In the middle of the night, he nudges her out of sleep for slow, sensual, orgasmic sex.
In the Still of the Night
By Rachel Kramer Bussel
It's the middle of the night. I open my eyes briefly and close them again, trying to get back into the cozy warmth of sleep. I feel myself awaken, even as my body strains to pull me back into the softness of the bed and the lull of my dreams.
I feel my lover's hands probing me, touching me, wanting me. I almost think I'm imagining it -- didn't we just fall asleep after three hours of vigorous sex? Does he really want more? As I look at the clock, it says 3:30, but his insistent hands say "Now." I like his insatiability, this willful display of his lust that I would be foolish to refuse.
I try to move without really moving, arching my back every so slightly to let his fingers enter me deeply. He pushes silently, and I slither closer to him, needing to feel the warmth of his skin against my back. It reminds me of trying to be quiet when I was a kid so my parents wouldn't know I was awake, only now the quiet is my choice. I get off on the silence, hearing only his skin brushing against mine, my hands moving against the sheets as I clutch them even more frantically.
I listen closely to the sound of our breathing, which signals the stepping-stones of our arousal, differentiating one ragged breath from the next, charting our path to orgasm. Every noise seems louder, more focused, more significant, like an old black-and-white movie. This is not the noisy, thrashing, heated, wild sex we usually have; it's not tidier, just more calculated.
Now he moves to lie on top of me, his weight sinking me deeper into the bed, his breath falling firmly in my ear, getting more and more eager as his dick swells against my ass. His fingers are still coaxing me, awakening my senses as they press into the deepest reaches of my pussy. I feel myself expanding to fit the reach of his fingers, stretching to let him in, and I can't help but want more -- more fingers, more tension, more force.
I want to say something, but the stillness in the air is electric and magical and I don't want to break it. Usually, I whisper in his ear all my dirty thoughts, and just saying them out loud is almost enough to make me come. But tonight I get off on keeping my mouth shut, on telling him how hot I am with my body instead of my voice.
I lift my ass higher, rubbing against him, letting him know that I'm ready for more than his fingers. He teases me with his dick, moving it against the slit of my ass, making me beg for him to slide it in. I close my eyes and hold my breath, reaching behind me to pull him closer and demand that he fuck me this very minute. He finally slides a condom on and spreads my legs, holding the tip of his cock at the opening of my cunt. I let out a wild moan and lift my head just a little, pleading with him.
He obliges and slowly slides his cock inside my eager hole, gliding into me as I press back against him. I spread my legs as wide as I can to let him deeper inside me, and open my eyes in the darkness. All I can feel is his body on top of mine, pushing into me. It's almost like a dream, us stealing time out of the night to fulfill our most urgent desires, to take even more from each other than we already have.
As I rock against him, approaching my climax, I wonder if any of his neighbors are also furtively stealing sex in the night, keeping quiet and almost motionless as we are? I wonder if his roommate can hear us, if he imagines us fucking, if he wants to join us. The image of his roommate jerking off in his own bed only a few steps away from the bed I'm now on gets me even wetter and closer to coming
He begins fucking me faster and faster, pulling my hair and then pushing my head down into the bed, rocking my entire body. He pulls my hair each time he thrusts into me, and I can feel my scalp tingling, my neck stretching and bending back. I like the feel of him grabbing my hair that way, like a wild animal under attack, clinging to any part of me he can reach.
In our non-sexual life, he's considerate and deferential, almost too nice. Sometimes when we're walking down the street, I want him to grab me and push me against the wall and kiss me roughly, then keep walking like it never happened. For now my hair being twisted and tugged by his rough hands will have to do.
Just having his cock inside me suddenly isn't enough for him; he wants to truly have me, in both the ancient sense of the word and our own modern form of sexual possession. As his right hand pulls my hair like a boy on the schoolyard, his left snakes under me and squeezes my nipple. I know that he must be very excited, since he's usually very cautious with my nipples, like he doesn't want to hurt or offend me. When I tell him that my nipples are dying to be pulled and squeezed and throttled, he thinks I'm just saying that. But this time he's so worked up I don't think he even realizes what ecstasy he's bringing me. My nipples are so hard they're almost ticklish, and his fevered strokes make me come right then, in an orgasm that reaches from deep inside my pussy up to the top of my head.
I can't stand the release -- I want it but it's just this side of too much -- and I moan loudly, my noises echoing off the walls of the darkened bedroom. I sink my teeth into his arm, releasing some of the ferocity that's been building since he first woke me. As my teeth leave their little marks on his skin, his cock pushes into me in a final thrust that leaves his face contorted as he comes. I squeeze his hand and keep my teeth in place on his arm to let him know that I'm right there with him as he enjoys the euphoria. I feel his body slowly fade back to normal. He sinks against me in relief.
Both of us sated, we return to our previous positions, me sprawled across his body, clutching his arm, my head curled into his neck. I hear nothing but our quiet, satisfied breathing as I fall asleep again.