Candles, Dancing, and Dot Dot Dot
CANDLES, DANCING, AND DOT DOT DOT
Willow
I gasp at the battery-operated candles illuminating Bronx’s living room. “Is all this for me?”
“Wait …” Without releasing my hand, Bronx leads me to a record player, and within seconds a sultry jazz sound fills the room. “May I have this dance?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He twirls me out of his jacket and into his body, my right hand in his left, his left arm around my waist as his hand slowly caresses the top of my ass. I close my eyes and allow him to rock my body. I always feel safe when sleeping in his arms, but as Bronx holds me while we dance, I feel cherished. I feel as if he had the choice out of all the women in the world, and he still chose me.
When the next song starts, so do his hands. Fingers send shivers up and down my spine as they walk up my arms, only stopping when they reach the edge of my dress.
“May I?” he asks. I respond by unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his trousers. He drops the dress sleeves over my arms, helping me undress until I’m dancing in my shoes and underwear.
I've laid next to his naked chest so many nights, but this is different. This time, I can touch him knowing that there's no pulling back. He can press against my almost naked body and know neither one of us needs to apply the brake. Tonight, there’ll be no stopping.
When he kisses me, I feel an urgency that I've never felt before. This is different. This is special. This is my last first time, I just know it. There will never be another man like Bronx, not for me. I thought I loved the image but that man had only been a fantasy. Bronx, the man in my bed and in my heart is the real deal. He is everything I want in a partner, and in the father of my future children. He is It, and the thought is terrifying and exhilarating.
“Unfair,” I murmur, tearing my mouth from his so I can concentrate on removing his trousers. “I’ve waited long enough.”
Bronx flips the LP and leads me to his bedroom where there are more candles.
“You’ve gone all out.”
“You’re worth it.”
Gently, he lays me under the bed adoring me with his eyes. “You are so beautiful.”
I feel beautiful when he looks at me. I never feel ashamed about my curves or feel the need to suck in my stomach as he kisses me down my breasts and towards my core.
“So beautiful,” he says, reverently cupping my breasts and plying them with even kisses. “These are so beautiful.”
I don’t know what to say, so I pull his face back to mine and hunt for his lips, loving how my hunger is returned. His hands continue to roam freely around my body. I try to tease him by playing with his pecs and counting abs when we both know that it is his dick that deserves my attention.
Kisses, more kisses. With each kiss, I feel more wanting … more needy … more anxious to feel what it’s like to be completely Bronx’s. “Please, I want you to make love to me.”
He reaches over to the nightstand and hands me a condom.
“Don’t you want to do it?” I push the plastic wrapper back into his hand.
“Would you hold it against me if I’m out of practice?”
“What?” Hiding my surprise, I tear open the wrapper.
“Ooh, please tell me that’s the only thing you’ll be doing with your teeth,” he jokes. “Seriously, I haven’t done this in forever.”
“Because she left you, and …”
“No one before you.”
His words mean more than I can express, so I concentrate on unrolling the condom, hold it to his tip, and realize I've done it all wrong.
“I’m so sorry.” I throw my head back in exasperation. “Way to kill the mood – I’m not an expert at these things, either.”
“Do they come with instructions?” He laughs, and rolls me onto my back, straddling me with his erection lying on my stomach. “You know, you put the erect dick in and take the erect dick out, you put the erect dick in and you shake it all about.”
“You what would be more useful than singing about it?” I tease, “looking up a YouTube or TikTok channel on how to do this.”
“You don’t like my singing?” He finally has the condom rolled down his impressive shaft.
“I’m sure you have other talents.” I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss me. I don’t care that his long limbs have to untangle themselves while he gets settled between my legs. “But singing isn’t one of them.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you.” He does a push-up, kissing me on the down stroke and pulling up to tease me with his dangling erection. “You make everything fun. You make me laugh, and you make me want to enjoy life to the max.”
Did he say he loves me? No. He said it was one of the things he loves about me , not that he loves me. But if he did, would I say it back? Yes. No. It’s too soon. It’s never too soon . It’s too soon. But, do I love him ? If I don’t love him, then, I’m well on the way. He has all the qualities I respect in a man, and there’s no reason not to love him.
Do I love him? The answer comes back to me as clear as day, yes. I can’t tell him the words, but tonight, I’ll show him. I’ll show him with our kisses, our touch, and all the minutes where it is just us and no one else matters.
“Then, enjoy me to the max.”
Even though I do everything to get him inside me, Bronx takes control and puts my pleasure first. The most I can do is stroke him while he lazily adores my body from the soft skin around my neck, down to my breasts which appeared to need special attention, and then dives lower.
When he covers his mouth over my sex and starts to play me with his tongue, I grab his other hand. I need something in my mouth and since I don’t dare disrupt his position, his fingers will have to do. As one hand plays around my folds, I start sucking his thumb.
“Oh, yeah, baby.” His mouth and fingers combine in a symphony that has no music as he works my body into a frenzy. My back arches, my hips buck, and I almost break his hand as I squeeze my legs together through the orgasm. I can’t remember anyone other than Bronx who put me first.
After he slowly brings me back down to earth, he spreads my legs to lick away my juices, in no hurry to take his pleasure. But what he doesn’t know is that his pleasure is also for me.
“Please make love to me,” I ask with urgent need, releasing his thumb and pulling him into position.
“Are you sure?”
“Do you want it in writing?” I banter back. “Because I have a skywriter on speed dial.”
“Funny girl.” He pauses, poised over me, holding his erection at my entrance. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, so forgive me if it’s not my best effort.”
There’s nothing to forgive. Bronx starts gently, watching my face for any cues. But with little urging, he starts to lose himself in my body, closing his eyes and then opening them to catch mine. Riding me hard, and then backing off as if he doesn’t want to explode too soon.
But when he reaches between us and touches my clit, I feel like I’m riding a roller coaster carriage that’s flown off the edge. My body shudders and shakes with a second orgasm, and I don’t know what to do. I pulse and squeeze around him, while he ups his pace, which only heightens my sensations.
And just like that, he joins me, grunting to his release as I relax beneath him, completely spent.
“Mmm,” I say, kissing one cheek and then the other while he’s still catching his breath. “If that wasn’t your best effort, then I think we should do it again.”
If he knows me at all, the satisfied look on my face should tell him I’m joking, and he does. “Funny girl.”
Bronx leads me to the bathroom where a new toothbrush and my toothpaste are already waiting. We shower and my gel is already next to his. And when I get out, he has two luxurious towels waiting—one he wraps around me, while the other is for my hair.
“What do you want to sleep in?” he asks as we stand at the foot of the messy bed.
“You.”