Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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Night and Day ~ Original Work

Night and Day
by Snow


It is the middle of the night and I wake. I can feel him beside me. Our bed large enough that we do not run into each other in our dreaming, but small enough that the natural heat that radiates from his body makes covers almost superfluous. I turn, raising up on one elbow to look at him.

The moonlight through the large window spills over us and leeches the colors, leaves everything in shades of gray. It takes out the rich chestnut brown of his short hair, makes his tan skin pale. Hidden in the shadows I can hardly see his face. It does not matter. I have it memorized. His eyes, hidden now behind his too long for a man lashes, move as he dreams. His nose, his sharp cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw, covered in light beard stubble, grown since a long past early morning’s shave. My gaze falls to his soft, rich lips. I can’t ever look at his mouth without a tiny shiver running through me, thinking of all the joy he has given me with just that one part of his body.

I lean toward him, his strong masculine smell rising into me, earthy dark cinnamon, virile, stimulating. I want nothing more than to nuzzle my face into the warm hollow of his neck, rest my head on his broad shoulder.

The blanket is pushed down to his waist, one large callused hand fisted in it, the other lying invitingly open, palm up, beside me. Sparse hairs curl around his wrists and down his rounded arms. I watch his chest move. I can hear him breathing; slow, deep, even. I carefully untangle the down comforter from his grasp, pull it away from him, letting it settle around our knees. He sleeps naked and in the dim light I can see his softened cock laying off to the side of its nest of thick curly hair. The tanned skin of his muscular thighs contrast against the white of our sheets.

I drink in the view of this beautiful man.

I feel his hand moving, it touches my arm and I look back to his face. His eyes, open now, glitter as he looks at me.

“What are you doing?”

His low whisper coils around me. The edges of his lips curve up into a smile.

“Looking at you.”

I answer in a voice just as quiet, not wanting to break this spell. His fingers tighten on my arm. We stare at each other in the moonlight and I feel my own body temperature rise to meet his.

“Kiss me.”

I move without conscious thought at his request. Fall forward until I can taste the skin of his chest under my lips. Man flavored chocolate, salty and sweet. I start at his ribcage and I can hear his sharp intake of breath when I pause to tease a flat nipple with my teeth. I place feather light kisses on his collarbone, along the warmth of his throat. Then I rise above him, straddle him, knowing he can feel my wetness, my heat against his abdomen. I move my lips up, under his jaw, suck on his ear lobe. A shiver runs through him when I breathe in his ear.

I trace his hairline with my tongue and the soft spikes tickle my nose. The smell, the taste of his day trapped there. The faint traces of shampoo, cigarette smoke from a late business lunch, then his forehead, his eyebrows and his nose. Finally finding and worshiping his mouth. I am all business here. Not gentle, I devour him. Sucking, pulling, playing with his tongue, tasting his teeth, I forget to breathe.

I feel his hands on my head, tangle in my hair. He pulls me back an inch or two, stares at me. His light brown eyes are black in the dark. He shifts underneath me and suddenly I can feel his hardness press against my thigh.

I kiss him once more, unable to resist the impulse. Then I deliberately slide down him, his cock rubs against my abdomen, bumps my breasts, until it is nudging my chin. I dig my fingers into his hips, his muscles tight with need. I kiss his thighs, mouth his balls gently, letting only inadvertent touches fall on him. Then I feel his hands back in my hair, guiding me, asking me. Soft moans dragged from his throat. I let him move my head to meet his cock and kiss the wet head. It jumps under my lips and I smile. His hands fall away as I let him in, my mouth wet from the taste of him. I swirl my tongue against the silken skin, increase the suction, and try to take in his entire length, impossible.

I love this. I love the power it gives me, the control, the feel of him in my mouth, his flavor. I know that right at this moment I have his complete attention. His undivided focus. I have mini orgasms; small fires set to burn inside of me, little precursors to the main events just by giving him this pleasure.

I listen to his body, match his movements. He is sweating now, his soft moans change to a deep hum, a sound he never realizes he makes. My sound. He is almost there. I catch sight of his hands clenching at the sheets beside me as his thighs shake a bit with strain. His taste changes inside my mouth, bittersweet candy as he comes and I swallow it down. Still holding him in my mouth when he is done, letting him out just a bit at a time, he flinches at the intensity.

He pulls me up beside him. Then pushes me onto my back, he is leaning over me. I sometimes forget when he is beneath me or lying beside me just how big of a man he is. How strong he is.

He has the ability to fill a room with his presence, his charisma, and his personality. He will never let himself be ignored. Then when we are alone, when he opens himself up to only me I am his slave, his puppet. I am lost.

His face looms over me, his expression unreadable, he keeps his hands on my shoulders. I lift my head, try to kiss him, but he pulls back, denying me. He just stares into my eyes. I wonder what he is looking for. I can feel his still hard cock against my leg. I reach up to his shoulders, trying to pull him to me, but he is immovable. Then his lips turn in that slow smile that I can have entire dreams about and he leans down, kisses me, catches my lips in his teeth, fills my mouth with his tongue. His hands go to my breasts. His thumbs flick at my nipples and I arch my back, open my knees, inviting him in, begging him in. He just keeps kissing me, driving me crazy with need.

I am fucking the air, my sex pulsing, gasping at nothing. He languidly moves a hand down to my hips, puts his palm between my legs, covering me. He leaves my bruised lips finally, marks a trail of hot, open mouth kisses down to my breasts. He rubs the tip of one with his chin and jaw, rough short beard stubble, tingles of pain, teases me with his teeth, little bites and then, behind that the wet, soft heat of his tongue. I move against his palm, try to create some friction. He finally slips a finger inside of me, then two and I gratefully clench them, so ready. He stops, moving his head and his hand away.

I open my eyes and he is staring at me again, waiting for me to look back at him.

“I want to taste this.”

He says and drags his wet fingers up my belly, up the round of my breast to his mouth. He licks each one, as if coated with honey and I can feel the orgasm building unbelievably higher within me. I am positive that I am going to die.

I watch as he moves down the bed, settles below me, his face in between my legs. I am panting, aching. He puts his hands under my bottom, lifts the center of me to meet his mouth. His thumbs spread me wide. The room seems to spin and I have to close my eyes the instant his tongue touches me. He refuses to start a rhythm. He is random chaos, tasting, biting. I feel the heat of his tongue at my opening, inside me. He nibbles at my clit. Then his mouth is on the skin of my inner thigh, kissing.

I can barely hear my own pleading voice over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears. He acquiesces, slides his fingers back into me, twisting them up. His mouth sucking on my swollen nub and I explode into a million pieces. My mind shatters. He keeps it going on and on until I am begging him now to stop, please, to let me breathe.

He moves up over me and thrusts his cock inside of me without any warning. While I am still shaking. He fills me completely, going unbelievably deep, then draws back, all the way out and does it again. I grab onto him, wrap my legs around his hips, bringing his weight down onto me, needing him to cover me and to bury me beneath him. His face hidden against my neck, his breath burns my skin. His hands knead into my back, pulling me closer, forcing me to move to his rhythm. His actions grow rough, short. I tighten my inner muscles around him and I throb with orgasmic echoes. A new one suddenly comes along and I ride the wave helplessly. He cries out my name and I feel his jaw clenching as he overflows in me. His entire body shudders. I stroke his smooth back, hoping I did not draw blood with my fingernails.

We lay still and listen as our hearts beat against each other. I can barely breathe from his weight crushing me, but I do not want him to move, ever. Slowly he rolls off, onto his back and he pulls me with him. I rest my head on his chest, curl myself around him. He wraps his arms around me and I feel him kiss the top of my head.

“I love you.”

I hear his deep, quiet whisper once more before sleep claims us both again.


I see her in the sunlight. Perhaps she is the sun. Sometimes I find myself blinded by her radiance. I am sitting at our dining room table, supposed to be reading this script. To be ready for the next days shooting schedule, but she has moved into the light and I am distracted.

She had been sitting at her desk, writing. Her fingers dancing on the keyboard, her mind a thousand miles away, in whatever fictional world she is creating. Now she is standing at the window, her expression solemn, her blue eyes thoughtful. She runs her hands through her long hair, twisting a strand and all at once, my desire for her seizes me. I am suddenly, uncomfortably hard inside my jeans with need. As though she catches my thought, she turns and looks at me.

She smiles and I stand up. She is waiting for me, not moving as I walk into her light and stand in front of her. She closes her eyes, waiting, I think, for me to kiss her, but I just can not take my eyes off her face. I touch the back of one hand to her cheek, just to feel the softness. She peeks out from under half open eyelids, her expression questioning. I give in and kiss her. Her mouth is warm and I hold her neck in my hands, not trusting my self with them anywhere else, yet. Her kisses are like life to me. She says that I am the intense one. That I am the serious one, but she is the one that kisses me as if each time is the first, like she never has before.

I pull away and her quizzical look is back.

“I thought you were memorizing.” She says and I smile at her.

“I thought you were writing.”

She laughs and I see the dilated pupils of her eyes. I know now what was on her mind when she had stood up, got away from her writing. She is so easy to read. She had been thinking about me. She was thinking about sex. Perhaps I had caught her thoughts instead.

I begin slowly unbuttoning her sundress, exposing her luscious pale skin. Her light flowery perfume fills my senses as I let her clothing fall to the floor. I reach behind her, unhook her bra, release her breasts. As she reaches to pull my shirt off or to undo my pants, I shake my head and push her hands away gently.

“Not yet.”

I am rather enjoying this feeling of restraint, the cramped tightness of my crotch, of my jeans holding me in, keeping me down. I kiss her again, letting her play with me, suck my tongue, her mouth is hot and wet. She knows just how to turn me into an animal. Her animal. I break away from her lips and start down her neck, so soft. I bury my head in between her breasts, taste her lotion, the clean smell of her soaps. I slip a pale rose colored nipple in and out of my mouth, bite at the tip. She arches her back and puts her hands on my head, in my hair. I feel her tremble and I kiss her gently rounded belly as I move further down her body.

I slide her tiny, white silk panties down her legs, help her step out of them. I am on my knees now and I look up at her. She smiles, warm, loving and wanting. I gently push her legs apart. She is so wet already she practically drips on my fingers. I start slowly, wanting this to last. I taste her sharp salty flavor as she opens to me. Her hands grip the edges of her desk behind her, her thighs shaking a little as I fill her with my fingers, tease her with my tongue.

I could not get lost in her. I know her too well, but I always like to try.

I feel her body tighten, she is close to orgasm. She makes little, quiet whining sounds from the back of her throat as I push my fingers into her again, explore the little bumps and ridges. I turn my fingers just so, push up just a little more against her clit with my teeth and there, she’s gasping and crooning my name. I help her to stay standing with my free hand and arm. I can tell by the way her knees are shaking that they are threatening to drop her to the floor.

She pulls me up and kisses me, her hips undulating against my crotch, my thighs. In my jeans, my cock is now painfully restrained and I am beyond uncomfortable. I let go of her, take my clothes off and she pushes me back into her big desk chair. The leather might be cold against my back, but I cannot feel it. She starts to kneel down in front of me and I know she wants nothing more than to blow my mind, but I only want to be inside of her, right now.

I take her hands and pull her up into my lap. Lift her from the hips so that she straddles my lap, her legs on the arms of the chair, and then, slowly, oh, so slowly I lower her onto me. I watch my cock disappear into her. The feel of sliding into a delightfully hot, snug-fitting glove. Our motion in this position is limited and she falls against my chest, digs her hands into my shoulders as I move her. She starts helping by straining her thighs against the chair and I put one hand in between us, touching her clit with my fingers each time she comes down. A reward for each time she takes my cock all the way inside of her. She becomes impossibly tighter inside and as I stroke her, she trembles. I let my head fall back and close my eyes, drowning in the overwhelming rush that flows through my body. She rubs her breasts against my chest, her nipples hard. I feel her frantically kissing my neck, my face, finally my lips. I hear her voice as she cries for me to let her come and for me to come inside of her.

I do, and then she does.

I hold her there, in my arms. I grow soft inside of her as our sweat dries and our breathing slows. I feel the strong, familiar emotions surge inside of me, fill me. The intensity of it both scares and comforts me.

I would do any thing for her.

I would die for her.

“I love you.”

I hear her soft whisper in my ear, before we redress and our work lays claim to both of us again.


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