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A/n - Happy belated birthday Aaru @Sh_aarohi. I am extremely sorry for being so late but trust me I was too busy ... Please forgive me and I hope you like what I wrote for you ... I feel its too romantic.
There had never been any line between us, only his own stupid fear and pride. Because from the moment he had pulled me out of that life threatening danger in Bareilly I had set my eyes upon him, it is not at all easy but I still have my eyes on him still fierce despite a year in hell, he had been walking towards this, walking to me. There had been a lot of misunderstandings between us. We hardly spoke to each other but I had faith and I trusted him ... So I brushed away my tears, held his face in my little hands , and kissed him. I had assumed that maybe that could be the first and last time that we can hold on to each other so close. I had to ask him whether he wants me to be a part of his life or not ... the decision had to be made.
I felt heartbroken but the kiss also obliterated me. It felt like coming home or being born or suddenly finding an entire half of myself that had been missing. His lips were hot and soft against mine still tentative, and after a moment, he pulled back far enough to look into my eyes. I trembled with the need to touch him everywhere at once, to feel him touching her everywhere at once. For a moment ... I felt like it is okay if he does not want me in his life but once only once ... I wanted the whole of him. I would give up everything to go with him.
My fingers running in his hair ... My nails grazed in his scalp, his mouth meeting mine in a second kiss that knocked the world out from under mine.
"You nutcracker of a woman ... Dare you even think of leaving me alone. He growled into my skin. Gosh that felt different.
He reached out and pressed me to him, one hand on my waist and the other behind my neck. He tipped my head up and lowered his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and melted as my whole body was consumed in that kiss. I was nothing. I was everything. Chills, ran over my skin, and fire burned inside me. His body pressed closer to mine, and . His lips were warmer and softer than anything I could have ever imagined, yet fierce and powerful at the same time. Mine responded hungrily, and I tightened my hold on him. His fingers slid down the back of my neck, tracing its shape, and every place they touched was electric
And that is the day I understood him and I was very happy because my man is my mind of man ... a delightfully masculine creature with a boyish grin and a wonderful sense of play about him. A real man's man if you will. After that day I have rarely afforded the opportunity of not touching him, to run the tips of her fingers across the coarse dark hair that covers his strong chest. I am oft denied the pleasure and passion of his kisses, remembering them instead in the dreams of my days and the haunt of my nights.
I remember making love to him for the very first time as well, though it's been some time that we have not been able to stay that close together , not by choice, but the realities of life exist ... Sometimes its family, sometimes his work sometimes mine and many a times exhaustion. Now that I have started thinking about him, The taste of him, the touch of him, the smell of this man, my love, the memories come back to me time and again.
Leaving me at home ... he has gone to an Art expo in Melbourne and Yet, despite the distance, I feel his presence, his essence every day. His voice makes me weak-kneed and tongue-tied. His words distract me, leave me dripping, squirming and on the verge of coming. Late afternoon teasing phone calls at my desk are the guiltiest of pleasures. I listen to him recount the desire to have me alone, backed up against the wall, large and masculine hands wandering, exploring my impatient and mischievous insides beneath my hiked up skirt. Swallow hard, appear collected and say little to give us away. The constraints of just listening and the inability to respond with anything other than a hard swallow and nipples stiffening beneath my clothes make me ache with want and heady frustration. His gentle brand of seduction makes me close my eyes, toss my head back and sigh with pleasure. And oh the dreams: they leave me tangled in the bed sheets, breathless and reaching for him in the darkest hour of my night. The morning after taste of frustration and futility cloying to the palate, as he is really mine to have. He will have to come back to me from everywhere he goes.
I have laid in bed with him, sweat dripping from our bodies exhausted from making love, felt him running down the inside of my thighs. I have closed my eyes and imagined him towering over me, fitting his hips to mine and sliding deep inside of me. I have fallen in love, over and over again, with the sound of his orgasm. That husky throaty, nearly primeval groan in my ear as he leans in close all tensed up, one last thrust deep inside my soul and unleashes a torrent of heat into me. For a moment nothing exists outside the two of us. I love that I inspire in him, what he commands of me. I have come for him, upon his demand, with three fingers buried deep inside me, the sound of his voice and the power of his words drenching my mind in a kind of mental spasm.
This man and I? We have met in the middle of an even playing field. Bent our heads together in silent prayer for one another, felt the energy flow from one to another. I would like to think I know what makes him tick. I would like to think I know what he is thinking sometimes even before he knows. Perhaps that is just feminine arrogance speaking out of turn, but I do know what gets his attention and what gets him off. He can play my body like a finely tuned instrument and he knows my mind as if it were his own, because I have bravely stretched out both, gloriously naked, before him like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.
I share my secrets with this man. My hopes, dreams, fears, he hears them all. There is nothing I could not tell him. I excitedly hear his innermost thoughts too. Each and every day this man, who has become as much a part of my existence as my heart in my ribs, is there for me in some form. He stokes my mind, my ego, my soul as much as he gently, teasingly strokes my flesh. I am his for the taking. This much he knows is true.
This man I have the pleasure of touching is the most skilled lover ... much more than all the men I have ever read about. When the back of his hand briefly slid up the slope of my stomach had left me all aflutter. The tips of his fingers running down the side of my cheek have been my undoing on more than one occasion. He is held my hips and slid his hard length into me from behind the way he knows I like it. I have closed my eyes, ducked my head, arched my back and screamed out his name as I have felt him touch the very heart of me. He is held me tight as I fall and I have hungrily tasted all he has to give. He is whispered to me in that low and slow drawl, "give it to me baby" and I have. It is the voice that gets me off just closing my eyes and concentrating on each syllable, every delightful image he spins for me.
Yes... there is indeed a man who's voice and words leaving me dripping, aching, wanting for more. My husband.
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