There’s something about the warm glow cast by a fire, isn’t there? That’s why it’s such a romantic trope: clichés are clichés for a reason. Fire is sexy because fires burn like lust. The warmth it brings to the outside echoes what passion kindles within you. Then there’s the look of it: something powerful and beautiful about the light cast by flames on naked skin, picking out highlights to admire while making you want to explore what’s hidden by the corresponding shadows. There are few things in life that beat the sensation of getting fucked while a fire crackles in a nearby grate.
Michael agrees, and didn’t even tease me for putting it that way when I first suggested it. The mention of warmth on his skin turned him on as much as the mental image of me stripped naked: he’s such a tactile, sensual person. He craves skin-to-skin contact like a plant craves water and light. That’s the thing he longs for most when we’re apart—just the feeling of our flesh entwined. Strokes, touches, hugs, and—of course—the sex it inevitably leads to when we burn too hot for each other.
This will be the last night we spend together for six months. Six months! The sheer impossibility of it almost takes my breath away. We’ve only just come back together and he has to leave again so soon. Our relationship is a great timeline of yearning, punctuated by these intense evenings when we’re actually able to touch. I want to cement the memory of every single detail of his body in my mind. The exact texture of his lips on my neck, the rippling shudder of his fingertips stroking my breasts, the heat of his body between my thighs… He wanted this too, it was like a pact between us: tonight we will spend the night exploring every inch of each other, so on the lonely nights over the coming months, we can picture each other in perfect definition. Conjuring the exact images of his skin on mine—warmed by fire, lust and the blood throbbing through our veins.
Stripped naked, wrapped together, we start off with kisses and caresses. Gentle touches and strokes, all over each others’ bodies. The fire crackles in the grate and I kneel in front of him—back pressed tightly against his chest to feel the silk of his flesh upon me. He circles my nipples with his fingertips, and that is the first—though far from the last – time I let out a deep sigh of pleasure. He knows me so well. Understands that just a light, shivery touch can get my nipples taut and hard and aching for more attention. Thinking ‘pinch them,...
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I haven’t been with my lover since the pandemic began, and before that, we could only physically be together every few months. I felt this everywhere. 💔❤️