Edge of Morning

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You shake.

It’s how I know I’m getting to you, how I know you feel me even in your half-sleep stupor. I can see your eyes slitting open against their REM cycles even as your body tenses and trembles under my touch. The soft half smile playing at the edges of your lips as you reach for me, murmuring, tells me you think you’re dreaming.


It’s not time to wake yet, love.

You roll to me, arms outstretched, hands gliding through my silk soft curls on a sigh. I flick my tongue over my lips and flip my leg up over your thigh, running my middle finger along my slit, brushing against your flexing cock with the movement. Swirling my wet over your hard, I circle my thumb over your leaking tip. I hold you against me, moving my pelvis in a slow seductive waltz, glazing your shaft with my cream but not allowing you entrance.

I can feel you stirring, hear your breath catch, see your eyelids begin to flutter.

You’re so deliciously sweet in your not-quite-awake. Rumpled and pliable and smiling, wearing that slightly puzzled, vaguely sleepy expression that asks the question, “Am I dreaming?”

I move closer to you, my nipples brushing your bare chest as my fingers continue their dance over the head of your cock. My lips brush against yours, back and forth in counter time with the kiss of my labia rubbing, circular and slick along your outer shaft. I slide my thumb between the vee of my fingers, drawing precum from your dripping slit, moving slowly, steadily, the repetitive strokes drawing a gasp from your lungs.

Good morning.

Your eyes fly open, seeking mine as you shudder against the onslaught. I wet my palm and fist your cock tight in my grasp, pushing firm and strong against your sensitized bellend, lacing the fingers of my free hand through your hair.

Your handhold on my tresses tightens in time with the slow-breath tremors that are wracking your body, and I can tell you’re close. The tic in your jaw gives you away, and your groan against my lips tells me all I need to know: it’s time to stop.

I cease all movement.

You suck in your gasp on a hiss. Your gaze is incredulous.

I feel your cock rebelling against the full-stop, pulsing, throbbing for release, swollen and sensitive, unyielding hard contracting against my stomach.

I smile, thinking ahead to the day.

By midmorning, your cock will be rock hard at the soft scratch of my fingertips against your neck. By dinner time, the absolute sole focus of your appetite will be Me. And when we go to bed again tonight, I will have taken you to the edge so many times you won’t know whether to beg for me to keep you there on the precipice or to let you finally drop over.

I trace your lips with my fingertips, outlining all this and more, and I don’t need to see the banked fires in your eyes flare against the early morning dark to know I’m getting to you.

Oh, no.

I *know* I’m getting to you.

I can feel you shake.

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