Part Four

I read the letter again, feeling myself get more and more aroused.

"I remember sitting on the bus one day; I was going to visit some friends out of town. There were some empty sets of seats left here and there, but for the most part, the bus was fairly crowded. The sun was setting as she got on the bus; I noticed her because, with the exception of myself, she was the only black person to get on the bus. She saw me, and headed straight for the seat next to me. And as she sat down, I caught a whiff of some scent, somethign that seemed to me at the time obscure, but it immediately made me so aroused that all I could do was to think of, to be conscious of, this woman who was sitting next to me. I wanted so badly to pull her into my lap, guide her face to mine, kiss her and caress her, and not let go of her until we were both satiated. The thought was so strong in my mind that it was nearly a physical urge, one that I had to restrain constantly throughout the entire hour-an-a-half trip.

There was nothing overly special or memorable about her; yes, she was pretty, she was black, and she was "my type"-- but beyond that, my attraction towards her was defined not by her physical attributes, or her personality traits, but by her scent. And there is no perfume in the world-- yet, at any rate-- that smells like she did, that could turn a man on-- could turn me on-- like her natural feminine spice could.

There is this fragrance, this odor, this scent, that is endemic to black women, and only black women-- and, of course, a very small retinue of latina women that I've been fortunate enough to have come across-- that stirs the blood, rouses the senses, and makes a man's loins rage with lust. I don't know what it is; I would call it pheremones for lack of a better word. All I truly know is that it grabs a man by his nose and his balls, and fuels him with lust.

Truly, it is endemic to black women, but not to all black women, or even to the majority of them; likewise, it isn't every black man whose nose can catch this scent, and even among those who can, there are even less of them who can tell the difference between this scent, these pheremones, and simple body odor; there is a definite, distinct difference, to those who can tell. A small minority of black women, who can attract men wth this scent, and an equally small minority of black men who can not only smell this scent, but can tell what it is-- or, rather, what it is not-- they are the most fortunate couples. A man whose woman companion has this special scent would always be close to his lady; she who exudes this fragrance would never have to fear that her man would stray. Though his eyes may be tempted, her alluring scent would keep him always at her beck and call; there would be no other woman who would be able to arouse him in quite the same way.

I must say, that you've had me since that first night when we were sitting on the couch together. I could smell you even then, and it took everything I had to keep my hands off of you. And each time we get together, it is harder and harder for me to restrain myself; your scent wraps itself around my nose and pulls me in closer; it twines itself around my brain and clouds my mind, and makes me oblivious to everything but you, and how much you arouse me. It makes me hunger to have your body near mine, to have the heat of you pressed against my skin, to back in the glow of your pleasure, the pleasure that I am pleased to be able to give to you, to feel the beat of your heart beneath my hand as I caress your skin.....

I can't wait to see you this weekend.....if we can have the time....."

Marcus

I had to read the letter twice before it sank in. The first thing that I could think of was Ohmigod, he could smell me! Oh, God, was that a bad thing? I mean, could he smell me? or could he smell me? Was it a funky, body-odor type thing? or was it my "feminine" smell? Didn't I clean myself? Didn't I--

All of this raced through my mind in the second before I realized that it wasn't something negative. My scent, whatever it was, it had him. I had him. The power! It flooded me for a moment; I had this power over him; whatever this odor was that I had, he was mesmerized by it. Then it truly hit me, and I realized

(It took everything I had to keep my hands off of you)

(hunger to have your body near mine)

(feel the beat of your heart beneath my hand as I caress your skin)

(no onther woman...arouse him in quite the same way)

(grabs him by his nose and his balls, and fuels him with lust)

the depth of his words. I could feel my nipples poking into my t-shirt and my tummy twisting up in knots of arousal. I could feel my love come down, as I used to hear my older sisters say, back in the seventies when I was a little girl.

I just had to call him, had to hear his voice, and tell him that yes, I would make the time for him; I didn't even think about whether or not I had to work this weekend; I didn't pause to consider where Selina would be for those 48 hours; all I knew was that I had to have him, finally have him, in every sense of the word, and I could only wait as long as the weekend....which was all of maybe three days away, since this was Tuesday-- excuse me, Wednesday, since it was after midnight; that made it less than three days away-- and Friday hadn't really even been thought of yet.

I had to call him, to hear his voice pour into my ear like warm honey; his answering machine picked up, so all I could do was leave him a message, telling him how much I was looking forward to sharing the weekend with him.

My next call- which I made the next day- was to my job; usually, I had every other weekend off, but I had just had the last weekend off-- which I'd shared the first part of with Marcus-- and I didn't know if I could wrestle another weekend off in a row, especialy after having told him that I could see him. I'd have to promise someone to take a weekend for them; really, I didn't have to worry; begin the beginning of the month, and with some schedule rearrangements-- rearrangements-- that I hadn't known about-- I'd been given the weekend off. That kinda pissed me off, that nobody thought to tell me that I was going to be on the schedule now for two weekends on, two off, to accommodate Nancy-- who, by the way, is a new girl to our floor-- and her once-a-month get-together with her college friends. But right now, who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Then I had to call my mother; it was too late to call Cynthia-- actually, it wasn't, but I knew that if I asked her to watch Selina for me over the weekend, then she'd figure out that there was some reason why I wanted Selina out of the house.....and she'd start trying to be nosy. Nosy is one thing that I did not want Cynthia being; she'd bug me until she found out, one way or another, and then she'd never let me alone. And alone-- especially with Marcus-- is what I really wanted to be. And, I'd also told marcus that my mother's place was where Selina was staying for the weekend. I didn't think he would be concerned whether or not she actually did spend the weekend with my mother, but I'd tolk him that, so I might as well see if she was able to keep an eye on Selina. My mother wasn't bothered by the idea of taking Selina, but would Selina be upset by spending the weekend with grandma? I mean, usually, she didn't mind if we went over to mom's house for a day, but it was rare that I sent her there on her own, and even more rare that she spent the night there.

I thought about it for all of thirty seconds, then I decided that it didn't matter if Selina minded or not. This weekend was going to be my weekend, and for once, I was going to think about me, and what I wanted. Didn't I deserve a little selfishness every once in a while?

Apparently, Selina didn't think so, and wanted to put up a fight, although I recognized it as nothing more than a token attempt; somehow, I think she knew that I wasn't about to give in to her mock "pissed-off"ness. I sat down and explained it to her as best as I could-- after all, she is only eight years old-- that I wanted to have the weekend to relax for once, away from everyone--

"Even me?" She asked, in her high-pitched youthful feminine voice.

"Well, yeah, even you," I said, immediately feeling guilty for wanting to spend time away from her, and just as quickly chastizing myself for feeling guilty; I deserved to have some time to myself.

"Why?"

"Well, because I spend all of my time with you, when I'm not at work," I began, "and sometimes, even mommies need time alone."

She was silent for a moment. "Marcus is coming over, huh?" She asked, looking me in the eye. I couldn't flinch; I wanted to, but then again, I had to expect that from her; my daughter is pretty damn smart; she was already in the third grade, and her math and reading skills were nearly at a fifth-grade level.

I thought of an appropriate answer.

"Well, I don't know. I hope so," I said, telling her as much of the truth as I felt I wanted her to know.

She seemed to absorb that for a second. "Well, if you want me to visit grandma's house because he's coming over, then that's okay." She paused, then, "I like Marcus. Is he going to be your boyfriend?"

I almost swallowed my tongue.

"Noooo," I spoke-sang. I looked at her like "little-girl, have you lost your mind?"

"Why not?"

"He's too young for me," I said to her.

"How old is he?"

"He's--" and I crossed my fingers, hoping that God didn't strike me down for lying to my baby girl, "--twenty-six."

"Hmm," she mumbled, "he's almost as old as you, mommy. Don't you want him to be your boyfriend?"

I put her off with some answer, and after a few more questions, she stopped buggin me. But her question wasn't so forgiving. Did I want him to be a regular part of my life? Sure, I wanted him to be my lover-- and didn't he already qualify for that?-- but as a true significant other? The fact that the question hung in the back of my mind as if waiting for consideration was reason enough to seriously keep it in mind.

Friday couldn't get here fast enough; it was so bad that I woke up every two hours, thinking that I'd slept the night through, cursing the darkness that was so slow in leaving. The images of Marcus, and his naked body as he'd gotten into the shower with me; the feel and the heat of him next to me in bed the night before that; the rich deep timbre of his voice which now could all by itself arouse me-- I couldn't get them out of my mind the entire day at work; even Nancy, and the new girl, who was apparently her protege now-- Tina, I finally found out what her name was-- couldn't keep my thoughts too far from him.

The last hour of work was an eternity. I drew blood, helped resusitate a patient, took vitals on another, gave a couple of sponge baths, took a phone call or two, delivered lunch to four patients, gave meds to three others, and had a doctor sign out two more; only a half-hour had gone by when I'd looked at the clock. I wanted to tear my hair out. But, somewhere along the way, I must have blanked out the last 30 minutes or so, because the next thing I remember, with relief and great joy, was getting into my car to go home.

And Marcus would be there; he said that he would meet me at my house- I just had to call him before I left work. Did I? I didn't remember. The fact that I couldn't say made me pull over at the first phone booth I saw, and call his number.f

No answer.

He was out. That had to mean that he was on his way to my apartment, didn't it? I mean, he'd told me that he hadn't had any other plans, so if he wasn't home, then he had to be on his way.....at least, I hoped so. And in any event, there wasn't anything I could do about it, at least until I got home. That didn't stop me from worrying about it, though.

I kept worrying about it, right up until the time I turned the corner to pull up in front of my apartment; his car was parked across the street, and he was leaning up against it, watching me park. I couldn't help it; my face broke out in a huge smile.

He pushed off of his car and walked over to me as I was getting out of mine. I turned for a second, just to make sure the door caught-- and to gain a bit of my composure-- and turned back to him

just in time for him to wrap his arms around me and draw his face to mine. Automatically, my arms leapt up to surround his neck.

His lips against mine felt like heaven; his tongue exploring my mouth, touching me with an intimacy that was unmatched by anything I'd experienced before, made my body shiver and my panties get wetter. What was it about his man that he could touch me in ways that none of his older counterparts-- hell, no other man, period-- could? that his touch could make my body react the way it did? that being with him, as my friend, as my lover, fulfilling my needs with those roles, felt so right?

I had a brief moment of panic; what if one of my neighbors looked outside, and saw us in the middle of the street, wrapped up in each other? Then, something inside me sobered up.

Fuck the neighbors.

No, better yet, they can fuck themselves. I could think of someone else I wanted to fill that role for me. And I'm sure that he was better at it than any of them could be. That's true enough so far.

His hands, just a moment ago at my waist, holding me to him, now moved; one hand went lower, and cupped one of my cheeks, pulling me closer to him. I could feel him, hard, pressed against my tummy. The other hand moved up, rubbing lazily across my back. He shifted his hips, and pushed against me. And where he was pressing against me-- I could feel my knees wanting to let go, to just melt in his arms, to let him take me, right there, against the side of the car, the neighbors be damned--

That's when I knew that I had to stop him, or neither of us would stop. I could already feel my panties getting wet all over again. I brought my hands down between us, and put them on his chest. I touched him, not pushing him away, but leaning just enough that he paused.

"Maybe we should go inside, first," I said in his ear; my voice was just barely a whisper.

"Maybe," he said, softly, his voice low, rich; it wasn't Michael Dorn or Barry White, but damn if he couldn't make me any wetter when he spoke like that. He had a look in his eye, and something told me that he might, just might, decide that getting into the apartment wasn't all that important right now. Almost magically, his hand appeared, and he cupped one of my breasts, slowly, softly, caressing it. It was a cotton bra, and a cotton blouse; I could feel my nipples crinkling up already, getting hard, and I knew he could see that.

I wanted to say something, about the power he had over me, but it felt soo good. His hands, his touch, his look, his voice, could stir me, could make my body shiver and react, could make me want to strip him of his clothes, could make me so free that I didn't care where I was as long as I was with him; I felt too good to shatter that.

"C'mon," he said, although, at first, he didn't move; I wondered it, for just a second, if he really was going to start something out here, in the growing twilight of the day, in the middle of the street. A part of me wanted him just enough to want him to.

Then he moved, and very gently he spun me around, towards the house. We started moving.

My apartment is on the back of hte house; a long time ago, someone took this house-- this old house, this very large old house-- and split it into four apartments. My door was on the side of the house, and looking out of the door, it, and the porch faced towards the house next door, and the two driveways between. There were thick hedges on either side of the porch, and the one on the backside is much larger; even still, I couldn't see past the one in the front to the street.

As we started walking up the stairs I reached in my purse, looking for my keys. I knew that they had to be in here.....right? I didn't leave them in the car, but were they dangling in the lock? I could barely remember; I was trying hard not to get lost in thinking about this man next to me, who minute by minute was making me want nothing more than to be out of my clothes, and in his arms, to feel the muscles of his chest, to pull him down on top of me, to feel him--

Shit! Where are those keys?!? I shouted in my mind, trying to distract myself. I felt my fingers wrap around the keychain.

"Got 'em," I said out loud, pulling them out of my purse.

Without any warning, I felt hands-- Marcus'-- coming around me from behind. In a flash, he had unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, and his hand was sliding down into my--

my knees almost buckled for real, then, as his fingers touched my wet clit, and I had to stifle a loud gasp and moan.

I dropped my keys.

I could feel him pressing up against me. Then, in an eyeblink, his hot breath fell down over my neck, and his lips, soft and moist, were playing on the back of my neck, his tongue swirling around in a tight little spot, and the only thing holding me up was his hand on my waist. Another instant; his hand was inside my blouse, and cupping my breast again, but this time, I could feel his skin against mine; his thumb was brushing back and forth over my erect nipple, and

and I lost it, right then. I couldn't fight it, even if I'd wanted to. I'd been thinking about him all day, and the kiss at the car had gotten me warmed up, and now this, his thumb on my nipple, his mouth on my neck, and his fingers rubbing against and inside of me, this was it, this was too much, there was nothing I could do but come. I felt it rumbling through my groin, an express train, speeding up through my belly, pounding past my rib cage, thundering down my thighs, roaring into my head and slamming into the soles of my feet. I could feel the muscles in my stomach quivering, and my thighs were twitching and shaking, and I could hear hoarse half-cries coming from somewhere; it took me a few moments to realize that they were coming from me.....or I think they were; I couldn't think straight, couldn't think at all. My mind, my thoughts, my being, was flooded with total sensation, total desire, total now, as my orgasm-- orgasms-- ripped through me, left me drained.

When I looked up, we were in the apartment. He was just closing the door.

He looked at me, I guess trying to figure out if I was all here yet; I reached out, and he handed me my keys; he also took my jacket off of me.

My head beginning to clear, I put my purse down on the kitchen table, kicked off my shoes, and started to walk into the living room. I say, started, because that's when Marcus pounced on me again.

In a dizzying whirl, he'd pushed and pinned me to the wall-- all very gently, of course; had I not known of his reflexes and his tenderness, it would've seemed unreal, how I'd ended up against the wall like this-- with my pants at my ankles; I guess I'd forgotten to zip them back up. I looked at him-- looked down at him, since he was now kneeling between my legs, looking up at me.

"Am I going too fast for you?" His voice, soft, smooth, sexy.

"Yes," I answered, my own voice a husky whisper.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

I leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.

I could sense him getting closer to me; I could feel his hot breath again, gently wafting over the crotch of my very wet panties. Then his tongue-- his tongue-- against me, almost as if the panties weren't even there. I could feel it, swirling around in big, slow circles, and the fact that I knew he could taste me, both in and through the panties, and the feel of his hot tongue, made me feel like I was going to come again. It was rushing at me again, nearly as strong as the last, and when it hit me, all I coud do was hold on. My hands grasped the back of his head, and forced him against me-- as if he wanted to leave-- my hips rocking into his chin, my wetness dripping, leaking, pouring, into his mouth, and this time I did let out a scream; I know that, because I was loud enough to make myself know that it was me screaming.

This time, I came back to myself pretty quickly; he was pulling my panties down off of my legs; without thinking, I lifted my legs, allowing him to take them off of me-- and my pants, as well. He stood, and looked at me. I noticed that his shorts were gone.

"I'm keeping these, this time," he said, a smile on his face.

"But they're dirty--" I began to protest.

"I don't care."

"But they're nasty and wet--"

"I like 'em like that."

"But I was just wearing them--"

"I know," he smiled; the look on his face and in his eyes kept me from protesting more. Then, his eyes locked onto mine, he brought the panties up to his face, and the crotch of them to his nose. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes; his breath stopped, and he gave a small shudder, of excitement, of arousal, I could tell, by the fact that his smile grew until it threatened to rip his face apart.

He took them, and tucked them into the pocket of his jacket. Then, walking back towards me-- don't ask me why I didn't move away from the wall; maybe I was worn out, a little, you think?-- he stripped of everything he was wearing except for those biker shorts. Every time he visits me, he wears those. And I like the way they look on him. He walked over to me, and pulled the rest of my clothes off. Then, he pulled me to him.

For a moment, I wanted this to go on forever. The feel of his skin against mine, of his hard, muscular chest against my breasts, the feel of his tiny nipples hot against me, his arms around my sides and his hands against the cheeks of my ass, the bulge of him, pressing against the top of my groin-- to feel him like that, to feel his body against mine, the sensations so delightfully exquisite, I didn't want it to end.

"What do you wnat of me tonight?" he whispered.

"This," I said, grabbing and stroking the bulge in his shorts, "I want to feel this tonight."

"All that you ask, I shall give to you, tonight," he said, "and for all night, if you wish."

I smiled inside.

"May I?" He murmured, slowly sinking to his knees in front of me.

Instead of answering, I pushed down on his shoulders-- probably a little harder than I'd meant to-- to let him know.

He got the message.

Without the panties in the way, every sensation was stronger, fuller, more-- it felt like a thousand times more than before. I could almost swear that I could feel the little bumps of his taste buds caressing my wet sex, flicking over my clit every now and then, catching the drops of my essence as they poured from me. I could hear his muffled slight moans, even beneath my louder ones, and even underneat that, I could hear the sounds of his tongue tasting me, drinking of me. My body was on fire; his tongue felt like it was reaching up into my tummy; my nerves were singing. It felt like I was going to go into overload, but not quite, like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, neither falling down, or straightening back up. It took me a few minutes to think that maybe he was keeping me on edge on purpose. I wanted it to stop, and to never end, both at once. I hated him for teasing me so, torturing me like he was, but I loved what he was doing to me, keeping me from losing the intensity of the moment. His tongue kept sliding inside of me, running around and around in circles within me, then back out, licking across my entire wetness, circling my clit, and then back again.

I felt like I was gonna jump out of my skin. My hands were attached to his head, almost by themselves, holding him to me, fighting myself to keep him there, to reach for that peak, even as much as I wanted to hold it off, straining for the eternity that I could only glimpse.

Suddenly, he sped up, and I could feel it all gathering now, everything moving to one point, all of my senses rocketing to the point where my body and his tongue came together. It felt like he was trying to pull it all out of me, sucking it all down, as he was drinking down my juices.

Then it all stopped.

For a split second, everything stopped. I couldn't hear a sound; my breath caught; it felt like Marcus had stopped, as if he knew that another single touch would make me come; I could feel my legs wanting to begin to tremble, like watching a cat just before she pounces, everything centered in my groin.

Then I exploded.

Oh, this- this is what I wanted, to hand in this orgasm, to come like never before, to be surrounded by this feeling, to fall forever into infinity, coming forever. My hips were bucking hard; Marcus was holding on tightly, his lips, his tongue, never leaving my clit, riding out my storm, making it last, keeping me flying. My legs were trembling; the fact that he was holding me against the wall kept me from sliding down to the floor. My nipples were so hard, so tight, that they hurt, but it was a dim hurt, a good hurt, and it just added to my orgasm. Distantly, I could feel my toes flexing, curling and uncurling; I couldn't've made myself stop pushing his head into me, even if my life depended on it. This, this was just too good to stop.

Every time I felt like I was about to fall, to come down, he would suck on my clit again, or slide his tongue up inside of me and flick it around quickly, and up I would go again; he kept me hanging; drinking my love juices was his payment, and not only did he seem to like the way I paid him, but he was intent on collecting, in full . And it didn't seem like he-- or my body-- would let up.

"Enough!" I cried, gently shoving his head away from me. It was like flipping a switch inside of me; as soon as he stopped, my legs collapsed, and I slid-fell, like a puddle, onto the floor. I could feel myself coming down, slowly, as though he'd lit a fire inside of me that was taking its time burning out.

He crawled over to me, and kissed me. I was drawn into his kiss, duelling with his tongue, tasting myself in his mouth, and liking the taste, enough that I found myself licking my ample juices off of his cheeks and chin.

"Would you like anything more?" he asked me softly, after I'd finished licking him, and we'd shared another long, deep kiss.

"No more foreplay," I said, almost panting, "Just you, inside me, now."

"Here? or in the bedroom?"

"Now," I said, laying back, and trying to pull him on top of me. He moved with me, crawling up atop me, between my legs. God, I felt so wet. He settled down, his chest to mine; I could feel the heat of him, the heat of his erection, just brushing against me.

"I might not last very long, at first," he admitted, a small smile appearing on his face.

"I'm sure that we'll have more," I said, "besides, how long is not long?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes?"

I almost laughed; only fifteen minutes? Edward, my last lover before Marcus, he, he'd barely lasted fifteen minutes, and that was even on a good day. And 'at first'? I think there was only one time when he had an 'at first'. I was lucky that he was good with his hands; he didn't use his tongue often enough, and he barely made sure I was satisfied before he was. Edward, I was realizing, had simply been adequate-- and maybe not even that good. Right now, though, I couldn't find a word to fit Marcus; he kept surprising me.

His tongue circling around my nipple drove nearly all thoughts from my mind. I pulled his head closer, almost nursing him, and oddly enough, that just made me more aroused. And, he didn't bite or chew on my nipple; his gentle sucking and licking were exciting me; my nipples got even harder, if that was possible.

"Well, we've got all night, don't we?" I said, smiling.

He shifted, and then he paused. He looked at me, his face just a touch worried for a second. I knew what he was about to ask me.

"What about--"

"Don't worry," I said, "Just love me."

He hesitated for just the briefest of moments.

His mouth descended onto mine, and then he pushed his hips into mine, all I could think was oh, shit! Stars exploded in me, and automatically, my hips pushed up into his. I could feel him inside me, every lovely inch, every wonderful vein and ridge, sliding, burying himself within me. He felt so thick and hard and long and glorious. I wanted to hold him inside of me all night, just like this.

Then he pulled back, and that awoke the lustful beast in me-- really, she'd never gone back to sleep after me coming like crazy like I had, propped up against the wall-- and I grabbed at him, my legs wrapping around his waist. It was a little tough; one hundred and sixty pounds, and all of five-two, to his two-and-some-change, and six feet. But, I got it, anyway, pushig my hips back into his, as he pumped back inside of me.

Together, we got into a delicious rhythm; as I felt him pushing into me, I pulled myself up onto him, digging my heels into his behind. Every time he pulled back, I felt empty inside, and craved to have him fill me once again, which he did after a moment's pause, and each time I felt more complete. More than twice he made as if he were going to pull all the way out, and I could feel the emptiness inside of me, even before he did; I cried for him to fill me, to take me, not to leave me. Each time, he gave me what I wanted, as he said he would.

I could feel my body tingling, zinging, but slowly; I was on a slow ride to the top, this time. I could feel him, pulsing inside of me; he began to speed up, just a little. I could tell by his quickeed breath that something within him had changed, that he was a little closer to coming, and that thought pushed a button in me; I could feel it; the ride stated to speed up a little, and I pushed my hips up in a matching rhythm.

I couldn't help the small moans that came from me, and as he began to speed up, he also started moaning.

"God, you feel soo good," he panted in my ear, "I love the way you feel." It turned me on even more, to konw that he was enjoying and loving the loving I was giving him.

"You feel so good inside me," I admitted to him, "just don't stop, please don't stop, lve me all night long." My voice was low, hoarse.

"As long as I can," he promised, "as much as I can."

He sped up even more, now, and little "oh, oh, oh"s were being pushed out of me with each thrust. I could feel it now, both his orgasm and mine, the two trains beginning to rocket up the slope of the hill, now, heading for the top.

Almost at once-- I could feel it inside both of us-- it began happening. But he was going to be first.

"Oh," he grunted, and then began panting, "I'm gonna.....I'm gonna....."

"Yes, baby," I said, encouraging him, "yes, do it, come for me, come in me, yes..."

He growled out loud, reminding me of a big jungle cat, as his hips pushed into me automatically, with an almost primal, bestial frenzy. I could feel him swelling even more inside of me, and the increase in frictoin got me started. He came inside of me, gloriously, pulsing, throbbing, filling me up, and I could feel it, every thrust, every spasm, and feeling him come made me come.

"Yes...yes...yes! YES!" I cried out.

I tightened my legs around him, pulling him deeper inside of me; my nails raked across his back; a harsh cry flew from my throat, and my hips bucked into his, as I cam, feeling him come with me.

My world exploded. I could feel my entire body tingling, energy zipping across my skin; I couldn't breath right; every spasm within him set me off again, making me come with each pulse; my hips crashed against his, our bodies working by themselves, seeking to make the two of us one, if only for a moment; suddenly, I was aware- dimly aware- of sweat, pouring off of our bodies, pouring off of him- I could feel each drop as it hit my skin, and little mini explosions rippled over my skin.

Suddenly the world was turning; we were rolling over, until now, I was on top. My body slid down onto his, and in this position, it was even more intense. I had never had orgasms like this before-- shit, I had never had one orgasm like any of this before-- with another person. Then again, I had never had anyone so willing to see to my pleasure over his own before, either. But all I knew was that I wasn't going to give him up, not without a helluva fight. My whole body was shaking; it was that god, and I couldn't stop it, even if I'd wanted to; I tried.

And, even after he finished, and even after I finished, tremors raced through me, and all I could do was hold on to him; Marcus cradled me in his big, strong arms, keeping me safe and warm, while I rode out my storm.

I don't know how long we laid there, on the carpet; when I finally looked up, it was pitch black in the room, and the clock on top of the tv read 7:03. I was sure that I'd gotten home by six, but between then and now, I couldn't tell how long we'd been doing anything. My body ached, some, but not in a bad way, and I was feelin a little tired. I was sure that if we laid here, I could probably just doze off, feeling the heat of his body, listening to the slow strong beat of his heart.

"So," he said, pausing for just a second, "do you think you want anything more? I think I'm ready, now, if you are." More??? I almost said something about that. I did want more, and I didn't. The was like lettin a kid loose in the candy store; I'd had my fill, for the moment, but I knew that I'd want more, later.

I sat up, slowly; not having moved, without really meaning to, I simply slid back down on him; my body shuddered in the rush of sensation. He sat up, putting his arms arond me, holding me. I slid my arms underneath his, holding onto his shoulder, holding him next to me.

We sat there for a while; then, as one, we separated, and I stood.

"Let's move to the bedroom," he suggested from his position of still on the floor.

"We should clean up first," I said, thinking of how sticky I felt.

"Let me do that for you," he said. The words didn't sink in immediately, and by the time they had, he had my hips bound by his arms, and his mouth was ascending to my very sticky body.

I couldn't protest; I didn't have time to protest, and then, when he began licking up our love juices, I didn't have the strength to protest. Oh, it felt so good, and part of that was because what he was doing was just so deliciously nasty, and I couldn't help but love how it felt to have him lick me clean. What other brother would do that? My juices, maybe, but from the both of us? And how did he know that doing something like that, something so taboo, would turn me on so much? I'd never knew that I could be so aroused, but he just kept finding new ways to take me there, kept pushing my limits to new heights.

Soon, he had me nearly jumping out of my skin again, but he stopped short of making me come this way. Gently, he pushed me back, and stood, pulling me closer to him when he was finally on his feet. Then, he kissed me.

The absolute raunchines of it got me going again; the lusty lady inside of me was ready to go again.

"Take me," I whispered against his lips. I could feel him smile.

And he was as hard as a rock.

He swept me off of my feet-- literally-- and carried me into the bedroom.

He put me on my hand and knees on the bed, and in less than a second was inside of me. I had asked him to "take me", didn't I? And he kept it up-- and I do mean, "kept it up"-- for nearly an hour, before we stopped to get a drink and take a break-- then he was good to go again ; we shifted from him behind me, to having him hold me up, standing, while I rode him; we moved out of the bedroom, and he took me across the kitchen table; having him taste me as the water in the shower poured down on us; from behind, pressed up against the big side window-- and with the light on in the kitchen next door and people walking back and forth, I guess we were lucky no one thought to look out the window; him tasting me as I tasted him; we did just about everything. Prince said that there were twenty-three positions in a one-night stand; we tried them all, and then some, I'm sure. This man made me find God, and shout out affirmations that I'm sure all the neighbors heard.

At last, I couldn't take it anymore; I was completely sated, and even he was tired. We curled up together, spoon style.

"Stay the night with me?" I asked softly; I didn't have any doubts that he would, but what I was asking for wasn't what I was asking.

"How many nights?" he asked back; no, he definitely wasn't missin my meaning.

"What if I said, two nights?"

"What if I answered you and said, for as many nights as you'd like?"

"You know, we could be talking about a lot of nights."

"That's what I'm hoping for," he said; I could hear the smile in his voice. And I smiled back. Because that was just what I was hoping for, too.