Author: D'jaevle

It wasn’t subtle, the change, and it could be felt.

It was primal, a shifting of energy that imbued each movement with intent. Poised over the table, she slid lower, back arching as she leaned across the top with her hands flat on the warm wood. She was unafraid. It was in her eyes, unwavering as they watched. She had poured herself into feline form, limber and vibrant. She was on the edge and she liked it.

When I saw it begin ebb in her eyes, I wanted to reawaken it by burying my hand in the back of her hair and pulling her body taunt. Let the sharp suddenness ground her, the uncompromising nature of my grip drive the animal back into the light. I wanted to make it hungry.

I wanted to cage her and watch her claw her way out. Put her into heat and let own needs burn through her inhibitions. I wanted the fire in her blood to leave her cleansed of everything but the purity of self. And when the demanding hold of my hands on her hips is enough to make her slip lose from the tight moorings of time and place, when she presses back against me instinctively –

Then, then I will know.

Say it.

Say you need more.

Say you want it.

You hold onto the diving board while the water holds onto you. The feel of a body behind you, of hands tracing the lines of your suit, a finger sliding just under the edge of fabric, a tease, a tease that moves along the inside of your thigh. Soft breath on wet skin, moist neck. Lips find the curve of your neck, tongue following the rivulets of water drawing lines across your skin; a breath, teeth grazing your ear, the cool night draws shivers from skin too long exposed to the air and already blessed with goosebumps.

Dangerous, this, the rubbing of bodies as if trying to find friction, heat. Hands on your stomach as you press closer to the body along your back, the arms around you. Fingers move to arms, tease the straps, and you have to wonder how easily they slip off. Quite easily it turns out, as hands draw straps over shoulders, trace curves beneath the water to leave you bare.

For moments it is just the sound of treading water behind you, and then hands – hands not shy, nor hesitant – hands sure and strong that move up along your calves, the back of your legs, thighs, ass, hips. There is nothing between these hands and your wet skin, a fact taken full advantage of as fingers explore each curve, each crevice along the way to your waist, over your breasts, palms pressed in tightly to capture nipples, rub, roll, press, slowly – so slowly, letting the water support you as they find out just how sensitive the hardening tips are; fingers part, drawing outward and then releasing, again, and again, then lightly dancing lower over your naked stomach to where it meets the water.

You feel the body behind you slip under the water only to resurface in front of you. Hands move up under your legs, hook your knees over shoulders, folding you at the middle.

You hold onto the board tightly, close your eyes for just a moment to feel the difference between warm lips and cool skin as lips move up your thigh, small hungry kisses tasting the water from your skin. It does not take long until they find the smooth skin further in.

So close – you can feel his breathing, slightly faster, against you; kisses turn to nibbles, teeth grazing naked skin as they tease, nuzzling, holding you suspended there. Still, there is only so long before your arms tire, and he pauses in the game being played to breath you in before slipping out from between your legs.

Now it is your turn to sink beneath the water.

I stood behind her, draping the scarf over her head so that it settled against her throat. One hand gripped the ends of the scarf and the other pressed firmly on her back, forcing her down over the leather ottoman.

Resting a knee against her ass, I wound the scarf about her wrists and then tied the ends off. I tested the tension of the velvet fabric to make sure it was tight and then slid two fingers between the scarf and her neck to make sure she could still breath.

She could. But not easily. And the more she shifted, the harder it became.

I unsnapped the bra and drew the back of her black panties over her hips to the top of her thighs.

Now, she was ready.