The heat is oppressive, and we’re driven inside seeking the solace of shade. In the stifling atmosphere of the kitchen you pour yourself a glass of water, sip the icy nectar to slake your thirst, but I have other plans.
My shadow casts on the wall as I approach; you are dwarfed, and have no time to prepare. I press against you, the bare, moist musculature of my chest against your back, my arms enfolding you, guiding the tumbler away from your lips and angling it with care. You anticipate the splash of mercurial water across your neck, your bikini-clad breasts, but it’s still a surprise when it comes.
You slip your finger into my open mouth and I close my plush lips around it, sucking, tasting the salt of your sweat, and your hands cup my breasts, tracing through the rivulets of water that washed away the natural gloss my pores provided. The cleanse will not last, for nature has shown her fiery mood today, and my own body responds in kind to your touch.
I want to sweat for you, to slip against you like oil, skate against your skin. I grind the cheeks of my buttocks against your shorts and feel you, all ready for me; you watched me bask in the glow of the sun and could not contain yourself. I know it’s all for me, and it makes it all the more a delight to feel.
Your tongue trails my shoulder, leaving a wet wake through the beads of moisture on my flesh, and you end the trail on my neck with a sharp nip and a lingering kiss.
The ropes of your hair drape between my fingers as I clench my hand and tilt your head back, savouring the gasp you release. I empty the last of the glass across your chest and imagine the water hisses as it hits the sun-heated floor. That is the last thing on my mind now; you are the fore, your taste and your scent, the wetness of your skin against mine.
My finger tips dive the plunge of your stomach to the cove below, seeking the hidden treasure nestled between your quivering thighs, peeling back the covering and cresting the moistening rise of your desire for me. You let me in and I find your most intimate pearl already waiting for attention. Your texture and your mewls strengthen the length that needs release.
I walk you to the couch and tip you across it, pinning you with my weight, the oily canvases of our bodies unified and one.
You are sensual, beautiful and caring so often, but I love when you are like this; animalistic and desperate. This is raw and right. I seethe as you arrive within my being, filling me so ably and thrusting to my core.
Your sweat splashes my spine and you steel yourself with my sodden locks. My flesh weeps with heat and exertion and you lap the tangy tincture away in slaloms of sensation. There’s silence but for the sound of wet flesh slapping and our primal, ragged breaths.
I tighten inexorably around you and I’m blinded by the heat of the moment when I howl my desire.
You shudder beneath me, every muscle twitching under your glistening bronze skin. You bury your face to mute the sound of your abandon and I feel you explode as I have done so many times before; a spray of natural mist coats my thighs and I cannot contain my own fluid delight.
I spill within you; a floodgate unhinged, pouring every drop in a torrent of intimate intrusion. We’re doused and drenched, saturated and stuck to one another by biology and lust. I cling to you as the final clammy inches of skin seal together. We’re a cocktail, mixed and blended, inseparable and complete.
The moisture cools but the heat remains, and I kiss the red welt I nipped on your neck, and forever refuse to peel myself away from you.
Cameron Lincoln. 2013.