A warm meal and a quiet night

CHULANE like a river flows surely to the sea Nails trail along his skin, drawing paths of ecstasy that has him groaning, moaning against her, as his hand explores her breast, roving over the nipple, ever so tenderly circling her areola with his thumb. Another moan, this time hers, as they both find the presence of clothes quite dissatisfying. As she wriggles and manoeuvres herself out of her own, he helps, his hand trailing down from her breast along her waist, to her hips and tugging at the clothing. Still, he is leaned over her, kissing her, consuming all that she is, his mouth tasting her sweat, her heat, her. But then she is closer to him than ever - naked, her legs hooking him, pressing herself against him and he wants nothing more than to give into her - but there was a matter of clothes still in place. So he sits back up into a kneel, pulling his head away from her with a hint of a growl rumbling somewhere within him, taking her hands in his as he removes those pesky shorts, his manhood already risen, hard, warm, ready. He had been a bit embarrassed when he first arrived at the lodge to find the protection they kept in almost every bedside table, but he was grateful for it now. Slipping it on, he was quick to lean back towards her, to have a hand return to her hip, to have it run along her hot skin and seek out her bush, and the treasures within. He wanted to know if she was ready - to make sure she was, so they could enjoy this moment together. His thumb found the folds, the wetness inside, the clit, and he applied pressure and circular motion to it, ready to receive her reaction to guide him how near or far they both were from the climax of the evening. some things are meant to be