Too Close to Love (A tale of unrequited love)

This is a short story of eroticism, unrequited love and boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed between best friends. Warning: sexually explicit.

Sexually Explicit

They were the best of friends; they were the worst of friends. He loved her like a lover; she loved him like a brother.

“You ready yet?” he called out.

“Nearly.” she replied, unhurriedly.

She had showered first. When she’d finished they’d passed in the passageway that separated their bedrooms. She had wrapped herself clumsily in a fluffy yellow towel that started just above her small, firm breasts and finished just below her cute, bare bottom; and as she brushed past him, he was so tempted to give it a tug so he could see her still damp, glistening naked body. He didn’t of course.

He had showered, shaved, dried, brushed his teeth, dressed and applied her favourite aftershave liberally to his smooth face, and now he stood outside her partly open bedroom door. It was directly opposite his own room, or, more correctly, her guest room. He stayed at her place often enough to be considered more than just a passing house guest, but he didn’t live with her, so it wasn’t strictly ‘his’ room.

He could never understand why it took her so long to get ready; it wasn’t as if she wore a lot of make-up. She didn’t need to; she had a natural beauty and a pleasantly ruddy complexion resulting from her healthy country lifestyle.

“I’m starving.” she said from beyond the door.

“Well hurry up then.” he replied.

He had stood here many a time, waiting. Sometimes she left the door open so they could chat more openly as she got herself ready. He had watched her getting dressed and she had been unflustered, unconcerned, that he was observing. He wondered if she even knew he was looking, or what effect her partly clothed body was having on him. In fairness, she was always at least partly clothed, in all the years he had known her, he had never seen her completely naked.

There was a mirror in the bedroom, opposite the gap in the door, which allowed him to watch her reflection even when he couldn’t see her directly. In a way this voyeuristic view was often more exciting, more compelling, than seeing her openly. He watched her tonight thrilled even though she was fully dressed and was only sitting at the end of her bed brushing her hair. He was intoxicated just watching her.

There had occasionally been times when she had invited him into the inner sanctuary of her bedroom, but, like a vampire, he never crossed the threshold unless she asked him to. He sometimes took her in a morning cup of tea when she was still in bed, but he always knocked on the door first, and she always pulled the bedclothes around her when he entered. He doubted that she slept au naturel, but he often courted the notion of pulling back her covers to find out. He didn't of course.

One evening she was struggling with the clasp on her silver necklace, and he’d been summoned in to help. She must have noticed his trembling fingers as he fumbled with the catch. She sat in front of her dressing table mirror in an un-buttoned blouse and uncovered bra, holding her silky blondish hair up to expose her smooth neckline to make things easier for him as he clumsily tried to do up the fastener. He so wanted to bend over and kiss her sleek, tender neck. Or run his shaky fingers down her front, into her bra and caress her nipples. He didn’t of course.

One time she’d called him in to help her off with her boots after a convivial night out. She had laid back on her bed as he’d pulled each of her boots off in turn, and then removed her socks - noticing that they weren't a matching pair. They were both a bit tipsy and he caressed her toes and tickled her feet; she giggled. He lightheartedly kissed her big toes and sucked at them suggestively. Teasingly he stood at the bottom of her bed and undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. He’d joked, “I hope you’re ready for this.” He could quite easily have gotten on top of her and removed more than just her footwear. He didn’t of course. She laughed and playfully tossed a pillow at him as he left, dispirited.

And on yet another occasion she had screamed for him to come in. He had been getting ready himself so he’d rushed in wearing just his boxers, wondering what on earth could have happened. He’d found her standing on her bed clutching a pillow tightly to her body, in only her bra and panties, pointing under the bedside cabinet. He guessed at once what it was – a spider; her worst phobia, apart, that is, from flying. He lay down on the floor next to the bed and spotted the arachnid, just a small beastie that he was able to cup in his hands. He stood up and smiled, “Got the blighter!” Holding out his clasped hands to indicate where it was; she shrank back in genuine fear, clutching the pillow even tighter. He knew there and then that, such was her dread of creepy-crawlies, if he threatened to release the spider on to her bed unless she stripped naked, she would have quite willingly tossed the pillow aside, removed her black lacy bra, pulled down her tiny panties and showed him absolutely everything rather than face her irrational fear of the tiny creature cupped in his hands. The bulge in his boxers urged him to do it; he didn’t, of course.

And one time they’d been out for the day paint-balling to celebrate her birthday. On the way home she’d complained about a pain in her leg where she’d been shot. No sooner had they got indoors than she’d undone her tight, blue jeans and pulled them down to her knees, right there in front of him.

“There.” she said, “See?”

He was too pre-occupied taking in the completely unexpected view of her pale blue panties to immediately notice the bruise on her leg. But there it was, a deep red circular contusion on her inner thigh just below her panty-line.

“That looks sore.” he’d said, then half-jokingly, given the proximity of the wound to her crotch, he’d added, “Want me to put some arnica cream on it?”

To his surprise – and disbelief – she’d said, “Would you?”

He’d quickly found the medication before she had time to change her mind. He’d squeezed a little of the gel onto his fingertips and started to gently rub it onto the wound. One small slip now and his fingers could be inside her panties rubbing something completely different to her leg. Oh, how he wanted to; but he didn’t of course.

She finished brushing her hair, flung the brush casually onto the bed and started gathering her things together in a small clutch bag – she was nearly ready. He stepped back from the doorway as she approached, although he knew she didn’t seem to mind him watching, he always felt somewhat guilty, and he didn’t want to make it too obvious that he’d been observing her.

“You look gorgeous.” he said, as she emerged. He said it meaningfully, as he always did, and she accepted a tiny peck on the cheek.

“You smell nice.” she retorted casually and made her way to the door.

A compliment he thought, things are looking up! She threw him his car keys.

“You drive.” she said, “I feel like a drink.”

He caught the keys and followed her to his car.

“Where are we going?” he said, as he lowered himself into the driver’s seat of his red VW.

“You choose. I’m easy” she replied, as she climbed in beside him, immediately turned on the radio and re-tuned it to a music station more in keeping with her taste. ‘If only you were.’ he thought as he fired up the engine and pulled out of the drive, scattering loose gravel.

They were fortunate in that, though she lived in the country, they had a choice of acceptable eateries within easy driving distance. Tonight was not a special occasion but nor was it a time for fast food. He chose a nearby pub that served more than simply basic ‘pub-grub’ but did not have pretensions of being a restaurant.

As he drove, they chatted about mutual friends and caught up with idle gossip. Occasionally she turned the radio up when a favourite song of hers came on the radio, and he surreptitiously turned it down again using the steering wheel mounted controls. It wasn’t long before he swung the car into the pub car park.

They entered the pub and were pleased to see that it was relatively quiet; neither of them enjoyed crowds. He made his way to the bar whilst she claimed a corner table. He ordered her a gin and tonic with ice, no lemon – her usual aperitif. He ordered himself a pint of the guest beer. The barmaid was young, attractive, and efficient. He asked if he could set up a tab and if they could order some food. She obliged on both counts saying she would bring menus over to their table and pointing out today’s ‘specials’ written in copperplate gothic text on a blackboard above the inglenook fireplace.

He wandered over to the corner table where his companion sat absorbed in a text message on her phone.

“Important?” he questioned as he sat down opposite her and placed the G & T on the table.

“No.” she said looking up. She picked up her drink and said, “Cheers!” clinking her glass with his. “Boy, I’m Hank!” she continued. He smiled; it was one of her favourite expressions: Hank Marvin = starving.

He loved moments like these. Those times when they were alone together, just the two of them - like a ‘normal’ couple. He sipped his beer and looked across the table at her. She had a pleasing smile on her face which was nearly always present; certainly, without it she would be less attractive, plain even. Her teeth sparkled white, and her cheeks were dimpled. Her eyes were bright, and her complexion ‘out-door’ healthy. Sometimes she wore her hair in a small ponytail, held in place with an elasticated scrunchie. Tonight, however, it hung loose at her shoulders. It was slightly too dark to be blond, but too light to be brown, and yet ‘fair’ didn't do it justice.

She wore a pink and white stripy cotton blouse unbuttoned at the neck to reveal just a hint of cleavage. She’d gotten on a silver necklace that he’d extravagantly bought her from Tiffany’s as a birthday present.

“I’m glad to see you’re wearing the necklace I gave you.” he said.

“I wear it most of the time.” she smiled and played with it with her fingers. If she’d added, ‘It reminds me of you.’ he would have been delighted. She didn’t, of course.

She was dressed casual tonight; the way he preferred. As well as the blouse, she had on tight-fitting, faded blue denim jeans and a pair of tan leather cowboy boots. She smelt delightful. She was wearing expensive scent from Penhaligons – again a present from him when he’d been feeling particularly generous.

He often wondered if she knew of his feelings for her. Of course, she knew he loved her – after all, he’d told her often enough. He knew his was a tale of unrequited love. But did she realise how much he desired her as well? Could she sense his inner urges that he fought so hard to suppress? How his stomach tightened when he was with her? Even now, just watching her across the table, his member was aroused.

The waitress appeared with two menus and handed them out. She turned to leave but he stopped her.

“Actually, I think we’re ready to order.” he said, after a cursory glance at the menu, he continued, “We’d like a sirloin steak, medium rare, with peppercorn sauce and chips, and a Chicken Caesar Salad please. Oh, and can we have a bottle of Rosé wine as well please?”

The waitress scribbled down their order in a small notebook and left, taking the menus with her. She soon reappeared with two glasses and a bottle of Rosé – a young, pale, rather feminine, Cotes De Provinces, delicate and refreshing. It would complement the Caesar Salad rather better than the steak. She put the bottle and the glasses on the table and left – no formalities here of a taste to see if it was to their liking. He poured his companion a large glass and himself about half a glass.

“Are we celebrating?’ she questioned and raised the glass to take a sip.

“I thought you deserved it after your busy week. Cheers!” They clinked glasses again.

They chatted for a while longer, the way old friends do; about nothing in particular. He always listened intently to her, absorbed in her words. Sometimes he thought she didn’t listen to him at all, that she was distracted, or even, perhaps, disinterested. Tonight, they were both engaged; he seemed a little different to her which aroused her interest; he was more intense perhaps?

Soon the waitress returned with the food. She put the steak down in front of him and the Caesar Salad down in front of his female companion. They looked at each other and smiled a shared, knowing look. He picked up the plates and swapped them over.

“I’m sorry.” the waitress apologised.

“Obvious mistake to make.” he reassured her.

The waitress left them.

“Good to see that sexual stereotypes pervade all walks of life.” he said to his companion, then continued, “How’s your steak?”

“Delicious. As it always is here.” she said, taking a mouthful of the juicy meat.

They dined in near silence. He poured her another glass of wine and topped his own glass up, though he’d hardly touched it.

“You trying to get me tipsy?” she giggled and took a swig.

"Don’t forget, I’m driving.” he said, by way of explanation, taking a sip from his glass.

They followed their mains with desserts: him a Banoffee Pie, and her a Sticky Toffee Pudding. They tried each other’s desserts, the way that couples do, holding out spoonfuls for the other to sample. They agreed that the Banoffee was the best choice and she ended up eating more of it than him.

He recalled one time when they’d had a friendly dispute about where Banoffee Pie had originated from. He had said Sussex and she was convinced it came from the States. She’d challenged him: “I bet you twenty pounds I’m right.”

He was fairly sure he was correct, so he had accepted the bet and jokingly added, “Lets make it interesting – twenty pounds and our clothes.”

She’d looked at him puzzled, “How do you mean?” she quizzed.

Teasingly he’d said, “If you’re right I give you twenty quid and I‘ll strip off; if I’m right you do the same.”

She had looked at him suspiciously, “‘What? Everything?”

“Of course. You seem confident, so you’ll see me butt naked!” he said. She had giggled and proffered her hand. “OK! You’re on!” she said, and they shook on it. They looked up the answer on her smart phone and he was proved correct.

He smiled, “Looks like you’ll be stripping. And it’ll me seeing you naked.” She didn’t, of course.

He still smiled recalling the incident and thought ‘if only’.

Tonight, anyone watching them in the candle-lit corner table would have thought they were lovers on a romantic night out. The truth was that they had become too close as friends for their relationship to develop into anything more intimate. The frustration for him was sometimes overwhelming.

When it came time to go, he paid on his credit card, adding the appropriate gratuity. They took with them the half-drunk bottle of Rosé. She turned the radio up on the way home; this time he didn’t turn it down. She sang along to a familiar tune. He loved it when she was happy, contented.

It was still quite early when they got home, but even so he was concerned she would make her excuses and go straight to bed – after all, she had had a busy week. He held out the bottle of Rosé.

“Small nightcap before we go to bed?” he asked, “I can join you now that we’re home.” he continued.

“Why not?” she said. “Thank you for a nice evening.” She leant forward and gave him a small peck on the cheek. It made him tingle with excitement.

He went into the kitchen to get the glasses. Fortunately, she didn’t follow him. He found two wine glasses and set them on the worktop. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t there. To make doubly sure he called out, “What are you doing?”

She replied, from the lounge, that she was checking her laptop for emails.

He fumbled in his pocket and located what he was searching for. With trembling hands, he surreptitiously dropped two of the little white capsules into her wine. He stirred it with a teaspoon and then smelt it: perhaps just a faint hint of fresh peach and pear – the fruitiness of the wine - nothing suspicious.

He wondered as casually as he could into the lounge. He found her at her desk, logging off the laptop. He passed her a glass.

“You’re shaking.” she observed, as she took the proffered drink.

His nerves were getting the better of him; it was more than his hands that were trembling. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t bear to watch her drink. He made up some excuse about leaving the fridge open and hurried back to the kitchen feeling nauseous. His mind was racing. Had he really done it? How long should he wait? He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall, and at the watch on his wrist. He waited a full ten minutes. There was silence from the rest of the bungalow. This re-assured him – at least she hadn’t collapsed. He surely would have heard her fall if she had? He determined to wait another five minutes and watched the second hand on the wall clock slowly rotate. Five minutes eventually passed, and he decided to give it another two, just for luck. Still no sound from the rest of the house.

He took a small sip of wine to help calm his nerves; set down his glass on the table and slowly, silently, left the kitchen. He didn’t know why he crept; it just seemed like the right thing to do. As he reached her bedroom he habitually glanced furtively in the partly open door. Her light was on. What he saw made him stop in his tracks. He gently pushed the door open. Without needing to step into the bedroom he could see her.

She was lying on the top of the bed, on her back, fully clothed. From the doorway he couldn’t tell if she was awake or not. He whispered her name; just loud enough for her to hear if she’d been awake but soft enough not to wake her if she were asleep. No response. For the first time ever, he entered that inner sanctum without being asked.

He approached the bed with trepidation. He whispered her name again, slightly louder this time, but not much. Still no reaction. He was close enough now to see her clearly. Her head rested on the pillow, and her hair had spread out to frame her gorgeous features. She looked angelic, innocent, vulnerable. Her arms lay close to her sides, relaxed. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was formed into the smile he knew so well. He lightly swept a wisp of hair from her forehead. She didn’t stir. The slight rise and fall of her chest was the only detectable movement.

He tentatively brushed the cotton material of her shirt where it pulled tight over her breasts; it was the closest he'd ever come to actually touching them. Seeing her so defenceless was empowering. He touched her breasts through her shirt a little bit firmer this time. He could sense she was wearing a slightly padded bra; he did think her breasts were more pronounced than normal. It was such a turn on seeing her lying there at his mercy, like a helpless doll, seemingly his to do as he wished with. He laid the back of his hand on her cheek, her skin felt so soft. He could feel her warm breath against his hand. She still didn't move. He lifted up her arm, it felt limp. He rested it carefully back on the bed.

Reassured he moved to the bottom of the bed, a plan forming in his head. He bent over her and pulled one of her leather cowboy boots off; like he had done before. He was surprised how easy it came off. He had expected her feet to be stiff, to offer resistance, but they flexed and allowed the boot to slide off effortlessly. He stood the boot down carefully on the floor at the base of the bed and slid the other boot off too. If she had awoken whilst he was removing her boots, he figured it was a plausible action on his part – to make her more comfortable. As it was, she didn’t awake; she just laid there, seemingly comatose and powerless.

He looked down at her feet and smiled. She was wearing odd socks. One pink with white hoops, the other blue with gold stars; at least they were both ankle socks. That summed her up really. She was a selection-box of contradictions. And it was one of the reasons he loved her so much. He pulled both socks off and tucked them into the discarded boots at the foot of the bed. He lightly tickled the soles of her feet, if anything was going to rouse her surely that would? She didn't stir.

He moved to the side of the bed and took a deep breath. His actions so far were credible, excusable, if he went any further, he’d find it difficult to justify. He looked again at that serene face and determined to carry on. He bent over and kissed her tenderly on the lips; as far as he could recall it was the first time in all these years that their lips had touched. Although she was enchanting, a real-life Princess Aurora, he hoped his kiss wouldn’t awaken his sleeping beauty. Like the evil witch in a pantomime, he had other plans.

With wavering fingers, he undid the upper-most button on her blouse. She didn’t stir. The next followed and then the next until her stripy shirt was completely undone. He opened it up to reveal her plain white bra and taut, firm stomach. He let his fingers just touch her breasts fleetingly and felt his own stomach tighten up with the sensation; he could sense the blood rushing to his groin in anticipation. Getting her shirt off was no easy operation; if anything was going to wake her, this would. It didn’t. Her body was pliable, and he found he could move her enough to get her arms out of the sleeves if not easily, at least reasonably. He looked down at her and took in the splendor of her form. He’d seen her in just a bra before, but he’d never really had the opportunity to look as close as this, to study her body, to immerse himself in her beauty.

He was practiced at rolling her onto her side now and repeated the task so that he could unfasten the clip of her bra. He surprised himself with the ease at which he achieved this, despite his trembling fingers. He rolled her over so that once again she was flat on her back. With wavering hands, he slowly removed her bra. Once it was off he positioned her hand up by her head so that he could see her breasts better. He had never seen her bare breasts before. To his mind they were flawless. Not too big but pert and perfectly shaped. For the first time ever he cupped them in his hands and squeezed gently, they felt firm but suggestively malleable in his hands. He bent over and softly kissed each of her nipples in turn. He was surprised that, despite her stupor, her nipples were firm, erect, as if she too was aroused. As his tongue worked around them she gave a slight moan which made him jump back. But she stirred no more, and reassured, he bent over once again and gave her breasts another gentle squeeze. She was smiling as if she was enjoying the moment despite being out cold.

He moved towards the foot of the bed and once more took in the splendor of her slim, fit body. She had what in past times would have been described, not disparagingly, as a pear or ‘A-shaped’ figure. Her hips were wide and, in common with the body type, she tended to have a relatively large, though not displeasing, rear, thickish thighs, and a comparatively smallish bust. Her abdominal muscles were well-formed and described a ‘V’ that drew the eye from her toned stomach to her pubic region.

With shaky hands he undid the top button of her tight, blue jeans. He unzipped them and opened the denims up to expose a small triangle of her white panties. He let his fingers fleetingly touch the exposed silky material before moving to the foot of the bed. He pulled at the legs of her jeans, and although they were close-fitting, they came down readily enough. Once they were off, he looked at her outstretched body clothed only in a pair of tiny panties. He was delighted. He knew that she was not averse to sometimes wearing ‘boy-pants’ but tonight she had chosen a sexy, white g-string of satin material that barely covered her special area, they were oh-so feminine with a cute little bow on the front. He wondered if she’d selected them just for him, but he knew that she hadn’t, of course.

He reached forward and gently took hold of her white g-string with both hands, one each side. He took a deep, slow intake of breath. He had dreamt of this moment for years and now, finally, it had arrived. Slowly, smoothly he pulled her tiny panties down, inch by slow inch, not wishing to rush, savouring every second, until her most private parts were fully exposed. He was delighted to see that, just as he had anticipated – as he had always imagined – she was fully shaved and her pubic region was delightfully smooth. She had a small, tight pussy, that was rose pink. He pulled down her panties completely and removed them over her feet. He stood in wonderment, admiring her fully naked form. Many can be disappointing nude, but she was gorgeous, just as he knew she would be.

If he had stopped there, he would have been more than satisfied. Seeing her naked was beyond his wildest dreams. But he couldn’t stop; his innermost urges had been aroused – testosterone had kicked-in. Still standing at the foot of her bed he quickly undressed himself. Pulling down his boxers he was delighted – even surprised – by the size and firmness of his erection. Her affect on him was obviously more potent than any blue pills. Even though she would know nothing about it, he did not want to feel he’d let her down; had disappointed her. He so wanted to pleasure her, to let her experience his virility.

Just for a moment, as he stood there with his manhood pointing out imposingly in front of him, he thought he saw a flickering on her face, perhaps her eyes blinked slightly open, her nose twitch? He looked closely; there was no further movement on her face, just that delightful smile, which if anything, was even more conspicuous. Perhaps she was dreaming? Perhaps she was even dreaming of him? Of course she wasn't.

Taking hold of her ankles he eased her legs apart so that he had an even better view of her tight little pussy. It was as red as a rose and just as glorious. He felt so dominant having such a hold over her supine body; having the freedom to maneuver her into any position he wanted. He moved her arms up by her head. He leant over and tenderly kissed her between the legs. He climbed onto the bed and, supporting himself over her, worked his way up her body. He gently kissed her as he went: first her smooth inner thighs, then her enthralling pubic region, then her toned stomach – he let his probing tongue linger at her enticing belly button. When he reached her breasts, he kissed her nipples and then worked his tongue sensually around them in small, circular motions before sucking on her erect nipples again. He then kissed her neck, and finally her mouth: fully this time, not hesitantly as he had before, letting his tongue probe.

Slowly, tenderly, he lowered his body onto hers; but not so that he was exerting his weight onto her, just so that their bodies were touching along their whole length. His senses tingled with excitement as the tip of his penis sensitively touched her. And then he was inside her. He was ashamed to admit that he had felt no guilt whatsoever as he had slipped into her. He had found it so much easier than he had expected; it was as if her pussy had opened like a bloom to receive him, perhaps a reflex response to feeling the tip of his penis touch her?

He was now faced with a dilemma: how hard could he push? He raised his thighs up and lightly lowered them again so that his erect member withdrew slightly and then pushed down into her again. She didn’t stir, though she did make a slight whimper. He put this down to her expelling air as her body bore more of his weight. He repeated the action, slightly more pronounced this time so that his penis probed deeper into her. He repeated it again, and again, each time slightly further. Fortunately she was quite moist, wet even, which helped.

As he rose up and down rhythmically, he continued to tenderly kiss her sweet face and neck. And his hands alternated between fondling her breasts and exploring the area where his penis was penetrating ever deeper.

He was now lost inside her. He thrust ever further into her, forgetting any concerns he may have had about waking her; lust had triumphed over love. Occasionally she gave an audible sigh. Her nipples remained erect throughout, and he could feel she was wet where their pubic areas touched. His climax was the best he had ever experienced, and he cried out with the pleasure of it as his juices flowed freely into her.

When it was over, he rolled off her and lay close to her, facing her, drinking in her beauty, gratifyingly sated. He took one of her hands and folded her fingers around his still partly erect penis and his balls. Somehow it made him feel less guilty; he was allowing her to feel his manhood in the same way that he had touched her private parts. He so wanted this to be a shared experience.

He lay like this for awhile. His arms wrapped around her, cuddling her, caressing her. Her hand nestled comfortably in between his legs, and he had the sensation that she was fondling him. He nibbled her ear and whispered tenderly to her that he loved her. He didn’t apologise; it never crossed his mind that he had violated her, betrayed her. He had loved her, that is all.

He had dreamt of this moment so many times. And he did not want to move. He wished he could stay like this forever; to be locked in a continual embrace with her. But he knew, of course, that she would wake sometime, and he didn’t know how she would react to finding them both lying naked in bed together after so many years of resistance. He unwrapped himself from her and climbed carefully off the bed. Even standing naked next to her was arousing. He looked down at her helpless form lying so innocently there on the bed and realised something: he hadn’t seen her bottom.

Whilst some men are attracted by large breasts or long legs, he had to admit that he was a ‘bottom man’. And he knew that in her tight jeans she had a derriere to die for; he wondered if it would be so cute au naturel? He delicately rolled her over onto her front. He wasn’t disappointed. She had a well-rounded bottom with silky-smooth, peachy, buttocks. He patted them lightly; then bent over and kissed each cheek in turn. She had obviously been sunbathing in tiny bikini bottoms recently because her bum was slightly paler than the rest of her tanned body. He found himself hardening up again. Once more he climbed on top of her, astride her. He didn’t enter her straight away, but he let the head of his hardened penis softly touch her bare cheeks as he lent forward and traced a line with the tip of his tongue from the bottom of her spine to her neckline. Then he tenderly kissed the nape of her neck.

He lowered himself lightly onto her once more. He nuzzled his face into her neck and kissed her affectionately, plucking at her ear lobes with his moist lips. His chest pressed warmly against the arc of her back. The convex curve of her soft bottom pushed snugly into the concave arch of his pelvis. He reached down and slightly parted her cheeks. He was inside her again. He didn’t force it this time. He did not move at all. He just laid there, their bodies touching along their whole length and his member rigid within her: they could not possibly be closer – like con-joined twins.

She was so warm, so comfortable beneath him. He drank in her scent and wallowed in her softness. Their arms were entwined, their fingers entwined, their legs entwined and even their toes seemed intertwined. Again, he wished he could stay like this forever; for this moment never to end. He reluctantly raised himself from her, withdrawing so that once again they were separate. Standing beside her once more he leant over and gave her a gentle peck on the side of her face resting so snugly on the pillow beneath. He took a final look at her bare bottom and could not resist giving it one last pat.

He gathered up his clothes and skulked out of her room taking one last, longing glance over his shoulder at her prone, naked body as he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

It must have been about ten minutes after he had left her that she hesitantly opened her bleary eyes. Blinking several times to focus, she could not help but smile as the first object that came into clear vision was the glass of Rosé wine standing on her bedside table, untouched. ‘At last.’ she thought, biting her bottom lip and smiling contentedly as she recalled their intimacy.

THE END

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