The first time it was done, you held me in your arms and I waited. Pinned between the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and the edge of the room, you locked around my torso. I closed my eyes and waited.
I placed my hand on the cool wall trying to release the heat that we radiated, my silver thick ring and bracelet scraped against and interrupted the calm of your sound breathing. Still outstretched, unable to see the cool plain in the dark room, I was growing impatient so just a little, I pulled closer to the wall away from our heat of bare flesh. You grunted and tightened your grip around me.
Then it was understood, so I laid still and silently and awaited for your arms to come back to life washing over my bare skin, your hands to trace my curves and for your mouth to whisper my name; coarse hair would brush my soft skin as you slowly kissed down my neck pulling me closer into you, I knew it would; growing hungry for your touch, I waited.
Releasing soft sighs, I pushed my hips against you more, my body began to relax its want; attempts to sleep were made, but I waited for your signal, your cue. I was yours; you knew this. I drew circles on your forearm and the nape of your neck with the delicate touch of my fingertips, but still you slept sound. I turned and faced you, kissing your shoulder. There were moments I’d glance at the door, my better judgment began to seep in, should I go? Should I leave to save my dignity? But somehow you knew that this young girl was scared, nervous, and in that slumber you pulled me in tighter each thought. I waited.
As I started to drift away, you released me momentarily as you slid into the covers, throwing back an excess layer of blankets then covering us again; your palm felt my waistline down to my hips over lace where you stopped, your nuzzled my neck and leaned in close to my ear you whispered what I had waited for, “Off” .
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