Rosé and Relentless Passion

The warm July evening wraps around me like a soft blanket, no hint of winter’s bite, and I’m sprawled in a flowy tank dress on the deck, the midnight air kissing my bare shoulders. I sip chilled rosé, scrolling through my phone, so lost in the glow of the screen that I don’t catch the soft tread of footsteps behind me until a sudden, playful squeeze at my ribs makes me squeal – half shock, half ticklish delight. How do you always sneak up on me like that? You live for it, don’t you, every little noise I let slip, from my startled gasps to the raw, desperate sounds you coax out later.

I giggle at your mischievous ambush, you love catching me off guard, and I’ll admit, it sends a thrill through me too. Any excuse you find to touch me feels like a spark igniting my skin.

Your hands return to my hips, and I brace myself, expecting another ticklish jab, but this time your grip is slower, more intentional, fingers pressing into my curves with a promise. I melt into it, tilting my head to one side as your hand sweeps my hair aside, your warm lips brushing the sensitive curve of my neck. Your other hand slides upward, cupping my breast, thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric, sending a shiver down my spine.

Ohhh.

Both hands claim my breasts now, kneading with a firm, deliberate rhythm, fingers rolling my nipples until they harden, straining against the dress. I’d slipped off my bra earlier, savoring the freedom, but you want even less between us, tugging the neckline down with a slow, teasing pull. My full breasts spill free, soft and heavy in the cool night air, nipples tightening under your gaze and touch. Your fingers trace their curves, pinching gently at first, then harder, drawing a sharp gasp as pleasure spikes through me.

The way you work my nipples, alternating between soft caresses and firm tugs, sets my body buzzing, and I feel your erection pressing insistently against my lower back. My hunger for you surges, a deep ache pooling low in my belly.

I twist in my chair, grabbing your belt loops to pull you closer, my fingers grazing the hard ridge beneath your jeans. You pulse under my touch, and I look up, catching the raw desire in your eyes, a mirror of my own need. My hands make quick work of your button and zipper, tugging the denim down just enough to free you. Your cock springs out, thick and straining, the tip glistening in the dim light. I wrap my fingers around your shaft, stroking slowly, savoring the velvety heat, my thumb circling the head, spreading your precum like a glossy invitation. I lean in, licking my lips, tasting the salty edge of your arousal.

My tongue flicks over the sensitive ridge just below your tip, teasing the frenulum with slow, deliberate swirls before I close my lips around you, sucking gently at first. The taste of you, musky and warm, floods my senses. Your hands find my breasts again, fingers kneading as I take you deeper, my lips stretching around your thickness, tongue flattening against the underside as I slide you further into my mouth. My clit throbs in rhythm with each inch I take, my body responding to the way you fill me, the way you groan above me.

Our pace quickens, desire unraveling into something wilder, more primal. I love how you tangle your fingers in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make my scalp tingle, guiding me as you thrust deeper, brushing the back of my throat. My breath catches, but I want this – want you to consume me. You pull back, and a slick string of saliva connects my lips to your swollen tip, glistening in the moonlight. I open my mouth wider, a silent plea, urging you to take me fully, to fuck my face with abandon.

You slide back in, and I moan, the sound muffled as you thrust, gripping my hair tightly. My lips stretch around you, saliva dripping down my chin, trailing onto my bare breasts as my eyes water from the intensity. The raw pleasure of it – your cock filling my mouth, your hands anchoring me – drives me wild. I want to drink you in, to feel you spill everything into me. I suck harder, tongue swirling, but just as I sense you teetering on the edge, you pull out with a low growl.

No! I need it! – I whimper, voice thick with desperation, but you’ve got other plans.

I want to feel how soaked you are – you murmur, hoisting me from the chair and setting me down hard on the edge of the wooden table, the cool surface a sharp contrast to my heated skin.

You strip my dress and panties off in one fluid motion, leaving me bare under the stars. Stepping between my thighs, you nudge them apart, and I spread them eagerly, my body yielding to you. Your mouth claims mine in a deep, messy kiss, tongues clashing as your hand trails up my inner thigh, fingers brushing the sensitive skin until they reach my core. Your middle finger traces my folds, slow and deliberate, parting them to find the slick heat you’ve stirred. I’m dripping, and you groan into my mouth as you feel it.

Your finger slides inside me, slow at first, stretching my tight warmth, curling just right to make my hips buck. You push deeper, to the knuckle, then pull back, only to thrust in again, setting a rhythm that has me clenching around you. The wet sounds of my arousal fill the air, mingling with my soft moans.
Fuck, you’re drenched just from sucking me – you say against my lips, adding a second finger, stretching me further. – But I’m starving for you too.