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She finds out that rough sex is hotter.

I bend to my knees and kiss through your blouse and skirt down to your bare knee. Just inside your knee, actually, where the soft skin of your inner thigh begins.

My hands slip up each thigh and push your skirt up as they go. Your fingers run themselves through my hair and my lips and tongue explore your inner thigh, rising, closer. I find your underwear and pull it down. You wriggle back and forth as you sit allowing me to move it around your buttocks and hips. It gets to your thighs and easily slides off the rest of the way down your legs. My hands return to your thighs and my mouth has never left. I kiss, lick, and taste slowly forward and the skin only gets softer, the smell more intoxicating and my need to please you unfathomable.

The gentlest touch with the tip of my tongue. I feel the sheer skin of this morning's trimming shave. I lick a touch more and your skin ripples with the graze of my tongue over your labia. My tongue glides down your top folds and you instinctively open to me. I trace each unfurling pedal of your delicate flower. I start at the top and move around each edge toward the center. Your nectar tastes warm and smooth as it encircles my tongue and glides down my throat. I push deeper inside of you, you hold my head next to you and suppress an outward gasp. Backing out just a bit, I take your clitoris into my mouth. I roll it around, between my teeth, gently nibbling, over my tongue and allowing it back to the front of my lips. My tongue begins to press the clitoris, to move it around and back sending small shock waves through your body. You press my face into you; my tongue presses harder, moves quicker. You shudder. You release. I drink.

Your passion satiated for the moment, we wash and return to work with no one the wiser to our secret lunch.

As I said before, exactly how we spend our time alone together may depend on the time of day, our moods, our state of mind or some combination of the three. How do we often feel when we end our days? We are tired, work, kids, life in general is a constant fight. A struggle to keep your head above water, so to speak, and make ends meet. Feed the kids, pay the bills, make sure essentials are taken care of. What about the self? Don't we owe it to ourselves to treat ourselves, our souls, like the beautiful people God made us to be? Isn't it fair to say that having met everyone's, and everything's, needs, we deserve to meet our own needs? Our primal, physical, emotional and spiritual needs beckon within us every minute of every day and it is not very often that we get to honor them.

This brings me to the end of our day alone. The night is dark and cool. The new moon makes the stars appear to leap from the sky in their splendor. The ethereal wonder that is the universe surrounds and envelopes us, yet we are tired. We are stressed from a day of life tugging at us from every direction. A look. A look to one another and that burn that warms us from inside, that yearns to feel the other's fire rises in its heat and purpose and brings a smile to our faces.

"Let's go to bed." You stand to retire and take my hand to lead me. Standing, however, I stop you. You turn to face me.

"I love the way your hand feels in mine." My words seem to hang on the air as a whelp of nerves and expectancy swells in my stomach. "Your hair falls from you in a cascade of silk. Your shoulders carry you straight, proud and curve to create the alluring line to your breasts." I begin to take your belt away from your skirt. Your blouse, already un-tucked, opens easily with small tugs from my fingers. As I let fall your blouse from about your shoulders, I kiss them.

"Let me look at you."

Your skin, tanned by heritage, made darker, Mediterranean by the sun, is smooth and warm upon my lips.

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