Grasping the moment

Izetta’s eyes close in near-bliss. His hand sweeps across her lovely, caramel-toned, rounded hip and continues on towards its target. With a little thrill she notices just how closely Alphonse is watching her response. How she loves an attentive lover and this man is solely focused on her pleasure. His brown eyes study her face, as though drinking her in. He lies mere millimetres away, their faces almost touching. As his adventurous hand begins it’s delicate probing of her pussy, Izetta can’t help herself, she closes her eyes and lets out a kitten-cry. She follows her outburst with whispered, encouraging words.

“Don’t stop”

Fleetingly, Izetta parts her lashes to view her lover’s stubbly visage. Having found her sopping, intimate folds, his eyes are slitted and heavy with desire. Entwined, Izetta breathes into his parted mouth. Every dexterous stroke of his fingers between her thighs, stokes the passion at her core. Izetta writhes, his ministrations rob her of conscious thought. No longer is she able to find his lips with hers, though she longs to allow him to feel her fever. Instead, Izetta moans and rasps. A wanton to the desire he has unleashed with a mere touch.

The space between them, though minuscule, is too much. She mews with pent-up frustrations, wishing for the moment when he will enter her. She reaches between them and grasps his cock, wrapping her fingers around his throbbing head. He bucks into her hand, as swollen as stone, as ready as granite. She shifts. Aching. When will it end?

Sensing her quiet desperation, Alphonse pulls her bodily atop him. As she straddles his impressive frame she runs her appreciative fingers over the fine down of his dark body hair.