The Sun has abandoned the sky.
The stir fry and brandy in our bellies has settled into drowsiness.
There's nothing on television.
This is my favorite part of evening.
Stripped from our clothes, we're transfixed by the rhythm of our kisses...the tenderness of our touch...the sensation of nude flesh upon nude flesh. I'm wearing only a pair of black briefs and black, sheer dress socks that are almost high enough to reach my knees. Draping my legs across his lap, I've have no idea how long we've been kissing. Trading affirmative moans, his "Hmmmmm," translates to, "I like this." His "yeah," translates to, "Don't stop."
Sliding our slippery tongues across each other, my deep sigh articulates the appreciation I have for this moment. I typically don't like to make out for this long, but the way his strong arms wrap around me...the way his hands are massaging my back makes me want to reside in his mouth forever. Drawing deeper and deeper into each other, our closeness strikes us blind.
There's a reason why I do not remove my underwear. Long after he's been naked and erect. Long after serving his body from head to toe, there's a sweet reason behind remaining clothed. My anticipation aches as his fingertips glides between my briefs and skin. Teasing me, he knows that I love the feeling of satin dragging across my new found nudity. Grabbing a handful of my ass, a whimper escapes from mouth into his. Sliding my underwear from my hips, he slowly travels down my thighs, over my knees, before taking them off completely.
Deeply inhaling my cock, his hands dances around my ankles and along my shins. There is something incredibly sensuous about having my socks removed. I gasp loudly as he slowly rolls the fabric off my right leg. Stripping off my socks translates to me, "I want to see more of you." I feel completely available to him. I feel as delicate as the silk socks now on the floor. This is my favorite part of the evening.