I could touch her forever just to hear the sounds she makes. While walking together, I grace my palm against hers and interlock our fingers; she hums a contented approval and squeezes my hand with affection. She makes the same happy noise in her throat when I plant a chaste kiss on her cheek or the length of her neck. When I press my lips to hers she makes a similar, though more intense sound, a humming mixed with a groan, borderline a moan but with a deeper, needier tenor.
And when my tongue dances between her lips and rubs along her own tongue, her breath hitches, even after all these years, after what feels like millions of kisses. The moaning groan increases in ferocity when my tongue abandons her mouth to taste her jaw line and nibble her earlobes. With my ear so close to her throat I hear every strangled sound, every usually imperceptible gasp as my lips close around and suck on a hunk of her soft neck flesh. Here, she will paw at my head, lace her fingers in my hair, and plead me for more, more, always more.
When I pull off her shirt, or peel off her dress, or jerk down her jeans, she encourages me with a smile in her voice, sometimes a mocking challenge on the tip of her tongue. That mouth of hers that I love so much spews absolute filth or sweet somethings depending on her mood. She calls me a hundred different names, a new term of endearment to fit the day and hour where we find ourselves. I am her darling, dear heart, sweetheart, honey, muffin, pudding, sweetie pie, daddy, sweet man, my love, husband.
To me, she is always, only ever, my baby.
There is a giggle she emits when she bounces half-naked onto our bed, sliding up toward the pillows to make room for me to crawl over her; it drives me to the brink of madness. I kiss her again, her giggle transforms to a full blow moan as her hips gyrate underneath me, hardening my cock even more as I swallow down her breathy exhalations.
My mouth returns to her neck, working lower now to lick along her throat and tickle her collar bones, bringing more childish laughter out of her lips. She sobers quickly when I pull one nipple between my lips and lave lovingly until the peak is pointed and pebbled with tightness. If I blow cool air onto the moist nub she’ll buck up against my body and let out an almost annoyed groan that is both a request for me to stop and also to press on. I turn my attention to the other nipple and treat it just the same. She treats me to more urgent sounds that bubble from within her chest unbidden.
When my fingers slip beneath the band of her panties and gently tug them down and off her body, she lets out a whimper. That is sounds I like the most, the wanton, pleading, squeak that is hardly audible, but that says so much. I run my hands up her legs and nudge her legs apart that are easily moved under my soft touch. My fingertips patter against the inside of her thighs, a teasing, taunting, tempting promise. She whimpers again while looking down at me with wide eyes and already mussed hair.
My lips give her mound a reverent kiss and her eyes disappear behind closed lids. She whimpers for me again. I breathe in the scent of her, purely feminine, musky and fresh, both pungent and sweet, slightly salty from a thin layer of fresh sweat. She begs me, please. Please. Her voice nothing but a whisper, sometimes more air than sound.
I heed her request as my tongue extends to lick up her slit once, twice, three times. She gasps out my name with pleasure, the most blessed sound of them all. I use two fingers to spread her lips apart and bare her to me fully. Her clit, bulging and red, bulbous and ready. I lick everywhere, through her, inside her, everywhere except that needy place that nearly pulsates to get my attention. She cries out my name again, this time in frustration, almost like a curse.
I chuckle against her skin and she says nothing, but only slams her hands down on the bed, thrusting her hips up to meet my mouth. Her body telling me what she can’t seem to articulate. There, right there, please, right there. I find the spot with the tip of my finger, then the tip of my tongue. She squeaks out a satisfied sound, a creaking, almost croaking and resonating sound. I press my lips around the nucleus of her core and then flick my tongue against it rapidly, sucking as I go.
She comes apart with my name on her lips and a shout echoing against the walls. I don’t stop, even when she tells me she’s done, she’s had enough. I force her legs apart and taste her expulsions until I’ve had my fill.
I come up to share the tang of her arousal with her as she eagerly licks into my mouth. With her mouth full of our flavor, I press between her folds until she can take no more. Her mouth breaks away from mine, her head pressed back against the pillow, she has no words, no sounds, no squeaks, no groans, no creaks, no moans. Her mouth a perfect, silent O of pleasure.
I pull out, thrust in, snap my hips against hers tenderly as her chin comes down and she meets my eyes with hers. Her palms come to rest on my cheeks. She tells me she loves me. Sometimes she tells me she loves my cock. Sometimes she tells me both letting me know her mood is both sweet and sassy.
No matter what she says, her breathing is labored, her words short, merely punctuated puffs of air. I steal the last of her oxygen with a searing kiss and her utterances morph into unintelligible murmurs.
If I release her mouth, she pants rhythmically, perfectly in time with my strokes. The sound of her breathing almost as erotic as her dirty talk and lusty moans. She is unusually quiet when I fuck her, as if there is nothing more that needs to be said, her cunt answering my call on its own, her body responding to mine.
She breaks her silence to tell me she’s close. I shift to press the head of my cock against the soft, spongy flesh inside her walls with every invasion, dragging my thickness along her softness and dragging out her orgasm. When she clenches around me, I speed up, and she chants out a little prayer that is nothing but a positive affirmation of yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
The relieved groan she lets out when I release inside her is bittersweet for both of us. I take her under my wing, she nuzzles against my warmth like a baby bird. Only instead of a chirp, she almost purrs, a rolling soft roar, sleepy and sated.
When I drag my fingertips up and down her bare back, she hums contentedly again. I touch her softly until her skin warms to the touch, her hums becomes moans, her breathing elevates once more, her wet center rubbing against my thigh. She looks up at me doe-eyed, biting her lip. She tells me to do it again, again, again. I kiss her until she begs me. I tell her I will touch her forever just to hear the sounds she makes.
