Like when your legs widen just a little more for my arm to curl around you and massage your clit. The extra heat makes your smooth nub even more sensitive, this tiny nexus of the achy currents that shoot throughout you. I feel your hand rest over mine and apply more pressure. Saying to use more force, to not let go. My free hand becomes greedy. Its appetite for your body, ceaseless. Fingers roll along your nipples and squeeze. My hand is around your throat, not to choke, but to hold you steady during each deep thrust. My palm runs along your spine, up and down, nails dragging along that beautiful pale canvas. I've created an atlas you will conceal with clothes later on; a living map that tells of our secret time here. Part of me wants to say how much I've missed and needed you. That I almost hate you for leaving but hate myself more for not doing anything to stop you.There is so much to say that we never form words for and pass along. In that sense, you and I are one and the same. We. I knew that, and felt that he had at that point and time, a 'right' to show it as he had. But for our relationship to continue into the next days or hopefully years, we would have to come to terms with his anger, and my shame.When we had next had sex, I had insisted on it being a loving union. John had hesitated which caused me some fear of losing him. What he had been hesitating about wasn't exactly that though. He had been afraid of his deep-set anger and he didn't want to end up hurting me again.We made it through it though. While orally pleasing him my eye contact with his had been something new. As we went along further, we discovered a whole new plateau of lovemaking. We experimented and found other new things that we liked. As earlier mentioned, our inhibitions have been lowered to a level unseen by probably most couples.We are now looking towards a brighter future. Greg is fast becoming a bad, bad, memory for me although John seems to worry about him constantly still. I.
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