BDP22
I had never considered kitchens sexy. They always seemed very task oriented. You went in there to make food, period. Tonight Ian and I were cooking all right, but I was the only thing on the menu. He was devouring me. His hands roamed feverishly over my body. His mouth bestowing kisses, licks, and tiny stinging bites wherever he could reach. I could only arch and writhe under his attentions, little whimpers escaping my lips in spite of my resolve to stay silent.
Ian tugged insistently on my clothing. I let him do what he would, consumed by the fire he had ignited in my blood. This time there was no hesitation in his actions. For someone who was a very recent ex-virgin, he had taken devastatingly complete control of the situation. Amazing what a little 'hands-on training' will do for one's confidence.
The sweatpants I had borrowed were puddled on the floor; the shirt had been shoved up over my breasts, leaving me totally exposed. I could feel the hunger coming from him, and marveled at it. I had not realized I was capable of creating this kind of response in a man. It was flattering and exciting. I felt incredibly feminine and powerful as he stared, his hands stalled on my hips as he gazed at my near-naked form.
His fingers slid down and around, until they were cupping my thighs. I had a moment to wonder what he was doing, and then I was being lifted onto the edge of the sink. I clutched his shoulders for balance. I couldn't lean back very far or I'd fall butt first into the sink.
Ian's lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smile, but I could see the deviltry in his eyes. He knew how precarious my position was, and he thought it was funny. I wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding my pelvis against him through the cotton of his sweatpants.
'Hmmm, doesn't look like he thinks it's funny now.' I thought to myself as all humor fled Ian's face, pushed aside by pure hunger. His eyes closed and his head went back. I could see the muscles in his jaw clench.
I purred softly, enjoying both the sensation and his response immensely. The feel of him through the cotton was exciting. Knowing that only a single layer of cloth lay between our mutual desire only heightened the eroticism of the moment. I experimented, going faster and slower, just as I varied the pressure. I discovered that the light teasing strokes served to help maintain my control by lessening the friction. It had the opposite effect on Ian, pushing him further from his as he was denied the sensation.
Ian shook as I continued to ride his barely confined erection. His breath was coming in harsh counterpoint to my own, and his hips began to pulse. He tightened his grip on my waist and fitted me even tighter against him. Now I couldn't pull back whenever I wanted a reprieve. That much direct friction to my clitoris was bringing me very close to an orgasm. I wasn't sure how much longer I could continue without going over the edge, as little starbursts had begun to dance on the edge of my vision.
I pulled back a little, my hand going between us to remove the last barrier to our joining. It wouldn't take much for me to be ready to go again, one of the perks of being female was the multiple orgasms, but I didn't want him to feel left out.
"No. You're so close. I want to watch as the pleasure takes you." Ian whispered against my temple as he caught my hand.
How could I refuse such a command? I put my hand back in its original position, still reeling under the power of Ian's voice, and relinquished control of the moment to him. Our eyes met and stayed locked as he rocked against me. I felt as though I was completely exposed to his gaze. It was the most intimate thing I'd ever done. I had to fight the urge to bury my face in his neck to hide, but his words still vibrated along my nerves. 'I want to watch'.
I realized that I wanted him to watch too. To see just what he was capable of doing to me, but I was learning that there was a difference between naked and unclothed. I could be unclothed without feeling concern, embarrassment, or fear. Naked was a different thing entirely. I was feeling all of those things, in differing degrees, and letting them show plainly on my face.
Most of it was that I was afraid he would not like what he would see. I am not some pure and perfect maiden, like all the old stories. I grew up in the real world. Belfast did not encourage or reward innocence. I had lied, cheated, schemed, held grudges, and worse.
I had lost friends and family in the battlegrounds that were thinly disguised as city streets, schoolyards, and playgrounds. My parents had emigrated to Amerikay, as they still called it, after my eldest sister had died in the July 12th bombing.
I don't know that New York was any better though. People still died around you, but it was for drugs, money, and/or gang rivalries. I know that dead is dead, but it seemed infinitely sadder to have died for those things. It seemed nobler somehow to lay down your life fighting for your freedom, and I had not been terribly quiet about it at first. I wanted to go back home, where at least if I got shot it wouldn't be a complete waste. I think I had romanticized Maria's death, looking back on it, in an effort to make it hurt less. I had wanted her death to mean something.
My comments had caught the attention of a certain element that exists in the Irish-American community. Yes, the 'Irish Mafia' is still alive and well, it just has better spin jockeys working for it these days. For some reason, they are very pro-Independence for Ireland. I suppose because many of their forebears had come to America to escape English persecution. I had considered joining; I must admit. I had cousins who were 'in the business', and they were doing quite well for themselves.
The morality of it hadn't even entered my mind at first. It had been a career option, and a very good one. It just had a lousy retirement plan. Besides, there were no scholarships for the sort of research I wanted to do. Oh sure, they would have loved to have helped me become a chemical engineer, but I would have been expected to design stronger and more addictive drugs for them in return for my education. Drugs they would have given to children to get them hooked.
That was where I drew the line in the sand, which is what made me decide for the military. It was easily the smartest move I'd ever made. They took one look at my ASFAB and cheerfully sent me into training in the field of my dreams. It had been a good life, but lonely. I took lovers when the mood moved me, even did one night stands. Another mark against me, for women who have casual sex are viewed much more harshly by our society than the most irresponsible of men.
Yet here I was, with the most (until tonight) innocent and virtuous man I had ever known. I felt a surge of embarrassment, oddly displeased that I had not been as pure as he had been. I was not sure I was worthy of him. There's that Irish Catholic upbringing for you.
I didn't know where the spurt of bravery came from, but my decision to let him really see into my soul was the hardest thing I had ever done. Always before I had closed my eyes and retained my secrets, kept back that last part of myself. Maybe it was selfish, I don't know. I would like to say it was self-preservation, but that meant that I had never truly trusted the men I had slept with before.
Well, hadn't I? No, I had not. I did not give of myself lightly, if at all. This sort of intimacy had to be earned, and my previous encounters had not lasted long enough for that level of trust to develop. I didn't fully understand why tonight had become an exception to the rule, but I was inclined to trust my instincts. Admittedly, the man was different, the circumstances were different, and just maybe I was different.
All these things that moved through my mind in that eternal moment, and still I kept my eyes locked with his. I did not attempt to hide them. That would violate the spirit of our agreement, and I knew that such a thing would hurt him. I could not do that to Ian. He would think I was drawing away from him. Maybe even think I did not find him worthy of sharing.
When the fear passed over and through me, I realized his eyes were just as unshuttered as mine. I could see concern, curiosity, desire, and pleasure. Ian had not realized what he had asked for, but he knew now. The understanding clearly excited him, but he was waiting for a signal from me to proceed.
"Más é do thoil é" I murmured, English seeming so very foreign and crass somehow. I knew he would understand the look in my eyes, if not my words.
A/N: Más é do thoil é means please. This did not come out the way I had expected. I hope no one is disappointed. I will get back to the business at hand, I promise. This simply insisted on being written, and my Muses can be very pushy when they want to be. And yes, I am ending at a bad point again, but it's only because I love you all. (vbeg)
I had never considered kitchens sexy. They always seemed very task oriented. You went in there to make food, period. Tonight Ian and I were cooking all right, but I was the only thing on the menu. He was devouring me. His hands roamed feverishly over my body. His mouth bestowing kisses, licks, and tiny stinging bites wherever he could reach. I could only arch and writhe under his attentions, little whimpers escaping my lips in spite of my resolve to stay silent.
Ian tugged insistently on my clothing. I let him do what he would, consumed by the fire he had ignited in my blood. This time there was no hesitation in his actions. For someone who was a very recent ex-virgin, he had taken devastatingly complete control of the situation. Amazing what a little 'hands-on training' will do for one's confidence.
The sweatpants I had borrowed were puddled on the floor; the shirt had been shoved up over my breasts, leaving me totally exposed. I could feel the hunger coming from him, and marveled at it. I had not realized I was capable of creating this kind of response in a man. It was flattering and exciting. I felt incredibly feminine and powerful as he stared, his hands stalled on my hips as he gazed at my near-naked form.
His fingers slid down and around, until they were cupping my thighs. I had a moment to wonder what he was doing, and then I was being lifted onto the edge of the sink. I clutched his shoulders for balance. I couldn't lean back very far or I'd fall butt first into the sink.
Ian's lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smile, but I could see the deviltry in his eyes. He knew how precarious my position was, and he thought it was funny. I wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding my pelvis against him through the cotton of his sweatpants.
'Hmmm, doesn't look like he thinks it's funny now.' I thought to myself as all humor fled Ian's face, pushed aside by pure hunger. His eyes closed and his head went back. I could see the muscles in his jaw clench.
I purred softly, enjoying both the sensation and his response immensely. The feel of him through the cotton was exciting. Knowing that only a single layer of cloth lay between our mutual desire only heightened the eroticism of the moment. I experimented, going faster and slower, just as I varied the pressure. I discovered that the light teasing strokes served to help maintain my control by lessening the friction. It had the opposite effect on Ian, pushing him further from his as he was denied the sensation.
Ian shook as I continued to ride his barely confined erection. His breath was coming in harsh counterpoint to my own, and his hips began to pulse. He tightened his grip on my waist and fitted me even tighter against him. Now I couldn't pull back whenever I wanted a reprieve. That much direct friction to my clitoris was bringing me very close to an orgasm. I wasn't sure how much longer I could continue without going over the edge, as little starbursts had begun to dance on the edge of my vision.
I pulled back a little, my hand going between us to remove the last barrier to our joining. It wouldn't take much for me to be ready to go again, one of the perks of being female was the multiple orgasms, but I didn't want him to feel left out.
"No. You're so close. I want to watch as the pleasure takes you." Ian whispered against my temple as he caught my hand.
How could I refuse such a command? I put my hand back in its original position, still reeling under the power of Ian's voice, and relinquished control of the moment to him. Our eyes met and stayed locked as he rocked against me. I felt as though I was completely exposed to his gaze. It was the most intimate thing I'd ever done. I had to fight the urge to bury my face in his neck to hide, but his words still vibrated along my nerves. 'I want to watch'.
I realized that I wanted him to watch too. To see just what he was capable of doing to me, but I was learning that there was a difference between naked and unclothed. I could be unclothed without feeling concern, embarrassment, or fear. Naked was a different thing entirely. I was feeling all of those things, in differing degrees, and letting them show plainly on my face.
Most of it was that I was afraid he would not like what he would see. I am not some pure and perfect maiden, like all the old stories. I grew up in the real world. Belfast did not encourage or reward innocence. I had lied, cheated, schemed, held grudges, and worse.
I had lost friends and family in the battlegrounds that were thinly disguised as city streets, schoolyards, and playgrounds. My parents had emigrated to Amerikay, as they still called it, after my eldest sister had died in the July 12th bombing.
I don't know that New York was any better though. People still died around you, but it was for drugs, money, and/or gang rivalries. I know that dead is dead, but it seemed infinitely sadder to have died for those things. It seemed nobler somehow to lay down your life fighting for your freedom, and I had not been terribly quiet about it at first. I wanted to go back home, where at least if I got shot it wouldn't be a complete waste. I think I had romanticized Maria's death, looking back on it, in an effort to make it hurt less. I had wanted her death to mean something.
My comments had caught the attention of a certain element that exists in the Irish-American community. Yes, the 'Irish Mafia' is still alive and well, it just has better spin jockeys working for it these days. For some reason, they are very pro-Independence for Ireland. I suppose because many of their forebears had come to America to escape English persecution. I had considered joining; I must admit. I had cousins who were 'in the business', and they were doing quite well for themselves.
The morality of it hadn't even entered my mind at first. It had been a career option, and a very good one. It just had a lousy retirement plan. Besides, there were no scholarships for the sort of research I wanted to do. Oh sure, they would have loved to have helped me become a chemical engineer, but I would have been expected to design stronger and more addictive drugs for them in return for my education. Drugs they would have given to children to get them hooked.
That was where I drew the line in the sand, which is what made me decide for the military. It was easily the smartest move I'd ever made. They took one look at my ASFAB and cheerfully sent me into training in the field of my dreams. It had been a good life, but lonely. I took lovers when the mood moved me, even did one night stands. Another mark against me, for women who have casual sex are viewed much more harshly by our society than the most irresponsible of men.
Yet here I was, with the most (until tonight) innocent and virtuous man I had ever known. I felt a surge of embarrassment, oddly displeased that I had not been as pure as he had been. I was not sure I was worthy of him. There's that Irish Catholic upbringing for you.
I didn't know where the spurt of bravery came from, but my decision to let him really see into my soul was the hardest thing I had ever done. Always before I had closed my eyes and retained my secrets, kept back that last part of myself. Maybe it was selfish, I don't know. I would like to say it was self-preservation, but that meant that I had never truly trusted the men I had slept with before.
Well, hadn't I? No, I had not. I did not give of myself lightly, if at all. This sort of intimacy had to be earned, and my previous encounters had not lasted long enough for that level of trust to develop. I didn't fully understand why tonight had become an exception to the rule, but I was inclined to trust my instincts. Admittedly, the man was different, the circumstances were different, and just maybe I was different.
All these things that moved through my mind in that eternal moment, and still I kept my eyes locked with his. I did not attempt to hide them. That would violate the spirit of our agreement, and I knew that such a thing would hurt him. I could not do that to Ian. He would think I was drawing away from him. Maybe even think I did not find him worthy of sharing.
When the fear passed over and through me, I realized his eyes were just as unshuttered as mine. I could see concern, curiosity, desire, and pleasure. Ian had not realized what he had asked for, but he knew now. The understanding clearly excited him, but he was waiting for a signal from me to proceed.
"Más é do thoil é" I murmured, English seeming so very foreign and crass somehow. I knew he would understand the look in my eyes, if not my words.
A/N: Más é do thoil é means please. This did not come out the way I had expected. I hope no one is disappointed. I will get back to the business at hand, I promise. This simply insisted on being written, and my Muses can be very pushy when they want to be. And yes, I am ending at a bad point again, but it's only because I love you all. (vbeg)