Wait

My first thoughts of the day were of you, of your breath on the back of my neck when you whispered “Wait for me.” I reached over to your side of the bed, knowing it was empty, and smiled knowing you’d be there soon enough. I caressed your pillow with one hand and my breast with the other, stopping when my nipple rose up to meet my fingertips. 

I fought my way out of the bed, kicking the sheet and comforter off to the floor before stumbling to the bathroom. I’d change the sheets after my shower. The occasion warranted a freshly made bed just begging to be mussed. The purple sheets – the ones I’d bought to compliment your favorite lingerie. The ones I’d screamed into as you made me come again and again. 

A shower, I needed a shower now to cool down, to find patience. It didn’t matter that I’d want to take another one later to feel ready for you, for your tongue. This shower would be for me. I smiled at myself in the mirror while I waited for the water to regulate. I put my hands into my hair, lifting it off my neck, imagining your hands wrapped in it, pulling my head back just a bit as you told me what you wanted to see. I licked my lips. Waiting was sweet torture.

I stood under the shower head with my hands on the wall letting the water cascade down on me, slowly taming my hair. I watched as rivulets formed that tickled my nipples, staked paths down my curves, disappeared between my legs. I felt the narrow streams roll over the arc of my ass and continue down my legs. I wanted to feel your hands, your mouth, your eyes, everywhere the water traveled.

The slickness of the soap made me shudder as my hands slid over my breasts, belly, ass, and mound working up a thick lather. I remembered the last time with you, remembered the oil and how your skin glistened and begged to be touched. I caressed the insides of my thighs, grazing my lips with my thumbs. I squeezed my hands between my thighs, relishing in the sensation and imagining you there, so close, so hungry. I had to grab onto the handle on the shower door, to will my heart to slow down. 

I dressed the bed before I dressed myself, and I set the lingerie I’d change into later on your pillow, just in case you made it back before me. I wanted to crawl back into bed, to slide my fingers inside me, to release some of the pressure. I didn’t. I wanted to save it all for you. I slipped into my bra, blouse, and skirt, skipping panties for an extra thrill. I thought about sending you pictures. 

The train was packed and I had to stand. Bumping into strangers at every stop left my mouth dry and my palms sweaty. The buxom brunette sitting beneath me became intertwined in my fantasies of you – her behind me with her hands on my breasts, you on your knees with your face buried in me. Another time, perhaps.

Every hour brought me closer to you and intensified my ache. I saw you in emails, heard you in calls. You were on my mind and I wanted you on my body. I lost myself in meetings, imagining your mouth on my neck, imagining your hands on my ass. Nothing got done – I should have stayed at home.

I ordered a car to get home needing the solitude, not trusting myself with the masses. I ignored the driver and let myself sink into a deep replay of the last time we were together. I allowed myself to remember the taste of you. I closed my eyes and pictured you – your lips, your stomach, your legs. I caught myself rubbing my thigh and straightened up in my seat, blushing when the driver made eye contact.

The second shower was harder than the first. I held the nozzle, directing the pulsing flow at my vulva, gasping at the sensation. I want your fingers in me, on me. Soon. I shudder as the silky smooth fabric glides over my ready nipples, and I draw my hands down my sides, tracing my curves. 

I dim the lights. I set up the music. I check the clock for the last time before climbing onto the bed. I hear your key in the lock and my pulse quickens. The wait is over.