You are laying on your side, one leg under him, the other over his leg and wrapped around his waist. He thrusts hard and deeper at this angle, leaning forward and caressing you body as he holds you in place. You move your hips grind in time with him, constantly moaning and arching as he milks climaxes out of you. You are tired, but your body responds to his in a way you can't contemplate. His touch has stirred you awake, to life for the third time just as the sun rose.
"Come here!" He growls, raising your leg, kissing it and turning you onto your stomach. With brute strength, he raises you by your hips and you reflexively come up on your hands and knees. You cry out as he animalistically takes you from behind, starting a rhythm that almost takes your breath away. Your head falls forward, waves of pleasure going back and forth through your body as he moves in and out of you, his grip both steady and possessive. Sweat and sex dampened sheets that had dried were becoming wet again as you moved together, moaning and crying out each other's names.
As he empties into you he leans forward, rocking your bodies back and forth and then holds you tight. Exhausted, you fall forward onto your stomach and he falls with and on top of you, still embedded. You pant, catching your breath, and he runs his hands up and down your sides and kisses your shoulder. He slowly withdraws and you feel the loss, but then he turns you to him and draws you into his arms. Sleep comes naturally, both of you sated.
You awaken.
You look around, trying to answer the questions:
Who am I? That's redundant.
When is it? Saturday morning....you think.
Where are you? Henry's home.
Why are you here? To ride out the storm, but you did more than that.
What to do now?
Henry appears in the doorway with a tray. "Good afternoon."
"What?!"
"It's noon, darling," he smiles. "half past, actually." He sets down the tray, and sits in his recliner. "Come on, breakfast."
You become self conscious and shy all of a sudden. The night revealed a great deal to you both. You're both passionate and primitive, you know that now, but what does it mean...now?
"Cold?" he asks, his eyes dropping to your hand holding a sheet against your chest.
"A little," you admit, not wanting to say all the thoughts running through your head.
He breaks into a grin and pulls out one of his British hoodies. He pulls it over your head and drags you out of bed, bedsheets dragging in your wake. He picks you up and straddles you on his lap. "Come on, darling..." He offers a buttered croissant. You try to take it, but he pulls back. "Come on." He teases.
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