Anticipation

New Year’s Eve is the most arousing of holidays. Champagne served with a buffet of anticipation, excitement, adventure, and a promise of what’s to come.   

Years past had been wonderful. A magical mix of glitter and fireworks, a blur of faces, laughter, dancing, sticky floors, oversharing with strangers, and a blacked out kiss at midnight, or near midnight if we missed the actual countdown in our dizzy meanderings. Every year I loved it, every sloppy moment with the people I loved most, and the strangers I loved until the sunrise exposed the pumpkin, and we stumbled to bed.

But this year was different. For the first time, our New Year’s is ours alone. This year we decided to stay in, just the two of us. Despite it being my idea, I half expect to feel a bit lonely, or like we’re missing out on something. But instead, when the night arrives, it’s veiled with its own enchantment, a mysterious intrigue. It’s a romantic feeling, I smile and feel silly, and so in love.  

He has to work all day, leaving me alone with my preparations and imagination, which only makes me more giddy. I’m in a dirty 1950s housewife fantasy, preparing a meal in a suggestive dress, ready to pour a drink and be ravished. All day, as I set the tone, I see us fucking in every corner I pass. The dining room table, my legs on his shoulders, his face in my pussy. The counter top, my bare arms flat against it as he penetrates me from behind. The living room floor, legs spread wide, touching myself while he watches.

As the hour grows nearer, I prepare something to satiate our appetites...part of them at least. I chop thin slices of spicy, red pepper, feeling their smooth skins on my fingers. I take a small bite, it fills my mouth with heat. The intensity leads me to reach for something cool. I bite into a slice of cucumber, images racing in my head as I savor the heat and cool. Popping a grape into my mouth, I nearly choke as the juice shoots to the back of my throat, then laugh out loud because it is just too fitting. I look down at the cutting board and can’t help but smile that everything there fits our evening so well: hot, cool, sweet.

The monotonous task allows my mind to reel with snippets of fingers on flesh, biting of lips, pressing of bodies. I’m so caught up in this, that when the front door finally opens, my shoulders jump as if caught in something naughty. What would he do if he could see into my mind right now? Would he be shocked? Turned on? Would he erase the distance between us in three heavy steps, pull my dress up and push my hips into the counter as he enters me from behind?

I see him open the closet to hang his coat and I can tell from his face, his silence, that he is still at work, he’s not here yet, but I can fix that.  

Silently, I turn back around to the cutting board. I sweep my long hair to one side, exposing the place I want his lips to be. I push one hip out slightly, showing the curves he should caress. I want him to feel that beneath the thin layer of my dress, I’m all wrapped up like a filigree gift just for him. I anticipate his approach, hear and feel it as I hold my post, my pose, and continue to slice.

I can feel the tension of the day leaving him the closer he gets. I close my eyes when I feel the heat of him, and push my body back, closing the gap between us, closing the door to the outside world.

    I lift my head up to where his neck would be if he took one more step. He takes the cue and I give a little kiss, he turns his head down to the side so I can reach better. I kiss his jaw bone, cheek, his lips which I hold with mine. He gives me a squeeze around my hips, I feel his lips smile as I kiss him again, then one more before he pulls away, right as I’m backing into him, swaying back and forth, feeling that he’s getting just as excited as I am. He gives my ass a playful squeeze and slap, then turns to the living room to change the song. Such a tease.

           As if sensing my thoughts, he walks back into the entryway, just enough to take me in. I can feel him watching me, and I hope he sees how tightly my black dress squeezes me. I reach my hand behind my neck to brush away a few stray hairs. Swaying my hips slightly to the music, I turn my head to meet his eyes across the room, and give a suggestive smile.

I catch his eyes with mine, then see them drift, watching as he takes in the saunter of my body to the music. He looks hungry as he approaches. He’s home now.

“Hey babe,” his voice breathy and deep as he comes back to the kitchen.  He wraps his arms around my waist and I press into his body as his hands slide up to graze my ribs, then wrap around to squeeze my breasts. The intimacy sends pulses to my stomach, my chest, between my legs.

He slides one hand further down, grazing past my belly button, between my legs, he presses. I feel him hardening behind me.  

I force myself to wriggle around, facing him. ‘Not yet,’ I say with my body as I turn, my hands wrapping around his neck, stretching up to reach his lips with mine, then planting my hands on his chest with a gentle push. I reach to the cutting board and feed him something spicy, he closes his eyes to really taste it. I know he would take me now if I let him, but I want the anticipation. I want it to build until we are ravenous for each other, until we can’t stop.

I finish preparing our meal as he makes himself a drink. He leans against the counter across from me, and I can feel him watching this subtle show I put on. Beneath my thin black dress, I’m wearing the lingerie he got me for Christmas. When I opened the box and removed the pink tissue paper, I was surprised. He’d chosen white. I always thought of him as more of a red or black kind of guy, the type who craved a little deviance. But it made sense: a delicate, lacy white thong that left little to the imagination and a completely sheer, white bra with gold, floral detailing that caught the light and shimmered.

After a few drinks, I turn up the music, inviting him into the living room with a gentle tug of his hand. Pulling him with me, our bodies melt into one another, slowly swaying together. His hands travel up my sides and legs, pulling my dress up with them. His hands are now on my skin, fingers traveling to the white, lacy thong that wraps my hips. He pulls at the side, snapping it back playfully. We both smile, our foreheads touching in our closeness. His hands travel further up as we gently move back and forth, slower now than the music. He’s pulling my dress further and further up as his hands explore my body.  

“Just take it off,” I whisper, lips reaching to his earlobe that I bite softly. He needs no further encouragement—the garment is lifted over my head and tossed to the side of the living room.  

There is something about the way this man looks at me that fills me with confidence and lust. He pauses a second, pushing me arm's length away to take in my body, all of me, with a look that is not just hungry, but loving, wanting, and connected.

I dance back towards him, pressing my body against his. I move my arms up behind him, reaching up his back, feeling his strength and size beneath his shirt, but knowing I’m in charge. Rubbing my body against his, my hands slide beneath his clothes, up the bare skin of his back, then my nails slide back down. His hardness is pressing into me, his breath grows deeper, I turn and press my bare ass into him, reaching my arms up around his neck as his hands slide up and down the sides of my body.

His fingers trace the outline of my panties before moving inside. One hand slides beneath the thin fabric, his fingers pressing into me as we move with the music. My backside can feel that he wants me, I grow wetter with each slow sway. One finger enters me and I arch further into him, moaning into his jaw bone.  

I turn around quickly to face him, catching him off guard, and push him onto the couch. He nearly collapses down, looking up at me now with legs spread and eyes dangerous with need.  

Walking slowly to him, my eyes staring into his, I straddle him there. One hand wraps around his neck as our lips press hard against each other, tongues sliding. My other hand presses down the middle of his chest to the bulk of his belt, pulling the leather, unbuttoning his pants, zipper down, my hand twists to take his hard cock. He moans as I squeeze, his head going back, eyes near closed. I release him, wanting to feel more of him. I grab the sides of his shirt and pull it off. His smooth, hard body exposed, I lean in and bite his shoulder as my hand travels back down.  

He leans in to kiss me, rough. But I put both hands on his shoulders and push him back against the couch, sliding my body down his front, my hard nipples tracing his bare skin as my knees touch the floor. Looking into his half-closed eyes that stare down at me, I take him into my hand, reaching past his base, fingernails tracing his balls, then back up, gripping him hard as I slowly guide him into my mouth. I let my tongue trace just the tip, tasting him get wet for me.

 Inch by inch, I take him in with my tongue, circling, teasing as the pressure builds, tracing the vein beneath him with my tongue, stroking his balls and base with one hand, the other running his chest, thighs, anything I can reach that is his. The feeling of his body under my fingers makes me soak through my panties.

We know this is not how the night will end, so when he can’t take anymore, he leans forward in one swift motion, pulling me up and around, my back facing him. He slows then, hands tracing up and down my legs, my lower back, my ass. His fingers hook into the sides of my panties and slide them down to the floor slowly.

I’m waiting for more, standing bare in front of him. He slides one hand between my legs, up my inner thighs, and enters me with one finger to feel my wetness. We both moan as he moves in and out. I turn my head to look at him, and as I do his finger leaves me and goes to his mouth to slowly taste me. He sucks his finger and moans. I watch him, he watches me watch.

Then both his hands are around my hips and he pulls me backwards, onto him. I lower slowly at first, but he thrusts up, entering me all at once. I gasp with pleasure that borders on pain for an instant. The anticipation has made it so much sweeter, somehow deeper, and I feel him in all of me.

His hands stay on my outer hips as I guide myself up and down, my hands on his thighs, so close to cumming. I want it so bad, I feel him so deep inside of me. He reaches one hand around, touching me as I fuck him, and I’m so close to cumming, but I don’t want it to end. His other hand scratches down my back, then reaches to squeeze my nipple, so hard it hurts. It’s the good kind of pain, I feel it deep inside, adding to the ache between my legs, up my stomach.  

I know I’m going to cum and I can’t stop. I thrust back harder, my head back, body pressed against his chest, nothing else exists but this. My visions blurs and all I can hear is our gasps and moans—I feel my orgasm even harder as his body tenses, cock pulses, and his cum fills me. I shudder again, deeper.  

Finally, my body relaxes back into his. Exhausted, we both soften, he still rubs my pussy and it sends little shivers through my body as we catch our breath, giving soft kisses to wherever we can reach. I turn and straddle him, my face in his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me, squeezing like he’s afraid I’ll float away—I feel both heavy and light enough to drift off. We stay there for a long time, quietly caressing one another, telling our love through our hands and soft lips.

Long before midnight, we are asleep in each other’s arms, the taste of champagne and each other on our lips, the fireworks still faintly buzzing, anticipating what the new year will bring.

Photo: Black Love by Lakin Ogunbanwo


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