Come See, Come Saw
“I want to see you come,” he whispered dreamily.
In the heady darkness of his bedroom, it was difficult to see where one body ended and the other one began. Her arm was pinched awkwardly between her ribs and his chest, which was easy enough to ignore when swept up in the aftermath of conjoined bliss.
He nuzzled into the crook of her neck while she lay sprawled out on her back. The scruff of his beard harmonized with the soft puff of his breath on her skin as she reached down between her legs.
A reprise: “I want to see you come, ma chérie.”
She smiled into the dark and said nothing. Her fingers already danced circles around her throbbing clit.
He traced shivers into the belly of her inner thigh with the backs of his fingers. Her demanding pulse clashed with his as he began to drift away from her. Despite his continued affectionate, albeit sleepy presence and lazy caresses, she knew it was unlikely that he’d bear witness to her release that night. She carried on with due diligence all the same; her patience always yielded great rewards.
She admired his conviction. But her predictions were right on the mark. Before long, the quiet growl that roiled under his every inhale betrayed him. He was lost to her for the night.
No matter. She paused to kiss him gently on the cheek and took the opportunity to wet her index and middle finger, coating them with another thick coat of her slick saliva. She resumed the coy, constant motion around her hardened bud.
The stable warmth of his palm still resting on her thigh coaxed slow contractions from her inner walls. They reached at the memory of how he stretched and filled her just right not moments ago.
His gentle breath was hot and prickly on her neck. She breathed quiet and deep through the tingles he evoked. She was motionless save for the precise clockwork rotation from the knuckle of her second hand.
Round and round and round she goes…
This was one of her favourite games: can she make herself come without waking him?
The game was no slight to him. He was amongst her most generous and enthusiastic lovers. Even so, she tended to need a little more than he could give. And there was something extra wickedly delicious about deliberately launching herself over the edge while he lay next to her, blissfully unaware of the quaking pleasure she took for herself in the dead of night.
She squirmed through tiny micro-gyrations from her hips and lower back, inviting as much juicy tension into every corner of her body as she could while keeping their mattress disruption to a minimum. She splayed her knees as far apart as they could go without pressing into him and dipped one finger into the wetness at her core, painting her lips with her own unique palette.
She grinned to herself. This build was decadent. Contemptuously slow. Just the way she liked it. Making time for torture was one of life’s ultimate luxuries.
Her careful circles soon became jagged, more discerning flicks back and forth over the slick, puckered flesh. She willed her walls to collapse in on themselves over and over in tandem with the rhythm of her hand. Every time they did, the space between her eyes twitched on its own; the pressure pursed around the bridge of her nose and under her eyelids to match the pulse in her clit. Her neck pulled taut as she pressed her skull into the pillow. She bit her lip, catching her rising bliss in her mouth before it could seep out. She whimpered through her pursed lips, even clasped her free hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.
In that instant, she was consumed by her sleeping lover’s restricting bear hug. The shock sent her left hip into spasm and she missed the wave of pleasure she was hoping to catch entirely. She watched it slip away from her and crash into the rocks on the other side of the room.
She turned to her side to fold into him from behind. Even in his slumber, he kept his arm draped protectively around her centre, locking her climax in until morning.