It's Your Turn

The scarves have been under your pillow since lunchtime.

Two of them, silk, the red one and the black one. I folded them small and slid them under there while you were at work, and I've been thinking about them all day. Through dinner I could barely look at you without grinning, and you noticed.

"What's got you smiling like that?" you asked, stealing a bite off my plate.

"You'll see," I said.

Now dinner's done and I'm at the sink in your t-shirt. It's so long on me it's practically a dress, the sleeves hanging past my hands, the hem brushing my thighs. The water's hot and the plate in my hands is warm, and I can feel you watching me from the table. I don't turn around. I want you to come to me.

You do. Of course you do.

Your hands slide around my waist first, then up, cupping my breasts through the thin cotton. I gasp and nearly drop the plate. You're hard already, pressing against me through your jeans, and you rock into me slow, just once, just enough to make my knees weak.

"You're distracting me from my dishes," I whisper.

"Good," you murmur against my neck, and your teeth graze my skin.

Your hand slips under the t-shirt, between my thighs, and your fingers find me already wet. I moan into the steam rising off the sink. You circle me slow and deliberate, and with your other hand you tilt my chin back so I'm looking up at you.

"I'm going to make you cum right here," you say, low. "Standing at this sink. Don't move."

And God, it's close. It never takes long for me the first time, you know that, you set me on fire every single time. My hips are starting to move on their own, chasing your hand, and then I catch myself.

I catch your wrist.

"Go wait in bed," I tell you.

You blink at me. "What?"

"Go. Wait. In. Bed." I grin. "Trust me."

You groan like I've wounded you, but you go, and I hear the bedroom door click. I finish the dishes with shaking hands, rinsing each plate twice because I can't focus, water dripping off my elbows. The whole time I'm thinking about the scarves under your pillow. The whole time I'm smiling.

When I walk into the bedroom you're already there, propped up on the pillows, watching the doorway like you've been staring at it since you sat down. Your eyes go straight to my legs under your t-shirt.

I peel the t-shirt off over my head and drop it on the floor.

You reach for me and I let you pull me down onto the bed. Your hands start at my ankles and work up slow, my legs, my back, my neck, and I'm moaning into the pillow before you've even really started. Your mouth finds my shoulder. I arch into you.

Then I roll us over, and I'm straddling your hips, and I reach under your pillow.

Your eyes go wide when you see the red scarf in my hand. Then you grin. That slow grin that means you're already mine.

"Oh," you say. "Oh, that's what the smile was about."

I take your right hand, kiss your shoulder, and wrap the scarf around your wrist. I tie the other end to the bedpost, snug but not tight. You test it, pulling once, and the look on your face when it holds...

I do the left one the same way. Kiss, wrap, tie.

"Comfortable?" I ask.

"You're going to be the death of me," you say.

I start at your mouth, kissing you gentle, then your jaw, your neck. You wiggle a little when my tongue traces your collarbone, and I feel you pull against the scarves without thinking. Then you remember. You can't move your arms.

I smile against your chest.

My fingers trail down your stomach, slow, and then my tongue follows the same path. You're so hot. Your eyes are fixed on me, and I take my time, licking around you, teasing, barely touching where you want me most. When I finally take you into my mouth you groan so loud I feel it in my own body.

Your hips jerk, and your hands clench into fists above your head, pulling at the scarves. You try to grab my hair and you can't, and the frustration on your face is the hottest thing I've ever seen.

"Please," you breathe.

I pull back just to look at you. "Please what?"

"Don't stop."

I don't stop. I take you deep and slow, my mouth hot and wet around you, and I can feel you getting close, feel it in the way your thighs tense under my knees. So I slow down. I linger. I tease you with just the tip of my tongue until you're practically shaking.

Then I climb up your body and sink down onto you.

You slide into me so easily. I'm so wet there's no resistance at all, just that perfect stretch, and you moan the second you're inside me. I start moving very, very slowly, and your hands strain against the scarves because you want to grab my hips so badly.

I reach back and cup you in my hand, and you thrust up into me involuntarily.

"Look at you," I whisper. "All tied up and desperate."

I'm in control and we both know it. I move a little faster, holding your eyes the whole time, and I can see the war in your face, frustration and need tangled together. My body is doing exactly what it wants, taking what it wants from you.

And then I decide I'm done teasing.

I lean forward, give both scarves one sharp pull, and they come undone.

Your hands are on my hips instantly, gripping hard, and you take over, driving me down onto you at the pace you've been starving for. It's rough and perfect and too much. I reach back for you again and you groan my name, and suddenly neither of us can wait another second.

We cum together, shaking, and I collapse onto your chest, still wrapped around you, listening to your heart hammer against my ear.

We lie there panting. Your arms come around me, holding me tight, your fingers tracing lazy lines on my back.

I lift my head and grin at you.

"Okay babe," I say. "It's your turn."