Hands
His hands, hands that are calloused from years of use, run gently over my skin. While my hands are the same as his, I've managed to keep the rest of my body smooth. Call it vanity if you will, but now I' glad I did. Back to his hands. Those hands have killed countless times. They've dealt a final blow to many enemies and yet the ghost over my body like they're afraid to touch me. Afraid of my pain should they press to hard, but I know something he doesn't. I know he could never hurt me like that.
They start on my face, gently cupping my cheek as he kisses me. Then they travel down to my neck and they slowly down and back up my arms. When he gets back to my shoulder, is it gives me a great feeling because then he'll travel down my back. Ghosting over my sensitive skin. Sometimes not even touching me but the feeling it brings me almost makes me want to fall into him because that is when my knees go weak.
He'll trace all sorts of patterns and words on my back until I can't take it anymore. That's when his hands retreat, making me groan for the loss of his touch. But then, and he does this every time, he'll pick me up and carry me to my bed, or his depending where we are at, and he'll gently lay me down.
Everything is gentle at first. So tender because he doesn't want to hurt me. Not with his lethal hands or his years of experience in the field. That same hands and experience that I have myself.
As we are lying down his hands return. This time they trace my neck and go down into the valley of my breasts. I no longer am embarrassed by this it is his way of praising my body even if he never says. He does this because I take care of his body, after it's been bruised and bloody. It's his way of thanking me for always being there, even if he didn't want me there to begin with.
They, his marvelous hands, trace my stomach muscles, my side and down my hips. He pauses there, kissing the path his hands have preciously traveled. When he gets to my lower stomach his hands resume their ministrations, going down one leg and coming backup on the inside, repeating this on the other leg stopping high on my thigh. My eyes have gone shut by now enjoying his touch and I gasp as he kissed my womanhood. He doesn't stay there long, hearing my sounds of pleasure caused by his mouth and not his hands this time. And as he comes back up my body, aligning himself with me, we are both ready. The time for gentleness is almost over. We both are aware of this, for our hunger for each other is strong and we are starved.
The last acts of gentleness is when he joins our bodies in pleasure and slowly starts our love making. But my mewls of pleasure and the scratching of his back is when we both lose control and our hunger takes over.
The hands that gently traced my body earlier tightly grip my hips as he moves rapidly, bringing our pleasure closer to climax. He bends down, capturing my lips with his, as we both are pushed over the edge. His hands loosen their grip on me and stat the tracing all over again. Calming me and him from our natural highs. Our hunger is sated right now and he lies down next to me holding me like I'll leave him if he's not hanging on. And as we lay there my hands start tracing patterns on his abdominal muscles. My lethal hands gently caressing his hardened body from years of field experience. But his is a body of a man and cannot hold the softness of a womanly body. But that's ok because as I ghost my hands over his body I feel his muscles clench wherever my hands go. With his body I can see the effect of deadly hands barely touching skin. And it is thrilling.