When I feel her legs tremble, I know she is getting close. Thoughts of what is for breakfast vanish. Gone is the pain in my neck from the weird angle. My own sexual needs slip away as the focus of the predator become absolute.
I want her explosion in my mouth.
I am addicted to her taste. I crave it as much as I do the clean mountain air.
I want to taste her like it’s the first time, every time. Her sexual energy calls to me, beckons me to lose control, to take her time and time again until neither of us can find ourselves in the jungles of pleasure.
My self-control, so ingrained in every fiber of my being, threatens to shatter as she approaches her climax.
I know our connection does the same for her as well. I overwhelm her. I can hear it in her frantic cries, in her moans, and in the way her body responds to my affection. I complete her and she, me.
Then she explodes, and I ride through her orgasm with her, feeling the waves of pleasure with her.
Then I take her again.
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