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Winter

Rated 18+

“Mmm, Yixing…” Zhang Yixing looked down in dismay, watching as you lovingly faked your way through another orgasm. You were very good at it—soft and sweet, and imminently realistic. No glass-shattering screeches, or siren-like banshee wails. In fact, if he hadn’t been inside of you when it happened, he would have sworn that it had been real. His pleasure greatly diminished, he rolled over onto his side, and pulled your body tightly against his. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing the length of your body to him. He could sense the tension strumming through you, so he gently stroked your smooth, curving bottom until you relaxed.

Your face was buried in his neck, his hand still tangled in your hair. He knew that you loved him, just as he knew that you were aroused by him. But here you were, on the last week of your three-week honeymoon and, to his knowledge, you had yet to have an orgasm. At first, he wasn’t surprised. You had been a virgin when you married, so he knew that the first few times would be an adjustment for you. However, now he was starting to worry. You didn’t dislike sex…he knew that as truly as he knew his own name. He knew that you loved being with him almost as much as he enjoyed you. Within three weeks, he had seen you blossom from shy, sweet, eager virgin, to generous, willing, sensual lover. Yixing couldn’t understand why you had yet to climax. You had done a number of things…in a number of positions…in a number of places, but within several days, he started to suspect that you weren’t reaching your peak. Unlike you, Yixing was no virgin when you wed. He had never been too wild, but he had been in a few sexual relationships—enough to know how it felt when a woman came on his cock. He remembered feeling dry-mouthed at your wedding reception just thinking about your sweet little butterfly flutters moving up and down his hard shaft while you softly breathed his name in his ear. He sighed. He just didn’t know what was wrong. You had yet to say no to any of his advances—in fact, several times, you had seduced him. While you were together, your body told him that you were aroused. The flush under your bronze skin, your tight little cinnamon nipples, your dilated pupils and darkened irises, your accelerated breathing, your elevated pulse, your writhing, trembling body, not to mention the delectable wetness that literally dripped–dripped–from your swollen sex, down your soft thighs, all told him that you wanted him. Yixing was a biology professor at Duke University, whose Ph.D from Tsinghua University had been on human sexual response. He knew what arousal looked like. You had been a law student when you two met, though you both waited until you had graduated before seriously dating, in order to quell any rumours on the surprisingly small campus. The first few times that you had been in each other’s company, he had thought you cold and methodical. Upon seeing you more and more however, he realized that, though you were methodical, cold couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Once you opened up, you were charming, loyal, conscientious, and…as he had learned in the last two weeks, exceedingly passionate. Yixing kissed your warm shoulder, while you purred, and snuggled closer, breathing slowly regulating into that of sleep. He didn’t know why you weren’t reaching your release, but he was going to find out before the honeymoon was over, and real life came between you. ************************************************** Yixing awoke to the enchanting sight of you bent over, plump caramel buttocks, courtesy of a Kenyan grandmother, peeking insouciantly out of your cream-coloured lace boy-shorts as you reached between your legs to attach your garters to your silken stockings. “Good morning to me,” he slurred in a sleep-roughened baritone. You glanced at him from between your legs, then slid a hand under your long, thick, wavy, warm chocolate brown hair to help flip it back over your shoulders as you straightened. Smiling invitingly, wearing nothing but a matching creamy lace bra, panty, and garter belt set, and pale, golden, finely worked silk fishnet stockings, you slowly crawled up the bed to him. Straddling his hips you slowly stroked your hands up and down the sides of his chest. “Good morning to you, lover,” you responded, leaning in for a kiss. Yixing turned his head and stilled your arms. “Ehhh…not before I’ve showered. You smell amazing,” here he inhaled the warm, humid air that still held notes of your blood orange whipped bath soap, “and I’m chock full of morning breath, and fresh urine.” You wrinkled your nose and laughed, gracefully removing one leg and letting yourself fall on your back beside him. “Oh, Dr. Zhang, you always know just what to say.” He lasciviously grabbed a handful of smooth, soft thigh, and squeezed before rolling out of bed, and sauntering to the bathroom. “A gentleman knows never to touch a lady while he’s unshowered, unbrushed, and still covered in questionable substances from the previous night.” He turned in the bathroom doorway to face you. “I’m filthy–” You rolled quickly and easily to your knees, hands planted on the bed, looking for all the world like something straight out of his most fevered transition year fantasies. “I like it when you make me dirty, Dr. Zhang,” you purred dulcetly, in your husky Southern drawl. He laughed, delighted. “Behave yourself, you impertinent young chit! I’m a man, not a sex-machine!” You fell back on the bed, rolling with laughter, while Yixing affected a long-suffering expression, and went in for his shower. When he emerged, you were fully dressed in a figure-hugging cream wool pencil skirt, five inch black leather heels, and an iridescent golden-ebony silk button-down shirt. He held the towel negligently around his narrow hips, water still dripping from his raven hair. “I just don’t know, darling,” he started, shaking his head sadly, while his black eyes twinkled. “Are you sure that I’m not overdressed?” he finished, indicating his lack of clothing. You turned, your large hazel eyes widening at the sight of his bare torso, water trickling slowly and lovingly down his sleek frame. Giving a breathless little laugh, you rejoined, “I’m sure that no one would have the temerity to complain against such a well-tailored ensemble.” Yixing grinned, letting his towel slip casually from his hips as he walked over to pull clothing from his suitcase. Tossing the towel over his shoulder into the bathroom, he savoured the feeling of your eyes on him, as he took his time dressing. Oh, no…whatever the problem, a lack of desire from you were not the cause. A sudden knock at the door startled Yixing from his thoughts. He turned to you and raised an eyebrow. “Room service,” you explained. “I know how much playing with me tuckers you out, old man.” He grinned. Though he was only five years older than you, it was your running joke that he had robbed the cradle while you were busy robbing the grave. He walked over to the door, and opened it to a bright young bellhop who wheeled in the brunch cart. Yixing tipped the bellhop, who playfully saluted him and left, whistling cheerily. Lifting the silver lid from the various dishes on the cart, he looked at you in delight. You shrugged. “You worked pretty hard last night, Yixing-mine. I thought that you deserved something more than the usual croissant and coffee this morning, so I asked them to make something a bit more substantial for you.”

Yixing happily eyed the fluffy herbed omelette, steaming croissants, rich hot chocolate, and strawberries arranged artfully over creamy yogurt. “Oh, I knew that there was a reason I married you.” “What can I say?” you asked, sitting on his lap and putting a cool, sweet strawberry to his lips. “I give good room service…” ************************************************** Stepping out onto the streets of Paris a short time later, you walked arm in arm on your way to go exploring. You had spent each week in a different French city, culminating your honeymoon in the City of Light, and though you knew that you probably should do the culturally relevant thing, and see as many museums as possible, you were really enjoying just finding whatever you could discover on your long walks. This morning (okay, afternoon) however, you had an appointment to take a boat ride on the Seine. Yixing watched your swaying bottom, as you made your way up the gangplank ahead of him. He suppressed the animalistic urge to drag you under his body and thrust into you until your body had no choice but to give you an orgasm. He shook his head to clear his mind of those thoughts. If he kept thinking like that, he’d embarrass you both. The boat ride passed happily for you two, with you laughing in delight as the wind made short work of your previously artful coif. Shaking your head in surrender, you removed the pins holding up your hair, and let the wind tangle it around your face, making you look like a gamin little fairy. Yixing just watched you. He loved looking at you. Your artless delight with life never failed to make him want to protect you, and join you, in equal parts. It didn’t help that you were a neat foot shorter than he. Though he logically knew that you were well equipped to take care of yourself, having studied krav maga at your father’s knee, there was a primitive part of him that wanted to shield you from the depredations of the world. He sighed and watched as the wind blew your hair straight back, making you look like a wild siren. After your boat ride, you took a stroll down the Rue Montorgueil, so that you could explore its open-air market. Yixing purchased a wicker basket for you, and then held it as you flitted from stall to stall, slowly filling it with various vibrant fruits, freshly baked pastries, and rich cheeses. You took a meandering walk to the Parc Monceau, found a secluded spot, and shared a leisurely picnic. Yixing loved to watch you eat. He felt like a secret pervert at mealtimes. You were just such a sensual eater. He didn’t think that such a thing existed until he met you. When you bit into something that you particularly liked, you’d purr, or sometimes give a little soft moan, and close your eyes. Also, in the absence of silverware, if something dripped onto your fingers, your quick little pink tongue would dart out and slowly lave the offending digit, looking like nothing so much as a serious little cat. The best part of it was, you were totally unaware of this behaviour. He’d seen you do the same things when you didn’t know that you were being watched. He cleared his throat, surreptitiously adjusted himself, and sighed, wishing that you were back at the hotel. You looked up quizzically at him, sensing his mild distress. Yixing smiled reassuringly at you, and took a hearty bite from his crispy, still-warm croque monsieur. You went wandering around the boulevards, stopping to watch interesting street performers, or to peer down dark, narrow streets like nosy children. At the entrance of the first bookstore that you found, you stopped and sucked in a breath like a child on Christmas morning. Yixing looked around, seeing nothing but stacks upon stacks of dusty old tomes. You moved easily through the claustrophobic shelves, chattering gaily in French with the shopkeeper. Yixing finally leaned against a wall and just watched you as you traced your fingertips over the spines, occasionally stopping to open a book and briefly read what was inside. You ended up buying several first editions of various children’s books for your sister. He grinned as you left the store. “Fiona just had the baby. He won’t be able to read English for years, let alone French.” You peered at him haughtily over your tortoise-shell spectacles, your hair unbound and wild, and several dusty smudges on your face. “I’ll have you know that my nephew is a genius. While I was playing with him at the wedding, I asked him what the cat says, and do you know what he said, Yixing? He said, ‘Miau’. Does an ordinary three month old know that? No, unless you are as perfect as Aubrey, which is highly doubtful, as he is the pinnacle of everything that a baby should be.” Yixing stopped you as you started to brush by him, resting his arm above your head on the building behind you, and said low, “And you don’t think that you’re just a little bit biased?” You looked up at him, smiling beatifically. “No!” “Should I be jealous?” he smiled down at you, ebony eyes alight with good humour, his fingers gently stroking your jaw. “Mmm…maybe,” you flirted. “You know that I’ve always had a thing for short, chubby, bald men!” Laughing, you slid past him. You spent the next few hours flitting through dusty old used book, and ephemera shops. After the last little antique shop, where he had bought you a coquettish little fan, and you had purchased a heavy set of silver and garnet cufflinks for him, he followed you from the store, catching hold of your hand. Smiling at one another, you leisurely made your way to Le Cordon Bleu for an open dinner demonstration. ************************************************** You sighed wistfully as Yixing knelt before you, removing your shoes, and gently stroking your calves. “Who knew a knife could move so fast! And the designs that he carved into those carrot shavings were so intricate! They looked like filigree! Oh—and that rosemary smoke that he infused into his tuna sashimi amuse-bouche was a transcendent experience, both visually and olfactorily…” You drifted off as you realized that he wasn’t saying much, just looking up at you indulgently, one hand around your right ankle, thumb stroking it gently. You smiled ruefully. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?” He smiled lazily up at you. “I like to listen you talk.” He traced his fingers slowly up and down the front of your left leg. “You have the cutest little accent.” “Me?!” you gasped in mock surprise. “Your accent is cuter.” He grinned mischievously up at you. “I don’t have an accent. I just speak in italics.” You ruffled his hair playfully. He wrapped his arms around your left leg and leaned his cheek against it. He began placing slow, gentle, sweet kisses on the outside of your knee. “Baobei,” he started softly. “Hm?” you responded, savouring the feel of his soft lips against your leg. “I want to talk to you about something, lovely,” he said, his voice low and caressing. “Hm?” you said dreamily. “I love you,” he started. “Love…” you trailed, stroking his hair. He could feel the heat of your arousal warming his cheek as he knelt at your feet. He smiled, hiding his lips against the outside of your knee. You were terrifyingly articulate. You had a savage intelligence that at times awed him, and you were a mistress of debate, and rhetoric. When you were aroused, however…your level of verbal communication nosedived. During the first week of your honeymoon, while you were making love, he had slid his hand down to your curls, his fingertips questing for your tight little bud. You had squealed, and then sighed, “Hacienda….” “Hacienda?” he had queried, bemused. “A Spanish estate plantation?” “Oh, I don’t know! Don’t know!” you had moaned, arching under him and practically ripping the sheets from the bed. You didn’t even speak Spanish. He forced his mind back to the present. “I love you,” he repeated. He slid his right hand slowly up the back of your left leg, cupping the back of your knee as he continued to place soft kisses on the outside of it. He slid his left hand up under your skirt, slowly stroking your right hip. “I love you, and I want you, and I know that you love me…that you want me…” “Mm-hm,” you nodded in artless agreement. “I am yours. All I want is to spend the rest of my life making you happy, which is why…we need to discuss why you haven’t had an orgasm when we make love.” He kept up his caresses, watching your face. A small frown line appeared between your eyebrows. Your head tilted, as if you were contemplating some difficult problem, and then twitched. Your head twitched again, and you slowly shook it, as if to clear yourself of a mental fog. “No…no…” you said softly, your body trying to scoot away from him. Your eyes opened, and you looked confused. He pulled you closer, not allowing you to move away from him. You made a little sound of distress, and he slid his arms around your hips, and pulled you down into his lap. Nuzzling your ear, he whispered, “Please, baobei…talk to me…” his accent thickening. You whined, and then turned to him, burying your face in his neck, arms wrapped around him. He stroked your hair and slowly rocked you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “No—don’t ever be sorry. There’s no need for sorry, you haven’t done anything wrong. However, this is something that we need to talk about before it goes any further.” He rubbed his jaw against your hair. “Before we were married, you told me that you used to masturbate…did you finish then?” You nodded miserably. “Okay…okay. Have you done it since we were married?” “Oh, no!” you protested, backing up to look into his eyes. “I haven’t needed to do that—you keep me satisfied.” He smiled ruefully, “Thanks for that, but something is awry, and we need to figure out how to take care of it.” He placed a finger under your chin, gently stroking the soft skin. “You don’t want to go the rest of your life without having an orgasm with me, do you?” “Well…no…” you replied slowly. “And isn’t it better to take care of it sooner rather than later?” he cajoled. “Yes?” you said uncertainly. “Alright, then,” he said comfortably. “Do you want me?” You looked up at him, speechless, eyes wide in shock. Then you set your jaw and said, “Zhang Yixing, if you actually think that I don’t want you, why then you’re dumb as a post! Want you?! I can’t stop thinking about you! Your scent, your touch, the sound of your voice, the way you taste… Sometimes we’re out and it’s all I can do to not drag you into a dark alley, climb on top of you, and ride you like Seabiscuit! Would I have married you if I didn’t want you?” He chuckled. “Fair enough”, he said, hands raised in surrender. “Just making sure that that’s out of the way.” You harrumphed. He grinned. “So, we know that you’re not sexually indifferent, we know that you want me, am I…” here he paused uncertainly. “Not…good?” You melted in his arms. ”Yixing…you make me tremble.” You looked down shyly. “You make me…writhe and whimper…you make me tingle…all over…. When I’m with you…I lose language. All I can think of is you, and the feeling of your warm breath ghosting across my skin. The feeling of your hot hands stroking me…caressing me… everywhere. And your voice…it’s so soft, but powerful…it makes me want to do…everything with you…” You finally halted, staring down at your hands, cheeks flaming. He cleared his throat, momentarily nonplussed. He had been told that he was a good lover before, but never in such an open, vulnerable, honest way. He brought your wrist to his mouth, gently placing a kiss on the warm, delicate inside. Softly, so as not to make you defensive, he asked desperately, “So then…what is it, baobei?” You shrugged mournfully. "I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I could blame it on nervousness, but I haven’t been nervous since the first time. I thought, maybe because it was because you made me so wet…too wet. But extra friction didn’t help, either.” He nodded, thinking. “Let’s do an experiment.” You perked up, pressing your breasts to his chest. “Down, little girl—not that sort of experiment!” he laughed. She pouted charmingly. “But I love playing naughty mad scientist!” “You love to play, period.” he retorted. You nodded, grinning mischievously. “You’re not wrong.” Yixing smiled. No, disinterest was not the problem, here. “I’m going to shower first tonight. You stay out here and…” here he slowly walked his fingers up your inner thigh, and gently tapped at the apex of your thighs. You raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned. Climbing to his feet, with you in his arms, he set you on the bed and began loosening his tie. Walking backwards to the bathroom, he said, “Let’s just see what happens. See you on the other side.” He closed the door, and left you to your personal playtime.

When he exited the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, he found you sitting on the side of the bed, looking thoughtful. “Well?” he gently queried.

You nodded, blowing out a breath. “It worked.” He sat beside you, not even bothering to put on a towel, and you leaned against his warm side, uncaring of his intermittent dripping. “So, what does this mean?” you asked.

“Well,” he sighed, “it’s not physical.”

You were silent. Then your face crumpled. “I just want to be good for you!”

“What?” he asked, bemused by your outburst.

“It’s so frustrating. All I want is to please you, and I can’t even do that!” you said bitterly.

“What do you mean, ‘please’ me?” he questioned.

“I want to keep you aroused,” you answered haltingly.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I don’t know,” you said dismissively turning away.

“Yes you do,” he coaxed, wrapping his arm around you, and laying your head against his shoulder. “Talk to me, love.”

“I don’t want to bore you. I just don’t understand why my body isn’t cooperating.” You bit your lip.

He was silent. Then, he said slowly, “I think…I think that we’ve just discovered the problem.” You lifted your head to look at him questioningly. He began to slowly rub your arm. “You don’t have to…perform for me. You are my wife, not a contracted…porn star. I think that you’re…so worried about looking, and sounding good that your mind is keeping your body from taking over.” He pulled you into his lap, and wrapped his arms around you.

“Baobei…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Sex isn’t entertainment. It’s about loving and giving, cherishing and adoring another person, while you reciprocally love and give, cherish and adore.” You stared at him in shock as he went on. “It’s a physical representation of unconditional love that is supposed to be given exclusively between two people.” He paused to give you a chance to respond.

“I would be inclined to agree with you, but…” You sighed, blowing a stray tendril from your face. You gathered your courage, then plunged on, “Studies have shown that during sex, about the only time a man experiences a surge of oxytocin is during orgasm. After orgasm, a man’s oxytocin levels return to his normally relatively low levels. Conversely, not only do women produce oxytocin during sex, orgasm, and post orgasm, but you also produce higher levels of oxytocin during each stage.” It was his turn to stare at you. “What I’m trying to say is that…sex will not necessarily make you bond with me emotionally, but I know that if I can keep you sexually interested, then you’ll be more inclined to stay because you’ll want to keep having sex with me.”

Silence reigned after your little speech. Your face flushed redder and redder as Yixing continued to stay silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was very soft. “I think that the casually graphic that way sex is portrayed in modern media, has caused you not to regard it as communication, but to instead adopt the idea that it’s primarily for recreation, or even sport. What was lost in the translation was intimacy.” You turned away in embarrassment. He took your hand, and gently stroked your ring finger. “Fifteen days ago, with this ring I thee wed.” He kissed your tawny little knuckle, then stood with you in his arms. Carrying you into the bathroom, he whispered into your hair, “Tonight, with my body I thee worship…”

He stood you next to the tub, and began to gently remove your clothing. When you realized what he was doing, you moved to help him, but he brushed away your hands. “No, baobei, tonight I want to take care of you. Will you let me do that?” You nodded hesitantly while he finished pulling your shirt from your skirt, and patiently undid all of the tiny pearl buttons. He lifted your left wrist and undid your cuff, kissing the round little bone at the outside of your wrist, then moving to the other. You smiled a grateful smile inside when he tossed your shirt into the hamper. Yixing was so neat. It was one of the things that you loved about him. He leaned into you, slowly stroking his hand down your side, brushing it over your ribs and caressing your hip. Bringing his hand back up, he slowly undid the zipper at your side, and let the skirt pool to the floor.

“Step out of it, please,” he asked politely. After tossing it into the hamper, he wrapped his long arms around you, slowly sliding his hands up your spine. Yixing deftly undid your bra, sliding your straps down your arms without moving back, so that the tips of your nipples brushed his chest as you breathed. You leaned forward, nuzzling his neck, and he tilted his head to nuzzle your cheek. Before he became lost, he took a step back, and knelt at your feet, to undo your stockings and toss them with the quickly growing pile. He slowly slid his hands up your naked, sensitive legs, cupping your bottom, and pulling you forward, so that he could bury his face in the soft warmth at the top of your thighs. He breathed deeply, scenting your arousal, and feeling your wetness against his lips. He looked up at you, wearing nothing but your garter belt and panties, your hair framing your face as you looked down at him.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, and slowly uncovered your curls, placing soft, reverent kisses on them as he dragged your panties lower. After you had stepped out of them, Yixing brought them briefly to his face, inhaling the salty, light scent of your arousal, while looking up at you. Your mouth had fallen slightly open at the sight of your husband at your feet, with your panties held to his face, so he gently placed them in the hamper, resisting the urge to really scandalize you by suddenly letting his tongue slide up your slit.

Yixing stood, leaned into the stall, and turned on the shower. He helped you into the shower, positioning you to stand with the steaming spray running over your front, while he stood behind you, warming your back, one arm around your waist, his erection nestled between your soft cheeks. Taking a sponge and dipping it into the pot of whipped soap, he began to slowly lather your body from head to toe. When he reached your intimate areas, you made as if to take over, but he stopped you, whispering seductively in your ear, “No, baobei. I take care of what is mine…” You gasped as he slid a warm, soapy cloth between your legs, leisurely cleaning you there, then slipped the cloth between your cheeks. You blushed as the roving cloth slid over your tightly furled rosebud, but you didn’t stop him.

By the time you left the shower, you had been thoroughly bathed, with great attention having been paid to your more…sensitive areas. Yixing wrapped you in a warm, fluffy towel, brushing it over your skin to absorb the shower water. When he was satisfied that you had been thoroughly dried, he gave himself a quick once over with the towel, to rid himself of any extraneous water. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he started for you, his engorged cock insouciantly bouncing from thigh to thigh. You giggled at the sight, and he grinned, briefly making it dance for you.

He stalked toward you again, and you backed toward the bed, sitting with a sudden plop. He grinned again as he moved forward, forcing you to climb backward on the bed, until your back hit the headboard. Yixing wrapped an arm around your waist, and pulled you down onto your back, climbing on top of you. You started to wrap your arms around his neck, but he took your hands from around his shoulders, kissed your wrists, and then drew them over your head. “Lie here, just like that,” he said. He left to procure two of his ties, then returning, used one to deftly bind your wrists to the headboard. You looked up at him, hurt, and he said, “This is to make sure that you don’t drive me mad with those questing little hands of yours. As soon as you put your hands on me…I lose control,” here, he brushed his mouth over yours, continuing, “You make me crazy.”

Mollified, you lay back and let him finish tying you securely. Yixing gazed down at his sweet little wife looking up at him so trustingly. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Smiling, you did so, and he used his other tie to blindfold you. Looking over you, he gave you a slow, crooked grin, as he whispered, “I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.” Your eyes widened behind the blindfold as you recognized the opening line to one of your favourite Neruda love poems. His mouth descended on yours, and you shivered as he gave you a thorough, probing kiss. His firm lips slid against your soft ones, his tongue rhythmically plunging into your mouth, brushing your tongue, sliding across your teeth, tickling along the seam of your mouth. You groaned low, and Yixing felt a jolt shoot down to his cock as you involuntarily arched, and nipped him, sinking your sharp little teeth into his sensitive bottom lip. He smiled against your mouth as he felt you squirming slowly beneath him.

He dragged his lips down to your throat, placing tender kisses against the delicate skin. Your head fell back as his warm mouth teased the sensitive skin of your throat, making you squirm even more. His hand was buried in your hair, fingertips stroking your sensitive scalp.

He moved his mouth lower, rubbing his cheek along the curve of your right breast. He murmured, “Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.” Looking up to watch your face, Yixing opened his mouth over your breast, and gently bit. His flickering tongue laved your sensitive nipple as his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your full, warm breast. You released a high pitched whine, as your face contorted in pleasure. Sucking hard, his tongue lapping around your puckered areola, he brought his strong left hand to your other breast, palming it a little roughly as his tongue gently stroked. He caressed your breast, brushing over your insistent little nipple with his thumb, even as his hot, wet mouth was busy with its twin. You jerked as jolts of pleasure shot from your breasts down to your swollen clitoris, which was peeking out of its wet little red hood, begging for a soft kiss.

Yixing switched his mouth to the other breast, latching on and sucking powerfully, as he brought his right hand to your left breast, to gently pinch and twist your now-wet nipple. Your mouth worked silently, as he lavished attention on your breasts, his loving ministrations leaving them flushed, nipples hard and sensitive. He moved his head between your breasts, cupping them, so that they brushed against his face as he leisurely kissed, licked, nibbled, and suckled his way back up to your neck.

Against your throat, he hoarsely whispered, “Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.” You sighed as he opened his mouth over your throat, letting his teeth graze your soft skin. He reverently placed small, sucking kisses against your throat, moving to the exquisitely sensitive place along the side of your neck. Growling roughly, Yixing let go and sank his teeth into the softness beneath him. A tortured whimper filtered past his inflamed senses, as your little body softened beneath his, and he smiled inwardly.

His mind idly drifted back to the immense sense of satisfaction he had felt when he learned that you loved being bitten. And you loved to bite… you were the one woman that he had ever met that didn’t care if he left marks on your skin. When had once repeated the question that previous girlfriends had asked him, namely, “What will people think?” to gauge your reaction, you had responded with a neat, dry, “They’ll get over it.”

Yixing opened his mouth, and slowly ran his tongue over the small indentations his teeth had left, while you slowly melted, boneless, into the bed. He began placing slow, suckling kisses down to your collarbone, then dragged his warm mouth over your sternum to your belly, nipping and suckling at your soft, fragrant skin. He rubbed his jaw over the smooth skin of your tummy, like a cat marking his territory, covering you with his scent.

He briefly paused, fantasizing, before being distracted by the slow rolling of your hips underneath his chest. Softly, reverently kissing his way to your right hip bone, he slowly dragged his tongue along the sensitive hollow between your hip bone and the side of your curls. You purred, then arched sharply, as he sank his teeth into the soft flesh. He lazily traced his lapping tongue down, where your thigh met your sex, using his long, veiny, gentle hands to slowly open your legs.

He could feel the anticipation thrumming through you as his warm breath ruffled your curls. He chuckled to himself, deep and low, before moving his face to nuzzle the curving hollow of your left inner thigh. You relaxed under him, your left calf resting against his back as he nuzzled, kissed, and stroked his way over the soft skin. He slid his warm palms slowly up your thighs, up your hips, as he switched his attentions your right thigh. Just as he sensed your complete relaxation, he struck, closing his mouth over your skin, his sharp white teeth sinking deeply into the flushed, warm flesh of the inside of your thigh. Your reaction was immediate and satisfying, as you threw back your head, arching and panting. Yixing loved teasing you like this. Building you up, letting you relax…and then building you up again. It made you wild, transforming you from a cool little logician into a panting, writhing, arching slave of his ardent love.

He transferred his mouth to your other thigh, nipping and suckling the soft skin, rubbing his warm cheek over you. He could smell the scent of your arousal, salty and clean, and he had to shut his eyes tightly against the insistent pulse in his groin. He looked up at the shining wetness, coating your swollen lips, and dug his fingers roughly into the side of your thigh. He let go when you moaned, realizing that, in his distraction, he was gripping you too tightly. Though you liked it when he lost control, when he gripped you too tightly, and kissed you too roughly, tonight he would control himself. At least…for now… He made his way down your body with soft kisses along the insides of your thighs, your knees, your calves. He lifted each delicate foot, and pressed soft, loving kisses against your ankles, adoring every part of your exquisite little body.

He crawled slowly back up your body, briefly sparing a longing look at your inviting sex then, removing himself from temptation, draped himself over you. Running his hands over your waist and hips, he moved lower, to slide his fingers behind your knees. He gently massaged the backs of your knees in slow circles while you opened your legs and artlessly moved your hips against him, panting lightly. Yixing had discovered this little erogenous zone of yours on your third night together. He pressed his chest tightly to yours, as he ran warm his palms over your rounded calves, cupping them as he gently massaged. You relaxed, as he glided his hands back up your thighs, up your hips, up your waist, up your delicate ribs, and up the soft, sensitive insides of your arms.

He took his time, gently tracing his fingertips along your soft, pale skin of your inner arms, as he kissed and suckled your shoulder. “I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the colour of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,” he whispered against the side of your throat. He climbed to his knees, and let his mouth follow the path that his left hand had taken, suckling the sensitive skin of your inner arm. He ran his tongue in slow circles against the crook of your elbow as you softly sighed and squirmed at his thorough attention. Yixing nipped and suckled his way up your arm until he could lavish your delicate wrist with the wet, suckling heat of his open mouth and tracing tongue.

He transferred his mouth to your other wrist, nipping down and licking against the almost translucent skin. He slowly made his way down the inside of your arm, pausing to treat the inside of this elbow to the same slow, wet, warm affection as the other. As he continued his way down, his mouth open and suckling against your underarm, he slid his hand up your arm and used his fingertips to gently stroke the soft, private skin between your fingers.

He nuzzled close to you, deepening his voice as he purred in your ear, “…I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.” You moaned at this pronouncement, writhing under his hand as he slowly ran it between your breasts, down your warm belly, over your soft curls, only to let his fingertips lazily explore your wet little slit. He rested on his side, pressed tightly to yours, as he leisurely stroked up and down your slit, his fingers spreading your slipperiness over your full, pink and golden lips. He slid his fingertips to your opening, circling it slowly, agonizingly as he placed gentle kisses along the shell of your ear. You shuddered as you felt him stroke his fingertips shallowly into your wet heat, teasing the slick flesh of your opening. He rested his palm against your curls, your swollen bud rubbing against his hand as he petted you, teased you, stroked you. He slid his tongue into your ear, making you tremble uncontrollably as he licked. He moved his mouth to your earlobe, dragging the tip of his tongue around the edge, and then sucking it into his mouth, as his clever little fingers slid inside and firmly caressed your G-spot. He had discovered that little sensual surprise on your tenth night together.

As your hips rolled and writhed under his hand, he whispered in your ear, low and hot, “I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,” You could feel the tingles in your body, slowly coalescing into an insistent throb. You were so close, but not there, not yet… Yixing removed his hand from your wet, hot, soft sex. Your eyes opened wide behind the blindfold, and you sucked in a small breath, as you heard the slow, wet noise of him sucking clean every single one of the fingers that had just touched you so sweetly.

He lay against you for a while, panting into the crook of your neck, his arm wrapped heavily around your waist, as he willed his clamouring body to calm. He softly stroked your waist and hip, gently lulling you. His hand drifted to your face, tracing the bone of your nose, stroking your cheek, gliding along your jawline as he hoarsely whispered, “I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,” his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb caressed your moist, plump lips.

Gathering his willpower, he climbed back over you, opening your legs gently, but firmly, as he kissed his way slowly back down your body. Yixing brought his face in line with your sex, swollen and open to his gaze, the glistening hood thrown back from the plump pearl, the inner lips rosy and inviting. He swallowed hard, looking up at you, at your face framed (given his position) by your plump, almond-tipped breasts, and breathed, “…and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.”

You relaxed at these last words, a satisfied smile lighting up your face. He smiled at you, though you couldn’t see it, then slowly lowered his open mouth to your waiting lips. At the first burning kiss, your hips rose sharply, and your thighs clasped his head. “No, no, baobei,” he instructed, pulling your legs over his broad shoulders, and caressing your thighs, “Keep your legs open…”

He brought his lips back down to your waiting wetness, and slowly licked the flat of his tongue from your perineum to your hood, smiling as he heard you trying to stifle a moan. He used his soft tongue to trace your opening, then gently lapped at your inner lips, his lips never breaking contact with your hungry sex. He could feel the warm, slippery, swollen flesh sliding over his mouth, over his tongue as you tried to push yourself closer, ever closer. He smiled against you, reveling in your desire for him. His eyes were closed, as he poured all of concentration into kissing you, licking you, teasing you. Your hips were moving rhythmically against his mouth, and he used his lips to nibble your juicy, warm hood.

When he gently used the top of his teeth to tickle the top of your clit, you arched so sharply that, if he hadn’t had a firm grip on your warm, soft thighs, you would have bucked him off onto the floor. He shuddered against you, his excitement mounting as he realized just how excited you were. He felt his control slipping as he rested his cheek on your thigh, indulging in your clean, spicy aroma, like an animal scenting his mate.

Clenching his jaw to supplement his control, he moved back. Moaning against you, his deep voice sending vibrations through your most sensitive places, his slid his hands up to your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth, as if he couldn’t taste enough, smell enough, lick enough to satisfy him. You let out a broken moan, and he realized by the frantic writhing of your hips that you were close. He pulled up himself beside you, and sank his teeth into your neck, as he slid his fingers inside your hungry sex, roughly massaging your G-spot as his thumb firmly massaged your clit. Your stomach muscles clenched, and for a second, you didn’t move, you didn’t even breathe. A breathless, high pitched wail broke free as your first orgasm with your husband crashed over you. “I…I…I…I’m falling! Help me–XingXing–I’m falling!”

“I’ve got you; you’re safe baobei, you’re not going anywhere,” he rasped in your ear, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other holding still between your legs, letting you ride out your pleasure on his slick fingers. He could feel you clenching his fingers deep inside, and he growled with satisfaction.

You strained against your bonds as your head lifted, then fell back, body still tightening around his fingers. He put his lips to your shoulder and stayed still as your frantic movements slowly lessened. An almost overwhelming sense of accomplishment washed over him as he listened to your halting whimpers.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, pausing each time you whimpered, crooning in your ear, “I know, baobei, I know it’s sensitive.” Once his hand was free of your body, well…he couldn’t resist such a perfect treat. He brought his hand to his nose and breathed in the clean, heady aroma of his satisfied woman. Closing his eyes, he gave into temptation and slid his fingers into his mouth, licking off the sweet remnants of your pleasure. Feeling a little dizzy when he finished, he moved to untie you. Your hands fell to his shoulders, deceptively delicate fingers gripping him tightly, as he pulled in off your blindfold, uncovering your seductive eyes shining up at him, lids heavy with satisfaction.

You laced your fingers behind his neck, urging him closer, “XingXing…”

“Mm?” he murmured, busying himself with kissing your arms, your breasts, anything that his mouth could reach. You undulated against him and he stiffened.

“Yixing…” you said again, your voice husky.

“Shhh,” he murmured against your breasts. “I’m not finished with you, yet. I’m going to work you all up again, lovely.”

You slid a warm, moist thigh over his hip, caressing his body with yours. “Want…” you whispered.

Yixing was busy nuzzling your neck, patiently intent on slowly coaxing you back to the edge. “Mmm,” he breathed against your neck. “Not yet, baobei…”

Your hands wound through his hair and you tugged it, sending a pleasurable hum through his scalp. Your hands were wandering everywhere, gripping, caressing, clutching, scratching, and as he had predicted, it was becoming harder to think. “Want…” you breathed again, raking your fingernails over his sensitive nipples. You seemed to try to gather your wits, and said, “Yixing, if you hurry, I think that I can finish again.”

He froze against you as that simple statement shot straight to his hindbrain. He paused to try to understand it, but then you wrapped your hands under his arms and raked your nails sharply down his back and he was lost.

He moved between your legs, your hands on his taut cheeks, nails digging in, urging him. You wrapped your thighs around his waist, and his mind stopped thinking. All he knew was that his body was telling him that you wanted it, to give it to you, to thrust, thrust, thrust, until you gave him what he wanted. In one last moment of clarity, he looked into your eyes, the smoky combination of satisfaction and anticipation driving him wild. He pushed inside of you, inside of your tightness, your heat, your wet, slick, grasping body. Your mouth opened wordlessly, as you felt yourself stretch around his thick cock, but you kept your eyes on his. You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, and buried the nails of the other into his waist, spurring him.

Yixing groaned, desperately trying to go slow, to give you the slow, hard, steady strokes you needed.

You pulled his head down to yours, and he lay on your body, feeling your soft breasts and tight little nipples grinding into his chest. “Yixing,” you purred. “Faster.”

He paused, taking a moment to let your imperious little order sink into his conscious mind. Then he grinned. Sliding his left arm under your right knee, he pulled it up so that your thigh grazed his ribs. Then, clenching his jaw, he lost control. Growling, thrusting, nipping and licking at your collarbones, at your shoulders, at your neck, he gave himself over to you. Your body jerked involuntarily, each thrust sending a mind-numbing electric shock of pleasure through you, and you held onto his arms as if he were the only thing in your world. Your breaths shuddered in his ear, and that drove him mad. Pulling you roughly closer, as close as he could, he thrust deep into you, his powerful hips slamming demandingly against you, drumming home just to whom you belonged, even as you clutched him closer, and took what was yours.

You were close, but when your husband changed the angle of his hips so that his body was now grinding against your exposed clit, it pushed you over the edge. This orgasm was even more intense than the first, and it ripped a rough, raw cry from your throat. When Yixing felt that first, firm, insistent clench of you around his cock, his eyes rolled back into his head. This is what he had wanted, this is what he had been dreaming about for months, years. His hips thrust into you one last time, and he groaned as he finally let go. A hot lick of fire shot down his spine, and through his balls, as he could almost feel them pumping you with his thick, creamy cum. He felt each clench and rippling pull of you around his shaft as he shot load after load into you, filling you up, giving himself completely to you. “Mine, mine,” you whimpered, your hands running up and down his back, pulling him closer, closer.

“Yes, baobei, I am yours, all yours,” he groaned. Finally his orgasm let him go, and he relaxed on you, boneless and panting. He could feel you still clenching around him, milking his cock with the last vestiges of your orgasm. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, and just held him, your small body slowly moving under his. Ruefully, he realized that you were trying to rock him, and that he should probably move, lest he suffocate you. Yet, when he braced his arms to do so, you held onto him tighter.

“No. Stay. I want you just like this. Hold you,” you said, your breath coming in ragged pants.

“But baobei, I’m too heavy,” he protested.

“No, you’re not. You’re mine. Stay. I like you here. I can take it,” you breathed.

He compromised by sliding down your body, making sure that the bulk of his weight was off of you, as he laid his head against your breasts, and wrapped his arms around you. He listened to you as your breathing normalized, and eventually deepened into that of sleep. Yixing nuzzled his cheek against your soft breasts, relaxing into the safety of your arms, as he fell asleep to the sound of your heartbeat.

A/N: If you want to follow me, then please do so on my main blog @vampwrrr, as I always update there, first.

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