This is Part Two of Argentine Tango – Lesson 9. Read Part One here.
My back hits something hard. You have backed me against the wall, a mirrored wall. It is cold and smooth. You take one last step, closing the distance between us. Your eyes don’t leave mine as you very slowly and deliberately lower your mouth to mine, giving me time to stop you. But I tilt my head up, offering my lips to you, closing my eyes in anticipation. Your lips finally meet mine with an intensity that makes me profoundly grateful that I am against a wall, and enveloped in your strong arms so I can’t fall. Your hands slide round from my waist to my lower back and then lower so that your finger trips trail below the level of my panties. You push my pelvis away from the wall, up against you, and I can with complete certainty feel the evidence of your arousal.
I kiss you as if I’m drowning, as if you alone can save me. You kiss me like no one has before, with emotion and passion, simultaneously raw and refined, like the music. You tug at my lip and forcefully invade my mouth, your tongue dancing expertly with mine. I wind my arms around your neck, my fingers through your hair. I grip your hair as you kiss me, as your hands explore me, as you bite my lip. You pull back against my hands, breaking the contact of our lips and I mew in want. You laugh with satisfaction through your panting.
You rub your stubble against my cheek and my neck, before following the trail with your mouth, combining coarseness and softness. My lip throbs gently where you bit it. I want you to bite it again. Instead you bite my neck, suckle it softly. It will leave a mark. There will be questions. But right now I want that mark, evidence of what is happening, evidence that you are as caught up in this madness as I am. Your hands leave my lower back and slide up and around pulling my top with them as they reach up to my breasts. I lift my arms and you pull my top off in one fluid motion. Through the thin fabric of my bra you can now see even more clearly the sharp peaks of my breasts. You lean back slightly to better appreciate them, but we remain joined at the hip. I feel you grow even harder. I pull one of my hands back from your neck and slide it down between us, down to where you throb. Through the fabric of your trousers I stroke you, gently at first, feeling my excitement build at the idea of what we might do, at the idea that I might feel you stretch me. I begin to rub you harder, rub you while you groan and swear under your breath, rub you until you grab my wrist in a tight grip to stop me.
You give me one order “Stay” and then you back away several steps before turning on your heel and striding across the room to the computer desk. My disappointment barely has time to register before I realise what you are doing. Your wallet is there. Quickly you open it and pull out the small square foil packet before returning. My stomach does another excited flip. The honey runs freely from my core. When you reach me I expect you to kiss me. Instead you duck your head and take me by surprise as you catch my nipple in your mouth through my bra. The unexpected warm wetness of your mouth makes me cry out, luckily disguised by a crescendo in the music which is still playing in the background. As you suckle and nibble at my breast one of your hands slides down my body, down between us, to my mid-thigh. You ruck up my skirt and follow it up towards my sex. You feel my wetness before you reach it and you chuckle deliciously against my sensitive nipple. When you discover my soaked lace panties you emit a low growl of animal desire.
I reach down to take you in my hand again, this time undoing the zip of your trousers and sliding my hand inside your boxers, even as you run a crooked finger from my clitoris to the silky skin behind my entrance and back again repeatedly, slowly, through the drenched lace, your left leg creating a wedge between my legs, keeping them open. You stuff your spare hand in your pocket to retrieve the foil packet, and lifting your head from my breast, tear the packet open with your teeth. The rubbery oily smell fills the air as your questioning glance meets my expression of desire and willingness. With eager hands I help you roll it on and then you put your hands on my waist and lift me up a few inches. My legs instinctively curl around your hips and my arms around your neck. With one hand cupped around my bum you support me there whilst with the other you hook a finger around my flimsy knickers and pull them to the side before directing yourself to my entrance.
I feel you against me and hold my breath, excited and nervous. I am dripping wet but you haven’t even put a finger in me. I will be tight, and you are big. You shift slightly away from the wall so that the angle is better, still holding me up with one cupped hand. Without any further warning you thrust into me. The first time you don’t go in the whole way but it is enough to fill me, so I can feel you within me, clench against you so that you growl again. You claim my mouth in a kiss as the second thrust buries you in my flesh up to the hilt. I cry out, in pleasure or in pain I’m not sure, but it is good. The sound is buried against your lips. I feel stretched to my limit. But quickly my body adjusts, welcomes the fullness, the completeness, the stimulation. Your other hand joins the first on my bum cheeks. Massaging, kneading them, helping angle yourself in as you begin to establish a forceful, powerful rhythm, in time with the music. The mirror behind my back is hard, cold. As we reach the end of the song you hold me to you more tightly and step away from the wall. Carrying me, still inside me, you make for the computer desk and when we reach it you sit me on top, slipping your hands from under me so that you can push against my chest, lowering me back onto the table. You stay standing, my legs still locked around your hips.
I grip your shoulders, my nails digging in to your back slightly. I begin to grind against you, clenching you inside me as you thrust. I find an angle where my clitoris is also being rubbed. We find a rhythm and work together, in time with the music, or ragged breath the only thing out of sync. You push my skirt up, around my waist, bearing my most intimate parts to your gaze. Your hands grip my hips, your fingers curling around and digging into the soft skin of my cheeks. Your eyes follow the regular bounce of my breasts. I slide one hand down my body, through the valley between my breasts, and your eyes follow its progress as if hypnotised. I travel on down, past the bundle of my skirt, past the top of my lace thong, down to where I am exposed. Your pace slows and you bite your lip as you watch me play with myself, as I toy with my clitoris using minute circular motions, applying more and more pressure. Our laboured breathing is interrupted by moans that I cannot contain and no longer care about containing, no matter who hears, and by your soft Spanish exclamations.
I clench my muscles around your shaft, increasing the tightness and sensation as you continue to growl softly, a dark sound of arousal that I want to draw from you forever. My fingers wend their path across my clitoris ceaselessly as my orgasm builds. You know I’m close. My regular pace falters as I get distracted by the intensity of the pleasure building, and your hands at my hips try to keep me to it but you too are struggling. I continue to grind against you, with you inside me, clenching and coaxing you to completion. Your fingers dig deeper into my skin, gripping me and dictating the pace. You watch my face now, not my fingers. You wait for me. I cannot wait any longer. With a cry echoed by your groan of excitement I find my release, a burst of delicious sensation that leaves me feeling weak. At its zenith you thrust into me again, deeply, forcefully, and again. Two, maybe three times more you thrust, and then throw your head back as you mutter in strangled Spanish and shudder, and I can feel the pulse of your member as it expels its load inside me.