Protected his body with my warm blanket then placed my left hand on the back of his head; maybe that was my possessive and comforting move. I could clearly hear his heartbeat as it beat exactly like mine. Snuggled in as close as I could get and closed my eyes; I was out in only a minute. Picking up where I left off in my erotic dream with shapeless and faceless figures shocking me with caressing feathers, stimulating me without my permission. I could have said something, even in my dream to resist but was afraid if I moved they would go away. I wanted them to continue caressing me and I wanted to give them my consent.
When I woke up, I was still cuddled up to Michael, my arms around his waist, my head tucked into the crook of his arm pit and both of his arms wrapped around me. I don’t ever remember moving – I have no recollection of how we got into that position. Again, it wasn’t awful, quite the contrary, I felt rested and soothed. Trying to remember the events of the night though was like trying to catch fireflies that blinked and disappeared as soon as they were seen. So we left the night behind us and looked to the lazy 4th day aboard ship.
Experiments
It’s a good thing that we weren’t going anywhere because it took so long to do stuff and remain connected. Before we got up from our bed, Michael pulled me tight into him, kissed me on the pulse at my temple and ran his hands over my back, feeling the silk between him and my bare skin. I felt a sweet shiver as his fingers touched the skin under my pajamas. In response, I put my face on his chest and took his left nipple between my teeth as a warning; I applied only enough torque on my bite to send him into a frenzy. He tried to get his mouth on me to taste me and to pull at me. When I thought he was too aggressive, I squeezed my teeth together on that tender little nipple, his reaction swift and resolute. He was utterly still in anticipation. I made him wait in that state of expectation for a minute more than was probably necessary. While I held his nipple between my teeth, I slowly massaged it with the tip of my tongue. He was deep inside the experience and was writhing when I finally released his nipple from the grip of my teeth and suckled his breast tenderly to console him. He was consoled and nearly spent. He was, too easy.
Holy crap! Was that real? I was stunned by what I’d just done. How could I ever explain that?
I had to get away from him before I did something I used to enjoy doing with my husband in the mornings. My head was so muddled that I could only thank my small bladder for getting me out of bed.
On the side of the bed I sat looking at Michael. He had his hand under my pajamas and flat on my back; his fingers were open to their fullest extension and each finger gripped my skin in a leisurely kneading action – again not unpleasant. My plan to ease out of our connection and then run to the bathroom was looking a bit dim. For a moment, I allowed myself the enjoyment of his foreplay. It was no picnic to willingly take myself away from those sensations. Suddenly, I knew that that moment, when he was so preoccupied with his “inevitable satisfaction” was the single best time to get to the bathroom before he caught me.
I twisted around on the chaise, as though I were jockeying for a better position, which I was – I really should have thought that through a bit better because when I turned my body, Michael’s hand was still under my pajama top and now his hand, under my pajama top was spread across my right breast with the continued kneading action. Not to sound like a broken record but that, too, was not unpleasant. I was honestly trying to get away from him so that I could take care of some woman stuff.
Our sighs were deep and ready. Michael was fully involved when I disengaged and flew off the lounge, through the slider, past the stateroom, and into the bathroom – Christ, I was super fuckin’ woman. I slammed the door and locked it. I stripped and jumped into the shower, not waiting for the water to get hot. I washed my hair with the cruise line shampoo, shaved my legs and underarms and dried off in less than ten minutes. As I dried, I heard Michael outside the door; when I touched the door, contact was made. That move, I told myself was more for Michael than it was for me. But as if to call me a liar to my face the current surged into my muscles and I needed to lean on the sink for support as my legs were on the verge of buckling. The waves continued to surge and continued to distract me.
Ever so quietly, somewhere in the deep hidden part of my brain I saw that something was out of place, a hint, a fright, and the build of adrenaline without my knowing why.
“Michael,” I whispered in a voice just barely conscious and rough with inexplicable fear.
“Michael, are you alright?”
I heard him pull in a deep quivering jagged breath.
“Please…, please finish quickly.”
“Michael, put your back to the door, lean your whole body into the door.” I listen with my forehead touching the wall between us. My own body tingling from the connection, I had to struggle to keep my senses. I whispered through the barrier.
“Michael, talk to me, please.”
Then, without warning our duo sighs, deep and controlled brought us confidence and a measure of hope that we lost sight of. His voice was stronger but still shaken. “I’m better… I’m better, but please hurry.”
“I will.” I assured him. I didn’t lie either. I was stepping into my panties before his words reached my ears and buttoning my shorts before he took another breath.
“Tell me about what it felt like when I left you on the lounge?”
I requested in a clinical voice – research and to redirect his focus. I needed to gather as many details as possible about that event and mentally record everything. I listened but heard nothing, nothing for too long.
“Michael, please talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
I waited. I knew he was there because I felt our connection, it was strong, domineering. He would talk.
I concentrated on being thorough and fast. The mirror showed me evidence of changes I was unaware of. My face and neck had a tan glow; the sun’s effect on me was a compliment. I smiled at myself in the mirror; dusted my face, applied lip gloss, a sprits of “Amazing Grace,” grabbed my hairbrush and whispered through the door.
“I’m coming.”
He pulled, I pushed. The door opened. I stepped out of the bathroom and Michael stepped into me. We embraced a secure hug. It was so good; we both felt the intense rush. We were grateful to be back together.
“God woman, you smell so good.” He trembled.
“Be here for me, I won’t be long.”
I reminded him that I was in it, too? The condition, what ever it was, it was a shared affliction. Didn’t he feel my depletion and renewal like I did his? Yeah, we would talk, he would talk.
I thought of a possible way for me to cope with the loss of the connection, temporarily.
“Wait, come here a sec.”
I pulled him by the arm from the small dressing room out to his balcony to get my book.
“I want to see something – a distraction, maybe.”
On our way back to the bathroom, Michael called room service, and ordered breakfast for two, collected a chair for me to sit on while I waited. See how he can take the lead.
“You know, it doesn’t really matter to me at all. I’m not shy; modesty isn’t big on my list. I don’t care if you see me; I prefer that you see me over the door and proximity thing.”
Jump back Jack, did that sound like desperation?
“Michael, we need to add this to our research. Focus on what you are doing and only disconnect from the door while you are in the shower. Hurry”
While Michael was in the bathroom I kept constant contact with the door. When he stepped into the shower, I felt the current change, become distant. I figured he had disconnected but there was still way back there the faint shadow of the connect that I could draw from. I registered the tiny