Want ~
This morning, I awoke to an empty bed, or to be more precise, an empty mattress.
Phillipe had decided that since we were spending so many hours in the studio, we should just bring a mattress up here.So, two days ago, he did just that and hauled his huge mattress up there. It was all very romantic when he placed it beneath the window. Kissing me, he pulled me down onto it and told me that now he could touch me under the stars, just like he’d touched me under the sun.
That was not all that happened. This morning, I discovered what it means to trulywantanother. Want in every way that the word can be used. To need, crave, and desire another.
Phillipe got up early. I could tell because there was no sun warming my skin, like it had every other morning. Rolling over, I reached across the pillow beside me. I noticed that it had already cooled, so he’d been up for a while.
That was a shame, because I had wanted him to make love to me this morning. I was restless.
Sitting up in the makeshift bed, I held the sheet to my breasts and called out to him. “Phillipe?”
When I got no answer, I lay back down and shut my eyes, waiting a few minutes before calling out for him again. This time, he responded from the foot of the mattress, surprising me with his sudden nearness.
“Yes?”
“Oh, there you are.” I felt the sheet being tugged on at my feet.
“Let go, Chantel,” he instructed me, his voice darkly persuasive.
Releasing my grip, I almost moaned as he pulled it away from my body. It slid down in a silky caress until I was left lying there naked, save for the beginning of the morning sun warming my body as it finally started to rise.
“Where were you?” I asked.
I waited for him to climb up my body, for his lips to find mine, but this time, it didn’t come. He wasn’t there.
“Phillipe?”
“I’m still here,” he assured me. He offered up no other words.
When the intensity of the silence started to unnerve me a little, I asked, “What are you doing? And, if you aren’t coming over here, can I have the sheet back?”
He chuckled low and deep. “No.”
“No?”
I gasped when his warm hands circled my ankles and pulled me down the bed. My legs were hanging over the end of the mattress, spread wide enough that I could feel him kneeling between them.
I moved to sit up and touch him, but he told me, “No.”
He placed a palm between my breasts, pushing me back onto the mattress. His hand slowly slid up to the base of my neck.
“No?” I asked, like this was some kind of new erotic game we were playing. It was like a push and pull of want.
His big palm slid back down the center of my body as his fingertips circled my navel before tracing a direct line down to my spread thighs.
“I want to slide my tongue between your legs and taste you. Can I do that?” he murmured as he dipped his finger to flirt with my swollen folds.
“Yes.”
I moaned as the tip of his finger pushed into my pussy. I had woken up wanting him, and now, here he was, touching me the way he always did. He touched me in a way that made me think I was losing my mind.
“Will you let me paint you like this today?”
I swallowed and squeezed my eyes shut. Trying to gain purchase, I raised my right foot to the edge of the mattress, lifting my pelvis closer to his hand. I needed him deeper inside of me. I needed more.
He stopped touching me between my thighs and moved to grip my ankle.
