There she lay, face down on black satin sheets, long cream colored legs parted slightly like open scissors waiting to cut thru the fabric they rested on. It was only 7am and already the room was hazy and warm, the sun filtering through the curtains in swirling motes giving a surreal feel to everything.
I’ve stood at the end of our bed so many times before, tracing up the arch of her feet, the curve of her calves counting the freckles and birth marks like landmarks on a road map to what can only be described as heaven in purple lace boy shorts. In my eyes there is nothing more beautiful than the gentle lift where those long legs end and her soft rear begins.
She sighs in her sleep and the movement causes that sweet, firm ass to rise and swell, the motion straining against purple fabric. Fabric I consider reaching out to touch, just one finger, maybe two. Sliding along the edge where the detailed edge contrast with the smooth exposed skin. I know if I reach out now I'll only end up waking her before I’m ready. If I reach out now, I won’t be able to control the urge to slid my fingers under the lace to cup a cheek and squeeze.
She wears purple because she knows it’s my favorite color. She more of a neutral colors, earth tones, warm colors that compliment her features. She wears the purple lace because I picked them out for her one day at Victoria's Secret. Really I picked them out for myself, with a matching bra, my butt never looked good in boy shorts so she wears them for me, because I won’t.
I’d kill for an ass like that.
Carefully, so I don’t wake her I crawl back into bed, my fingers tracing the backs of her thighs, the temptation to grab a handful is just too strong now. I've been told I have little hands on many occasions. The stripper pointed it out to me the first time. Surrounded by drunk old men, her hands guiding mine up her sides to her breasts, she laughed at me and told me I had small hands.
The memory of that night distracted me just long enough to make me forget where I was, suddenly I find that not only do I have a handful of her rear but if I'm not careful I'll be taking back a handful of purple lace. I hear her breath catch, she's caught me and I can feel my face turning red.
Looking up towards the pillow I can see her scolding me with smiling green eyes. My Irish beauty, deep green eyes and a face full of freckles that no matter how mad I may be at her, always make me smile.
The first time I saw her she was sitting alone at our favorite dinner, a small place hidden from the hustle and the bustle of rest of the world. She was sitting there drinking a hot chocolate and staring at me over the top of her book, The Secret Garden. She said it was her favorite book as a child, the main character, Mary, reminding her of me she said. Lonely, bitter and like all the color had been washed out of me. I told her later that night she was like the sun, so warm and caring, if I was Mary, she must be the moors the fed me and made me live again.
Distracted by her smile, she took advantage of the moment and started to pull the black sheet up over her legs and lower back. How dare she cover up my purple lace, and before I got to see the adorable bow that sits just above her hips. Sure its not the same seductive curves, but that doesn't mean I'm ready for her to hide either.
Smiling, I shake my head at her , pushing the satin out of the , my hand lingering on her leg. I want so bad to lean down and kiss the insides of her knees, knowing how much it makes her squirm. She says it tickles but I know what it really does. First she will get quiet, and then I'll hear it, her breathing quickening, and the beginnings of a moan building in her throat. If I just kiss softly she will be fine, but I know myself better than that, I couldn't just kiss any part of her softly. No I'd start to nip at her, playfully nibbling on her like a delicate peach and she would start to twist and turn trying to get away. Knowing full and well that she loves it, she will pull away and scream, and pretend to laugh to make me stop, all because she loves it so much.
Instead, with both hands I gently push her knees apart, running my thumbs up the insides of her legs. She sucks in her breath sharply as I drag my nails over her flesh, up until her legs meet her hips. Pinning her hips down, I let my thumbs slip under the lace teasing myself with the soft, warm flesh I know is waiting for me. She tries to rise up, the smile on her face pleadingly, eyes full of desire.
Her own hands searching for the bow on the front of her purple panties. As if untying that bow would release her from the bonds of her purple lace prison. Her hair has fanned out over the pillow, leaving her chest exposed, after all it would be silly to wear my bra with my underwear. What good would that do us? Eyes locked on me, her chest, also covered in freckles, waiting to be covered in kisses.
Feeling her way down to where my hands rested, thumbs still under the edge of my purple panties, she squeezed as if asking what are you waiting for?
I push her back down, not ready yet.