Nathan’s hand crept under the sheets to my breast and he gently twisted a nipple. I wriggled out from under his touch. Something he had said shortly before bed had irked me, sending my often-raging libido into cold hibernation. I felt him reach for my tits again and this time I firmly moved his hand before rolling over onto my stomach.
The man gets points for persistence. It wasn’t long before I felt a gentle caress on my ass. As he stroked the peaks and valleys of my body I considered spreading my legs and encouraging him to dip his fingers inside me, which would inevitably lead to sex. And then I thought, no. I am tired. Actually I’m beyond tired. He’s been here for several days and we’ve had plenty of sex. Plus, he was rude earlier and I don’t feel like opening up physically to him. In the midst of this internal debate, I felt his hard member press against my thigh.
“Nathan,” I said, deciding it would be immature to not talk it out, “It’s not happening tonight. You hurt my feelings and I’m in no mood for sex right now.”
“How did I hurt your feelings?” He said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.
“You basically called me lazy,” I pouted, “And I’m not lazy. I’m just exhausted. And being so worn out that I forget to do something doesn’t make me lazy. It just means that my brain is completely shot. So you were just plain rude. And yeah, it hurt my feelings.”
“You forgot? I thought you said you just weren’t going to do it. I didn’t hear that part about you forgetting,” Nathan explained.
“Okay,” I said, the pouting diminishing, “You still can tell me you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” he said smiling, “You are anything but lazy.”
“Thank you,” I said, leaning over to kiss his full, sensuous mouth, “You’re still not getting sex. Not because I’m still mad. But because I’m just too damn tired.”
“Okay baby,” he said chuckling.
I fell asleep with him gently massaging my back and just before I entered dreamland I heard him whisper softly, “You’re kinda cute when you’re exhausted.”
The next morning daylight broke through the sliver of space between my bedroom curtains, filling the room with a soft glow. I felt Nathan move beside me and once again his hand went to my breast. I didn’t discourage him this time, but there was no encouragement either. I just lay back and let him explore.
When his meandering fingers reached my crotch, I remained motionless, letting him use all the tricks he knows to arouse me. The buildup continued, with my body only occasionally betraying my heightened awareness of him, his fingers, his expert touch. It was a good twenty minutes later before I finally allowed my hips to stir.
He responded by attaching his mouth to my nipple and began flicking it with his tongue while his fingers continued to tease my ever-moistening channel. As I reached the edge of my orgasm I jerked off my panties and pulled him on top of me, spreading my legs as he mounted. He thrust in deeply with a significant moan.
“Oh Marian,” he breathed in my ear, “You feel so good.”
The coupling was sensual, slow and tender. But when he came, it was with a groan and shudder like I’ve never heard from him before. He collapsed like a rag doll on top of me and just lay there… breathing.
After several minutes I spoke, “Nathan? Darling? Are you okay?”
“Mmmmhummm,” he murmured, “I just didn’t know if… and then you… and we… and… it was really good.”
So all this made me start thinking. Is there a heightened level of pleasure when a man succeeds in having sex that he wasn’t certain he was going to have? Does the challenge make the release more powerful? Is it more exciting when a woman isn’t a ‘sure thing’?