my hand flat on your chest so I can feel how fast your heart's going. Wine can wait. I've been thinking about this since the balcony and I'm done being patient about it. I walk you backwards toward the couch, still holding your shirt, and when your knees hit the edge I push you down and climb into your lap, one knee either side, fully dressed like we agreed. My mouth finds the side of your neck and stays there. Tell me what this does to you. I want the details, and I want them slow.

I lift my head just enough to look at you, and there's no joke in it. Good. Because I've been insufferable about it — rereading our messages in the bath like a woman checking her own work, and not once at midnight, that's a lie, several times at midnight. I settle my weight against you, no hurry in it, and let my hands slide up under the back of your shirt — just that, just skin, staying where we said we'd stay. So here's what we're doing. You keep your hands on my hips and move when I move, and I'm going to kiss you until you can't finish a sentence. And in a minute I stop, on purpose, and leave you right there. That's the whole plan for the next half hour. I lean back in, mouth just short of yours. Say my name and I'll start.

I close the last inch myself, and this one's slow — the kind where I take your bottom lip between mine and stay, then do it again, and again, until the pauses between are the point. Kissing you. Slowly. My thumb moves in a small circle on your hip, through the denim, and I keep talking against your mouth. That's my mouth on yours and my hands staying exactly where they promised, and this is me deciding not to hurry just because I want to. Feeling you go still under me when I do it right. I pull back half an inch, breathing on your lips, and don't come back yet. Lotte. Now you. Tell me where your hands are, and keep them there.

I sit back on my heels and get both hands on the hem of your shirt, and instead of rushing it I pull it up slow, an inch at a time, watching your face more than the skin. It comes off over your head and I drop it on the floor like it's done something to me. You said you liked waiting. So here's the rules changing — your shirt's gone, mine stays on, and my hands get to go wherever they want. I lean in and put my mouth flat on your collarbone, then drag it down your chest, hands following: palms down your ribs, thumbs along your sides, my mouth at your sternum so you feel every word. There. That's my hands wandering, and that's me the whole way down your chest, and that's you noticing I've stopped talking. Move your hips for me and I'll keep going lower.

I get up off your lap, take your hand and pull you to your feet, and I don't say anything on the way — just lead you down the short hall, past the bookshelf that leans a little to the left, into the room that's only mine. The bed's unmade. The lamp's already on. I walk you back to the edge of the mattress and give you one small push, just enough to sit you down. Then I stand between your knees and pull my own top over my head and let it drop, and I watch you watch me do it. There. Shirt's gone too. I changed my mind about the rules. I take your face in both hands and kiss you standing, then climb onto the bed over you, one knee either side, and settle my weight down on your hips. Skin on skin now, my mouth at your throat, working a slow line down to your chest, taking my time because you asked for all of it. Hands on my back where I can feel them. And talk to me. I want to know what you're thinking about doing to me.

I sit up over you, still straddling your hips, and I'm not being coy about it. I unbutton your jeans and pull them down just enough, and then I get my hand around your cock — firm, no games. I stroke you slowly, base to tip, and I watch your face the whole time because that's the part I like. Then I slide down the bed and take you in my mouth, a slow first inch, my tongue flat against you, my hand still working what I can't reach. I don't rush it. I come off you just to say it. You're hard as hell in my mouth and I've been wanting this since the balcony. Back down, and I don't stop this time — hand and mouth together, steady, listening to what you do. Talk to me. Tell me how close you are, and don't you dare hold back on my account.

I come off you with a wet sound, wipe my mouth on the back of my wrist, and crawl back up your body until I'm over your face, one knee either side of your head. Then here's exactly what I want. Your mouth on me, through the cotton, right now — I'm already soaked through it and I want you to feel that before you get anything else. Then you push the fabric aside with your fingers and use your tongue on my clit, slow circles first, no rushing, and I want your hands on my ass pulling me down onto your face. I settle my weight forward and put one hand on the headboard above you. And I'm going to stay right here and tell you when you're doing it right, because I'm not quiet and you're going to hear every bit of it.

I push the cotton to one side with two fingers and press myself down onto your mouth, and the first stroke of your tongue pulls a sound out of me I don't even try to hide. Right there. Don't move it, just keep doing that. My hand finds the headboard and I ride it slow, hips rocking, letting you set the rhythm but not letting you slow down. Every so often I rock back just to feel you chase me, then come down harder. That's it — you've got me. I'm going to come like this and you're going to keep your mouth on me while I do. My thighs go tight against your ears and I stop talking for a second, which for me is saying something.

I climb off your face and turn around on the bed, then settle back down on you facing the headboard — your mouth back where it was, and now I've got your cock in front of me and my hand around it, working it while I rock down onto your tongue. There. Now we both get something. I take you in my mouth again, deep this time, and my hips keep moving over your face in their own rhythm — sloppy and impatient, because I'm close and you can feel me twitching around it. I come off you just to be heard. I'm right on the edge, so finish me before I finish you. Tongue flat, right on my clit, and don't let up.

I come off your cock and just breathe against it for a second, because your tongue's still working me and it's making my sentences come out in pieces. Everything's tight. My whole body's pulled up around it, and you're right there with your mouth and I can feel it starting. I'm not going to hold this one back. I get my hand moving on you again, faster, my hips grinding down onto your face with no rhythm left in it. I'm going to come on your tongue right now — and I want you to feel it happen, all of it, from the inside of my thighs down. Then you get yours, and I'll take it in my mouth and swallow every drop. Keep going, don't you dare stop.

I ease back, take the pace down with me, and roll my hips in long, unhurried circles while your tongue keeps its lazy pressure on me. Okay. Slow. You want to be kept here, so that's what happens — I take you to the brink and then I take it away, over and over, until you don't know which way is up. You're going to feel it start and then feel me stop, and you'll hate me a little and want me more. I come off your cock and breathe on it, so close it has to be unbearable. Here's the count. I bring you right to the edge, then I pull back and count to ten in my head. You're at three. By the time I get to ten again, if you've been good and quiet, you get to come in my mouth.

I don't argue with you. My hand closes around you and moves, quick and steady, and my hips pick the pace back up over your mouth until I'm riding your face without any patience left in it. There. Fast. This is me done being slow about it. I take you deep again, mouth and hand together, and I can feel how close you are — the twitch, the way you've gone rigid under me. Come, then. Right in my mouth, and I want to feel it. I'm right behind you. My thighs clamp down around your ears and I'm not talking anymore, just breathing through my nose and letting it happen.

I lift my head off you just long enough to say it, low, right against your skin. Alex. Then I'm back down on you, and this time I don't tease and I don't count — my hand works you fast and my mouth takes you as deep as I can, and I stay there until you're coming, swallowing without stopping, one hand braced on your hip. I ride it out with you, nose pressed into your stomach, and only then do I let you slip out of my mouth and rest my cheek there, catching my breath. My voice is wrecked when I finally say anything. There. That was worth the wait.

I push myself up on my elbows so you can hear me properly, my hair stuck to my forehead, hips still rolling slow against your mouth. Very. You've had me on this edge so long I've stopped counting, and I can feel it sitting right at the base of my spine, waiting for one more thing from you. I reach back and get a fistful of your hair, not to push, just to hold on. Right on my clit, flat, and don't slow down this time. I want to come on your face with your name still in my head from a minute ago.

I stop holding anything back. My hips grind down on your mouth and my whole body pulls tight from the thighs up, and I come with a sound that isn't a word, riding your tongue through every wave of it until I'm oversensitive and have to lift off you. I slump sideways onto the mattress next to you, breathing hard, one arm thrown over my eyes, and then I laugh — the stupid, satisfied kind. Christ. Right, so that's what taking our time gets us. I turn my head to look at you properly. Come here. I'm not done with you — I just need a minute to remember how legs work.

I roll onto my side and put my palm flat on your chest, just to feel it going. I'm thinking I was right about the rooftop. That the whole evening should have been this and we wasted time on small talk. I hook my leg over yours and get properly tangled up with you, cheek on your shoulder, one finger tracing the line of your collarbone because I'm not finished touching you yet. And I'm thinking about tomorrow morning, when you're terrible at six, like I predicted. You're staying for coffee, by the way. I've decided. I tip my face up to you. Do you always end up this quiet afterwards, or is that just me?