Your back is to me. I can see from your reflection in the window that your eyes are closed in quiet contemplation, listening to the city sounds below. I ease onto the bed and move towards you, circle your chest with my arms from behind, rest my head against yours. Your hand lifts to caress mine; you smile, sigh, eyes still closed. A gentle squeeze, and I pull my arms away, letting my hands glide beneath the collar of your robe and slide the silk away like milk pouring from your skin. I knead your shoulders for a moment and am pleased to find you already so relaxed. My fingers wind through your hair, soft, like a spider sorting threads for her web. Your moan is barely audible until it evolves into another sigh. I am so happy to please you.
Knowing how much you enjoy it, I let my fingertips sneak down to your neck and feather your back with caresses. They play at your shoulder blades, tease your spine, explore your sides as you wriggle against them. I switch to a calmer touch, flat hands soothing nerve endings, then tickle once more, enough to bring delight, no more.
You turn to kiss me. Once, softly, then again. Our mouths open and we feel the warm moistness of each other’s desire. I hear a tiny sound of surprise from you and you move away, smiling.
“What’s that scent?” you ask, leaning forward to sniff and kiss again.
“Can you guess?” I ask.
“Let me smell that again.” You turn yourself fully around to embrace me and kiss me deeply. “Flower, I think.”
“Yes, flower. A special flower.”
Another kiss. Another sniff. “Not roses. Not lilacs; not so sweet.” Another kiss. “Ah! Lavender.”
“Yes!” I smile. “Do you like it?”
“Love it. Did you put it on your entire body?”
“Nothing so dull as that, sweetie.”
You are intrigued, guessing that there is more. I know the notion of impending discoveries excites you. I can feel your erection against my thigh as you guide me down onto my back. Your hands are delightfully warm; I feel heat through the wine-coloured silk of my robe as they find my breasts. You whisper my name as your mouth reaches my neck. You kiss, and then you lick. “Lemon. That one’s easy!”
I turn to bare more of my scented neck to you… take it. My fingers find your hair again as you clasp your hungry mouth to my neck. My turn to sigh now. A wave of passion crests inside me and I press you away and onto your back so I can devour you with hot, wet kisses on your neck and face. The fingers of one hand are still entwined in your hair. The other dances across your chest, down your stomach, finds you hard and holds as your hips push against me, a promise of delights to come.
Both hands move now to your face, learning the features with my fingers as a blind woman might. I close my eyes to enhance the sensation, resculpting the lines of your face. Your hands grab my wrists. You press them to your lips.
“Peppermint,” you say. “Peppermint wrists.”
“You’re very good at this,” I answer, kissing your hands. My tongue presses along the inside of your palm, spreads your fingers as it dances between them. “Have you done this before?”
“Never,” you declare, tugging at me until I rest on top of you. You suck at my wrists like a child with a candy cane until the scent is gone. “But I sure hope to again.” Straddling you in this way, I notice how very wet I am by the way you nearly slide into me without effort. But, ah, not yet, no.
I move forward, kiss the top of your head, rub my body along yours until my breasts are at your lips. Your lips part automatically and my right nipple stiffens in response to your tongue. You taste the left nipple before making your guess. They are both the same, but you are not sure you’ve got this one right. “Smells like… gin? Even tastes like gin.” Determined to make your guess conclusive you taste once more, moving between my nipples, licking, sucking, thrilling me!
When I can find my voice, I tell you, “Yes. It’s juniper berry. What they make gin from.”
You release my breast long enough to grin and say, “Hmm, educational as well as nutritional,” then return to sucking. Your right hand nudges between our bodies and finds me wet and wanting. One finger slips inside me and I press against it, moaning softly. Two on the next gentle thrust… oh, I could almost come right now! But, no, there are still discoveries to make.
Playfully, I push away, sitting up and pulling you with me. Our skin is flushed with passion, our breath quick, eyes sparkling. “I just want to make it last,” I explain, “savour it.”
“Savour it,” you repeat, “I get it.” You pass back through the familiar lavender garden, the lemon of my neck, and I lean back to let you revisit the juniper of my nipples. You brace me at the waist as I lean back further, resting on my hands as your tongue circles my navel. It’s ticklish, and I giggle and squirm as you make up your mind what it is.
“Spicy. Hot.”
“Like you,” I say through my giggles.
You taste again, then declare, “Cinnamon!” triumphant.
“Go to the head of the class!”
With a raised eyebrow and a boyish grin you say, “I thought you’d never ask,” and move lower still, to the final scented spot. This is the challenge, since you have to get past my own musk to find the herbal aroma.
The moment I feel your tongue probe the soft, moist folds between my legs I no longer care about herbs or slowness or anything except that you don’t ever stop! How wonderful you are with your mouth; tongue tentative, yet firm. You move your head away, to make a guess at the aroma, I imagine, but I gently push you right back, moving my legs out from beneath me and letting you settle in. The heat and the wetness release the herbal scent into the air around us; amazing what a single drop can do. The earthy scent envelops us as your tongue carries me to an excruciatingly pleasant plateau, then coaxes me over the edge into the warm rolling ocean of orgasm.
As I begin to float back to the coherent world, I find my voice and say, “Paul, I want you inside me.” I feel your weight and then I feel you push into me, a delicious feeling with the area so highly sensitized and flushed. My legs encircle your waist as your hips move, grinding against me in the realization of that earlier tantalizing promise. My arms come up under yours to hold on to your shoulders, bracing me for the thrill of each thrust. With one hand I grasp your hair, baring your neck where I smother my moans. I arch to let you reach further into me and orgasm again overtakes me. You move slowly, helping to prolong the delight. When I have settled back to earth once more, you let your passion have control, pounding against me with increasing lust.
“I’m so close,” you whisper, your voice hoarse with pleasure.
I quickly turn you over so that I can be on top of you, sitting up. “Lay back and enjoy this,” I tell you, as I match the rhythm we had a moment ago. You manage to smile broadly through your sighs, encouraging me with a word or two until eloquence deserts you altogether and your back arches and you buck and grunt and grasp my hips and hold me against you until you are spent. Keeping you inside of me, I bend forward to hold you and let you hold me as we catch out breaths.
After a moment of quiet, you ask, “Are you going to tell me what the final aroma was?”
“Won’t you guess?”
“Something earthy, like the woods. Like you.”
“It’s patchouli,” I say. “From India.”
“It’s magical,” you reply.
“You’re magical, my dear.”
We fall asleep there, in each other’s arms, the moist fairies between us and the aromatic fairies watching over us.