Knowing by Rosalyn McMillan

all her theories about men and marriage.
    Kim had heard on numerous occasions from Ginger about how intelligent Jackson was. How articulate and what potential he had. But Kim knew that what Ginger had failed to take into consideration was the fact that the potential you see in other people, especially your mate, doesn’t mean anything if they have no desire to climb any farther than the level at which they are comfortable. Knowing Jackson, Kim thought, with his quiet ways, his love of television and the easygoing life, he was quite comfortable, indeed.

8

    I Can’t Help Myself
     
    Kim shivered slightly; small goose bumps made a trail along her arms as the cool night air touched her bare skin. As he drew her near, his gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders, to her full breasts. His look was as soft as a caress. His fingers traced small circles of sensation around the globes of her breasts. Kneading, massaging until her dark nipples peaked and stood erect. The warmth of his mouth closed around her rosy brown mound of softness, kissing, sucking her smooth roundness. He cupped them with his hands, his thumbs briskly feathering their tautness. Her kiss told him of her arousal.
    His breath was just faintly perfumed with wintergreen as his lips met hers. Their tongues touched, circling each other in an erotic ballet of moist sensation. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers teasing her tufted mound. His two thumbs gently pulled the folds apart, and he dipped the tips of his fingers into her sweet flesh. He caressed her tiny jewel, urging her to whisper his name — “Bill, ahhhhh Bill.” Knowing she was ready, his mouth covered hers hungrily.
    Bill raised his mouth from hers and gazed into her eyes. “I love you, Kim.” She watched as his head bent forward, his woolly brush cut grazing her skin, pushing between her open thighs. He took her tiny pearl between his lips and tongue and sucked on it, at first gently, then harder. She closed her eyes, her head rolling from side to side. She clutched his head, encouraging him not to stop. She made a soft sound and arched her body to meet his plunging tongue.
    She could feel her clitoris growing, expanding, getting hotter with each thrust of his tongue. She was sweating, though she couldn’t remember it being hot in the small room. She shivered, and then quite suddenly relaxed. She made a soft moan aloud. Then it began. Her legs began to tremble, her pelvis lifted itself off the mattress as if it were out of control.
    She felt her orgasm. Her tiny jewel made one last jab forward, the lips of her vagina opened to grab whatever was available as her insides clamped together like a vise. She groaned aloud. She was coming, and he kept sucking the juices of her honeyed cream. Her legs closed around his head, and he didn’t seem to mind, as he continued his love affair, sucking and eating on her like a hungry animal starved for food. Again she came. And again. She sighed and her eyes closed of their own volition, her body buoyant and languid.
    “More . . . I want more, Bill,” she said shamelessly. “Fuck me. Fuck me now.” She shuddered, as his head lifted from her quivering thighs. His body was hot and wet. She could feel the sweat on his back as she ran her fingers along the crevice of his spine. She grasped his shaft between her two hands and guided him into her. Her vagina was still hot and tight from her orgasm. She clamped her muscles around his shaft, as if to lock them together for eternity. He buried his head in her breasts, but she searched his mouth to kiss him, to kiss herself. It made her shiver. The air was heavy with the scent of lust and her exotic Satin perfume.
    She grabbed his butt so that his pelvis ground hard against hers, forcing him to plunge deeper and deeper into her. And then he came, moaning her name with a cry of ecstasy as he finally released his passion.
    Soft jazz flowed through Bill’s small apartment as they lay silent,