Shoot Ropes

In my dream, you stood in front of a mirror. You were shirtless, in jeans only as you stood before the full-length mirror. The hair on your chest called to me as I coveted you with my eyes. Your hair grew thicker as it arrowed towards the fly of your jeans, beckoning my eyes, my hands to follow and explore.

My heart began to pound as I stepped behind you and met your eyes in the mirror. I put all the desire and heat and need I was feeling into my eyes; your look mirrored mine, and I felt my knees grow weak as I fell, trapped, into the depths of those dark eyes.

I placed my hands on your bare shoulders, finally touching your skin as I’d longed to do. My fingers flexed, testing your resiliency. Your skin was pliable and warm, but I could feel the muscle underneath and I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining those muscles flexing and bunching as you drove yourself into me, hot and wet and deep. I ran my hands down your arms and slid beneath them, seeking heat and the textures of your chest.

I flexed my fingers against you over and over again, loving the feel of you beneath my palms. I made a sound low in my throat, approving the feel of you. My fingers slipped up, up, until I could graze my palms against your nipples. I felt your breathing start to change as I lowered my lips to the tempting curve between neck and shoulder, licking and sucking your skin.

My desire was building in waves now, breaking over me, white-capped and heavy. I wanted to bite you, sink teeth sensually into your skin, let you know the unbelievable power of what I was feeling by testing your strength. I was shaking and hot and wanting you more than I’d wanted any man in years.

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You began to move against me, caressing my naked breasts with your back, your shoulder blades rubbing against me until my nipples were full, hard, aching – I let out a low moan. I’ve always been a noisy lover, but with you, I knew somehow I would have the ability to bring the house down. You made everything seem more sexual, more erotic, and already I was drowning in my own sensuality.

Keeping my hands on your chest, my fingers just lightly stroking your nipples, I moved my mouth to your neck and then down your spine in a series of hot wet kisses, sucking on your skin and leaving a wet, hot trail with my tongue until I was crouching behind you.

My hands moved down to your waist, leaving the sensual touch of your skin behind for the less sensually rewarding texture of denim. I ran my hands over your cock — once, twice, watching your face in the mirror from beside your waist as my fingers rubbed over you, seeking and finding heat.

I’d wanted to touch you for so long. Now, finally, I could measure your heat and length with my palm. I made small sounds of pleasure as I felt you move in delicious counterpoint to my hand, increasing and deepening the strokes until I was caressing you from base to tip.

I watched you watch my fingers as they rubbed over you. It was so much better, being able to touch you like this and still watch your face as you watched me stroke your cock in the mirror. Your eyes grew lidded, heavy, as my fingers rubbed over the tip of your cock, giving extra pressure at the point where the base meets tip, then slowly rubbing my palm along your length.

Even though your jeans, I could feel how hot and hard you were. I was dying to taste you, but I didn’t want this to end so quickly. It might be the only time I could touch you – I wanted to make it last all night if I could…

Shoot Ropes by David McLaren

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