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Dishes

Such a gorgeous Saturday. You had to leave for a bit to take care of some things at the office, so I was on my own until the afternoon. I was really hoping you would be back quickly; my favorite part of the weekend is spending time with you in bed. Talking, cuddling, touching and kissing. Simply the best thing ever. Laying there without you wasn't the same. I rolled over and grabbed your pillow; I buried my face in it and breathed in your scent. My favorite smell. I knew I couldn't stay in bed all day, so I gave your pillow one last squeeze and sniff and sat up. I reached for the cup of coffee you brought me before you left and sipped it for a few moments before finally getting out of bed to get my day started. I grabbed your shirt off the back of the chair and pulled it over my head without unbuttoning it. Grabbed my coffee and set off to get some chores done while you were gone. I quickly made some breakfast, then cranked up the radio and got started straightening everythin...
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Dance Me to the End of Love Ch. 03

(Author's Note: This chapter has a little more backstory, but no sex. The following chapters will contain sex. Lots of sex.) SHE is standing at our front door. Her hair is long, relaxed curls flecked with reddish-gold, tumbling out of the colorful scarf in which it's lightly gathered. She has an elegantly mature, somewhat chiseled face, with high cheekbones that taper to a delicately rounded chin, a pert nose, and a small but expressive mouth—currently wearing a slightly pouty smile—highlighted by rosy-taupe lipgloss. Her eyes are hidden behind large, dark designer sunglasses. She's wearing a light, shawl-collar blazer over a tailored white button-down, rather conservatively buttoned-up, and french-tucked into cropped, very tailored, dark wash jeans, pulled together with a skinny black belt and black patent leather pumps. On anyone else, I would have cynically called it an "intentionally—and expensively—insouciant look," but for now, I freeze... For What It'...
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True Love

Despite the heat I was feeling from behind, a cooling February breeze was blowing in off the blue water below, sweeping across the condo balcony and entering through the open sliding-glass doors, disturbing, no doubt, the veil-like curtains flanking them. I looked mostly at the pillow below, its satiny case a kind of silver in color. Silver-grey. With each thrust I moaned, involuntarily, while beginning to wonder, as the pleasurable minutes ticked away, if my lover was growing tired of the endless vocalizing. Some guys, in my experience, the dominant type in particular, didn't like it. "Shut up!" "Yes. Yessir." My new friend said nothing, however. He just fucked away, his tempo fast, relentless, though not overly forceful. He seemed to stop just shy of pounding into me each time—pounding me into the headboard—for which I was grateful. It made it more like love-making than a mere, desperate fuck. It was artful, his technique. We'd met on the beach what seem...
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