I Watch You
folder
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,033
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,033
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
I Watch You
A/N: This is dedicated to the imaginary woman who haunts my dreams. Whoever you are, I hope you find me soon.
*****
I watch you when you don’t know I’m looking.
You sit there, staring into your coffee like it holds all of the secrets of the universe. A single drop of brown trickles slowly down the side of the paper Starbucks cup, leaving behind a trail that points up at your lipstick mark in a lazy, twisting thread.
Brick red, the only color you ever wear.
A single tendril of hair has escaped from the blue bandana you have perpetually tied so tightly around your head I wonder how you can think. You absently twirl it between your short fingers, honey gold coiling around hands that never lose their tan, even in winter. I watch this as you contemplate the universe in your cup, staring over the browned edges of an old book I picked up when we entered the shop. I don’t know what the book is; I don’t care. I use it merely to watch you when you don’t know I’m looking.
At night I watch you. We lie in our bed together, naked as we’d been born. You like patchouli incense, I like sandalwood. Where the two combine with the smell of our sex in a cloud if thin smoke and love over our bed, it smells like heaven. I love the feeling of the flannel sheets beneath us; rough enough that I always know they’re there, giving me some grounding to reality, but soft enough that they cushion my body from the old spring mattress underneath.
You are beautiful when you are naked. You are always beautiful, but seeing your bare breasts laid out for me is like sitting before a table laden with Manna from the gods. A tattoo, a thin vine with violet flowers and emerald leaves, curves over one perfect shoulder and crosses your breast, ending twined around your pink nipple. I would follow the trail with my finger, my tongue, lapping gently at your nipple, but I don’t want to wake you. I like watching you when you don’t know I’m looking.
My breasts are smaller than yours, I think absently as you pick up your cup and take a long sip of coffee. You look over at me and smile. I cannot help but smile back.
When you lower your head between my legs, I watch you. Even when you lick my clit, your fingers running over my inner lips. Even when you’ve brought me so close to the edge I can see stars behind my eyes and the world seems as if it was created solely to contain my orgasm. I watch you. I watch your fingers run around my nipples, teasing them hard, making me cry out in ecstasy. When you crawl up and kiss me, letting me taste myself on your supple tongue, I close my eyes so you don’t know I was watching you.
Sometimes when we kiss, I peak.
When you finish your coffee, I look down at my book, seemingly engrossed in its dancing words. I don’t want you to know I was watching, or you might look up more often, hoping to catch me in the act. I stare hard at the words, thinking of you, thinking of us. I picture you in our bed, your fingers grabbing handful of flannel sheets as you tip over the edge, your mouth working silently as I suckle at your nipple, my fingers running softly over your hard clit. I think of your lipstick on the side of your coffee cup, brick red, as always. I look up.
And I find you watching me.
*****
I watch you when you don’t know I’m looking.
You sit there, staring into your coffee like it holds all of the secrets of the universe. A single drop of brown trickles slowly down the side of the paper Starbucks cup, leaving behind a trail that points up at your lipstick mark in a lazy, twisting thread.
Brick red, the only color you ever wear.
A single tendril of hair has escaped from the blue bandana you have perpetually tied so tightly around your head I wonder how you can think. You absently twirl it between your short fingers, honey gold coiling around hands that never lose their tan, even in winter. I watch this as you contemplate the universe in your cup, staring over the browned edges of an old book I picked up when we entered the shop. I don’t know what the book is; I don’t care. I use it merely to watch you when you don’t know I’m looking.
At night I watch you. We lie in our bed together, naked as we’d been born. You like patchouli incense, I like sandalwood. Where the two combine with the smell of our sex in a cloud if thin smoke and love over our bed, it smells like heaven. I love the feeling of the flannel sheets beneath us; rough enough that I always know they’re there, giving me some grounding to reality, but soft enough that they cushion my body from the old spring mattress underneath.
You are beautiful when you are naked. You are always beautiful, but seeing your bare breasts laid out for me is like sitting before a table laden with Manna from the gods. A tattoo, a thin vine with violet flowers and emerald leaves, curves over one perfect shoulder and crosses your breast, ending twined around your pink nipple. I would follow the trail with my finger, my tongue, lapping gently at your nipple, but I don’t want to wake you. I like watching you when you don’t know I’m looking.
My breasts are smaller than yours, I think absently as you pick up your cup and take a long sip of coffee. You look over at me and smile. I cannot help but smile back.
When you lower your head between my legs, I watch you. Even when you lick my clit, your fingers running over my inner lips. Even when you’ve brought me so close to the edge I can see stars behind my eyes and the world seems as if it was created solely to contain my orgasm. I watch you. I watch your fingers run around my nipples, teasing them hard, making me cry out in ecstasy. When you crawl up and kiss me, letting me taste myself on your supple tongue, I close my eyes so you don’t know I was watching you.
Sometimes when we kiss, I peak.
When you finish your coffee, I look down at my book, seemingly engrossed in its dancing words. I don’t want you to know I was watching, or you might look up more often, hoping to catch me in the act. I stare hard at the words, thinking of you, thinking of us. I picture you in our bed, your fingers grabbing handful of flannel sheets as you tip over the edge, your mouth working silently as I suckle at your nipple, my fingers running softly over your hard clit. I think of your lipstick on the side of your coffee cup, brick red, as always. I look up.
And I find you watching me.