Temporary bliss

It's the middle of the night when she comes into your bedroom again. Her smell, a mix of magic and apples, invades your nose. Her warmth touches you in all the right places and it heats you. Her gaze is half-hooded, drunk for sure.

She strips before you without a single word, and you have to shake head and rub your eyes to make sure you are not dreaming. But then again, it can't be the same dream, every night, over and over again. It feels far too real to be a dream as your eyes rake over the naked goddess before you and a gush of arousal ruins your black boxers.

In a flash, she is over you, on all fours, gazing down at you as if she wants to say something but is too afraid. She parts your legs with hers, never breaking eye contact.

You take her face with your hands and pull her down. You kiss. It's passionate, noisy, wet, messy, and almost surreal; just like your feelings for each other. Whatever is between you and her is all of the above and so much more. It's all you have and don't have at the same time. You have it here, in the middle of the night in your bedroom, with your kid sleeping in the next room and your parents downstairs. But you don't have it when you wake up in the morning next to a cold and empty bed.

She breaks the kiss to tear the tank top away from your body. Her mouth is on your nipple; licking, sucking, nipping, loving. Her mouth reconnects with yours as she lowers herself, resting her body fully on yours. The weight is welcome and wanted. Her other leg goes between yours, and you move your hands up and down her back. She leans her upper body on her elbows and starts rocking against you. To encourage her, you put your hands on her butt and squeeze the warm flesh underneath your palms.

Your heart drums wildly against your chest. It threatens to leave you for her but, honestly, you don't mind it because she has already taken possession of it. It was hers since the first day your eyes met. And it will be her till the day it stops beating.

The rocking becomes too much of a tease for you and your hand goes up front to touch her wetness. Apparently she has had it with the rocking too as you feel her hand mirroring yours. You enter her with two fingers as she does the same to you. It's kind of your thing; this addiction to do to the other what she had done to you, and you are sure it's hers too, because she always comes to you, but never makes the first move. She always waits for you to kiss her first, to ignite her fire.

Being noisy, voicing your arousal is out of the question. She knows it, you know it, though you crave to hear her moan, groan or whatever noise she makes when she orgasm. It is a magnificent sight to see her coming all over your fingers, over you, under you, wetting everything.

You always change sheets afterwards.

But you still need to hear. It is the only forbidden fruit of hers that you have yet to taste.

Coming from her hand is nothing short of a temporary bliss. It is like an explosion of emotion, magic and sparkles behind your eyelids, in your heart, in your lower abdomen. It spread all over your body, consuming it. You feel lost until the orgasmic haze lifts itself from you, leaving you utterly satisfied, yet craving more.

More.

You wake up with a start: body naked, bed empty, like you always have. Maybe more will come today.