The Bed Where She Sleeps

She lay on her side, the crumpled top sheet and a coverlet tucked against her cheek. Eyes closed, knees pressed together, she breathes gently—silently.

I watch, hoping I’m in her dream. My back against the headboard, I touch her hair, lift it and feel it flow through my fingers to fan out on the pillow. I lean closer to see her face. She enchants me in the bed where she sleeps.

Drawn to the back of her neck, I gaze at the skin just below her ear. Fragrance lingers from our lovemaking, a mixture of light perfume and sweat. I need to lick the moisture and taste sweet saltiness. I do, and she stirs.

“I was sleeping. Stop, go away.” She grumbles and tugs the sheet to cover her neck. I pull the blanket up to cover the sheet. “Go back to sleep.” I say, “I love watching you, and I…”

“You licked my neck, beyond gross and you woke me. You and your damned libido,” she says. “Now I’m up, I have to tinkle.” She bounces out of bed, walks in the dark, and slams the door to the bathroom. She’s annoyed.

A thin slit of light glares at the bottom of the door. It illuminates the carpet and a pair of black leather riding boots, with black lacy briefs draped on top. A sexy combination, but I stifle the thought ... don’t push it.

I wait, slumped against my pillow. I didn’t mean to wake her, that was selfish. She needs rest to be clearheaded for her presentation in the morning. I hear a flush and the light goes off.

Stumbling back to bed, she stops abruptly. “Ouch, damn it, that hurts. I’ve stubbed my frigging toe.” She fumes in the dark. “I must wear my dress heels in the morning. If it swells, I’ll kill you.”

Without another word she buries herself in the covers. Her breathing is harsh and angry. She rubs her foot and grumbles, clearly wanting me to know there’ll be no further playing tonight. Consternation prevails in the bed where she sleeps.

I recline, resting on my back and stare toward the ceiling. I start to whisper but stop. She’s in no mood to say good night. I lay still until sleep sneaks in and steals my thoughts. We dream our dreams, she and I. Mine relive the earlier hours on the bed where she sleeps.

                                             ***

Kisses go on forever. She loves to kiss, and I want to please her. Little bites, nibbles and licks release a torrent of lips on eyelids, necks and hands … her palms and shoulders, then kissing each fingertip. She draws my fingers to her mouth and sucks my thumb.

Our intimacy flows from slow and sensual to the ignition of a do-me-now fire. Though we both desire a gradual build, to allow nerve endings to stir and respond, it doesn’t happen. Buttons pop undone and zippers slide. Garments fall or we toss them. My socks each fly in different directions. Her panties are drawn down her long legs and then flung backward. They drape over the tops of her riding boots.

My love teases. She’s funny and sexy, soft with an edge—a dichotomy of a refined lack of inhibition. She poses naked, then holds the sheet to her chest, giggling with one breast exposed in feigned modesty. Catch me, catch me.

She’s delicious. I must taste and touch everything in the sweet shop, her bonbons topped with lovely gum drops and cream puff hidden in cotton candy. I know I should take my time and enjoy, but I’m ravenous, overwhelmed by her. She fills my senses … an erotic feast on the bed where she sleeps.

She whispers, “That was nice.”

“Just … nice?”

“Yummy.” She laughs. “Now you chill, it’s my turn.”

Relax? Impossible, I’d have to be made of stone. I close my eyes and lay back.

Her strokes explore, light and gradual, they grow intense and impassioned. She starts and stops, kneading and rolling. No matter how good the ingredients are, the cake won’t satisfy unless it has time to rise.

She grins, grasping and playing. My body’s response delights her. Our eyes stay locked as she gets to her knees and straddles me. She moves, imitating riding at a slow trot, posting. Beads of perspiration glisten her face and a pleasured smile curls her lips. “How’s that so far?” she asks. I lay there with a fixed grin, mesmerized. Could she be more beautiful?

“Hang on, we’re going to go faster.” she smirks. Passion drives her into a canter. She sits erect, her head bobbing amidst a flurry of tresses. The tempo of her hips is in rhythm, back and forth. Her eyes widen. She shudders, breathes deep and slaps my leg, wanting me to move with her. Our flesh crushes together.

Driven by pure lust, her eyes aflame, she grinds faster … gallops until falling forward, digging her nails into my shoulders. The intensity overwhelms me. I stare, trying to fathom perfection.

My dear sweet love slumps next to me, her head on my chest. I hold her and pull the covers up, reach and turn the lamp out. She turns and snuggles the curve of her back against me. We stay locked together. I kiss her check and cup her breast. “Nice ride,” she says. We doze off in the bed where she sleeps.

I awaken in the middle of the night. She lay on her side, facing away from me. The top sheet and a coverlet tucked against her cheek. Eyes closed, knees pressed together, she breathes gently—silently.

* * *

Daybreak directs light through the shutters. The brightness slowly clears my cobwebbed mind. Last night was so good, too good … I reach to touch her, roll to spoon and caress her in the bed where she sleeps.

I’m smacked hard and without mercy. Hit over and over—until I shriek and cry. My tears run like they do every morning. Reality is a cruel tormentor.

She was on her way to deliver the presentation. Distracted, she didn’t see the cab. My love stepped off the curb and time stopped.

I gaze around our room, alone, gritting my teeth and sighing. Through tears, I see her riding boots, shined and paired against the wall. I roll over and touch her pillow … in the bed where she slept.