She becomes more insistent, and I yield to her. I can feel my heart starting to race and the now familiar ache deep in my belly. She shifts her leg against mine, and her left hand slips under the waistband of my pants; teasing gently downwards. I arch slightly against her, loving the feel of her stomach against mine. I stroke my right hand down her shoulder to the small of her back, where I dig my nails in. She breaks our kiss to hiss out a breath, and I take advantage of the break to wriggle myself open slightly for her fingers. Her fingertip slips slowly under my panties and between my shaven lips, and she lets out a small delighted sound when she discovers that I am wet for her.
She gently crooks her finger in and out around my clit; I tuck my face into her neck and surrender myself to her. Slowly, achingly slowly, Robyn teases me. She nibbles my earlobe and I moan. She massages my back and bum and I whine, demanding more. Her fingers are slick with me, ring and index finger sliding in and out with my clit acting as their guide. Her fingertips are brushing against my aching entrance now, and I can feel my thigh muscles spasming in time with the gentle inwards and outwards motion of her hand.
Slowly, so goddamn slowly, I build. I can feel sweat slicking my skin and my nipples are aching as they brush against the fabric of my top with each laboured breath I draw. I feel myself peaking. I know she feels it too, because she pulls me firmly against herself and whispers a quiet “Come for me, Lexi.”
She drives her left thigh in between mine and pushes hard against my mons and lips, and that’s all I need to tip me over the edge into a shaking climax. I cry out, muffled by her body, and spasm hard against her as she keeps toying with me through the waves and troughs of my orgasm.
Then, like always, she holds me, cradles me, letting my body regain some form of equilibrium.
“Better?” she whispers, after a while.
“So much. So, so much,” I manage.
“Stay here and don’t move. I’ll be right back, ok?”
“Hurry. I want more,” I murmur, and am rewarded with her smoky, sultry laugh.
—
I roll onto my back, enjoying the languid feeling of satisfaction that always steals over my after Robyn’s been with me. I’m still aching, wanting more of her, but the immediate craving has died back a bit. She’s never perfunctory with me – she enjoys playing with me far too much for that. And to be fair, ditto. I’m addicted to her body. To the tight, firm muscles of her legs. To the chick-pack of her midriff. To the wiry, strong arms. To the perfect skin. To the smile, to the taste, to the smell.
I touch myself, and let out a shivery moan. I am soaked; my poor underwear are as much good as tissue paper holding back the ocean when it comes to my physical reaction to her. I’d remove them if I had more energy, to be honest. But I’m enjoying the moment of calm too much to be able to motivate myself.
I hear Robs’ footsteps on the staircase, and I twist slightly so I can watch her as she walks back into the lounge, armed with blankets and bottles. She shoots me a distracted smile as she sets the bottles of oil to one side and spreads the blanket out on the carpeted floor.
“Right, Lexi. Sorry, love, but you’re going to have to move if you want that backrub.”
I whine pathetically, and she laughs. I hold out my arms to her, without making any attempt to sit up. She steps closer and squats down, slipping one arm under my neck; letting me clasp my arms behind hers.
Then she surprises me by sneaking another under my knees and standing. I squeal as she lifts me.
“Gods, Robs, you’ll hurt yourself!”
She says nothing, just smiles down at me.
“What?” I say suspiciously, after a short while.
“Was wondering whether I could do this. Glad to see I can.”
“Consider me impressed. Are you going to put me down now?”
“In a bit,” she says. Then she kisses me again, and I melt against her.
“God, woman, you drive me crazy,” I whisper when she lets me breathe again.
“Tit for tat,” she murmurs, slowly letting my legs down and steadying me as I regain my feet. She strikes a pose, gesturing imperiously at the blankets. “Strip and lie down.”
“Curtains are open, Robs,” I demure.
“I’ll sort that out. Strip and lie down – or no backrubs.”
I huff a playful sigh and start to comply as she closes the French doors and the privacy curtains – this leaves us with some of the daylight but prevents any passing ramblers from seeing into the house. I strip off my jersey, then my vest, and briefly pause to massage out some of the ache in my breasts. Robs organises the oils alongside the blankets, watching me with some amusement.
“Pants too, you bra-less wonder,” she says, and, somewhat self-consciously, I comply. I’m gratified to see her eyes following my hands as I loosen the draw-strings and drop the pants in a puddle around my feet. I kick them free of me, and eye her uncertainly.
“Knickers too,” she adds, huskily.
For some reason this makes me blush. She’s seen everything, been everywhere… and yet this simple act still has the trappings of taboo that makes my heart race. I kick them free of me, then stand, trying not to feel shy about myself. But Robs alleviates that by stepping forward, touching me, pushing herself against me, kissing me so tenderly and yet with such obvious need that I can’t help but ache for her again. The fabric of her sundress chafes slightly against my breasts and raises goosebumps across my back and flanks.
“I don’t think I could ever get used to the sight of you naked,” she says, quietly. “It takes my breath away.”
I shiver again, this time not entirely just because of her proximity. “Robs… sorry to break the mood, but it’s really chilly in here.”
“Ok, get under the covers. I’ll do something about that,” she responds.
—
I gratefully wrap myself up in one of the blankets and watch as she quickly sets a fire and gets it going. Robs loves fires so there’s always wood and kindling by the fireplace, and she’s got very good at starting and nurturing them. Soon, flames are flickering and the chill starts to leave the air. Robs sits back on her haunches, watching the flames. Then she shakes her head, dismissing whatever thoughts she was having, and turns to me.
“Lie down, you,” she says. I rearrange myself, watching as she reaches for the bottles of oils that she brought down with her. I place a pillow near the hearth and then lie down on my stomach, arms by my sides and head turned towards the garden. I reach back to pull the blanket up over my shoulders. Then I lie there, quietly waiting for her.
I can feel Robs moving as she puts the bottles where she can reach them. She adjusts the blankets to bare my back and shoulders. Then, I feel her weight on my lower back and bum as she kneels astride me, using me as a chair. I hear the sound of a bottle cap being flicked open, and feel her shifting slightly as she pours oil onto her hands. She sets the bottle down; I hear the brush of fabric as she leans forward, and then… bliss. Bliss as her hands move on my back, digging into the knots around my shoulder blades and neck, working slowly up and down either side of my spine. I moan, eyes closed.
She rubs oil over my back, pausing to dribble more along my spine. I feel her collect it with her fingers and so that she can start to work it into my shoulders. Her hands dig and bite, insistently finding my rebellious muscles and subduing them to her will.
She has such amazingly strong hands. I lose myself in the rhythm of their movement – and my mind, as always, finds and supplies the orchestral backing.
“You ok, Lexi?” Robs asks, after a while. “You’re very quiet.”
“Just listening,” I murmur.
“To?”
“Nimrod.”
“Elgar, right?” she asks, curious, running her hands down between my ribs and my arms.
“Yeah. It fits you perfectly.”
I suppose to an outsider this conversation wouldn’t make much sense. But Robs knows that my world has a symphonic backing track, so she can kind of understand what I mean.
Sometimes, though, I really wish I could just show her.
Robs shifts, pulling the blanket down. I twist to look at her, and notice that she’s sweating slightly. “Hard work, huh?” I tease.
“Some of these knots in your back…” she mutters, shaking her head. “I swear you contort yourself at night to wind up this tangled. I bet you do it on purpose, you hussy. You love frustrating me.”
Her hands glide down my back to my lumbar region, and she spends some time just gently running her thumbs up and down alongside my spine, while I float happily on a sea of pleasure. I feel her shift backwards a bit further. Then I feel something different. Her inner thighs against my outer… and something else. I twist round again, and she gives me a grin.
“You’re commando, aren’t you?” I ask, amused.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Since when?”
“Since I put my dress on.”