Moondance

June 21, 2012

He eyes you from across makeshift floor, makes his way over, sly smile reaching right up to his eyes as he offers his hand to you. ‘May I?’ he asks as your hand comes out to greet his, as he sweeps you effortlessly from your seat and leads you towards the the makeshift dance floor. His fingers entwine with yours while his other hand fits into the small of your back, warm against the silk of your dress, hot where his fingers graze the bare skin of your back. 

You fall into an easy rhythm, hips swaying against his in a dance that feels familiar, intimate. He smiles easily at you and under the soft, twinkling lights you notice the grey of his sandy blonde hair, the crinkle of skin around his blue eyes, the lived in feel of his body against yours. Your heart skips a beat when his hand glides from your back to your hip, when he pulls away from you and sets you into a spin; twirls you away from him only to reel you quickly back in, flush against his hard body once more. 

He whispers in your ear then, ‘beautiful’, a simple word that lights you aflame, settles soft against your skin. His fingers entangle yours as he leads you gracefully away from the dance floor, no longer willing to share you with the music, until you’re pressed up against bark, shrouded by low lying, weeping branches and leaves, his hands on either side of your face as he leans in and ghosts his lips over yours, drawing back only to flash you that smile once more before he leans in again, his lips moving this time down your neck and his hands up your legs, rough over silk and skin. 

You feel his smile against your skin as he eases two fingers into your wet heat, feel his chuckle at your shudder. ‘You’re ready for me’ he says in that commanding voice and before you can answer he’s moving thick fingers inside of you, rubbing his thumb over your clit. You wrap your leg around him, pulling him closer still, gasping with each thrust of his fingers, with each push of his thumb. His hand withdraws and you whimper, mourning the loss until he wraps your legs around him, pushes longer, harder heat up into you. 

You feel your back scratch against the rough bark with each thrust, hear the rip of precious silk against the tough grain. Smooth, gentle strokes become rough, erratic thrusts, his bit back groan against your ear the only warning before he stills. Your heart is in your throat, the blood pumping thick in your ears, drowning out the faint music as he moves to his knees between your trembling legs. 

He looks up at you with heat in his eyes, this sated man, before he leans in to taste you, to devour you like some sort of sweet treat, his tongue pushing you over that edge and into oblivion not once but twice, in quick succession, his strong arms holding you in place, keeping you from falling. He moves gracefully back up your body, unhesitating in moving his lips over yours, sharing your combined tastes with you even as he smooths down your dress, rights himself. He whispers again in your ear, ‘thank you for the dance’, and kisses your hand before he parts, not a glance back in your direction.

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