It doesn't get much better than this. Warm firelight from the slowly dying fire; warm skin of the man against my back; hot breath from his mouth against my shoulder; slight scent of Mac's finest ale that we drank an hour before. This is a good night.
I'm enjoying it. I don't get many.
I feel his fingers fold around mine as he continues to move slowly against me; inside me. His lips brush the back of my neck. His toes scrape against my calf as he works to get purchase against the slight fuzziness of the Elvis rug beneath us. I'm sure Elvis doesn't mind.
I turn my head and feel his lips close to mine. A shift of my head and our lips meet and I'm sure he won't let go until we're both out of breath. And that's exactly what he does - holds on until we can't breathe. Then he lets go long enough to drag his tongue along the backs of my shoulders, only to find my mouth on the other side once I turn my head. It feels more like a dance, than a game. And every step is perfectly timed and in rhythm.
Then he'll do something like scratch a fingernail against my skin or whisper a Spanish phrase that I can't quite translate fast enough to understand that makes me shiver. A tingling, good shiver. Coupled with the gentle rock of his hips that brushes my own against the rug, I'm nearly seeing stars. The fingers of my free hand claw at the rug. A few more easy presses of his hips pulls us both through climax and into that warm softness that exists only after really good sex.
I feel him panting softly against my neck. His chest rising and falling in time with my own as we breathe through the after-effects. He's solid and almost heavy on my back, but I wouldn't want him anywhere else.