Naked but…

I like you naked – you know that.

Naked around the house on a Sunday morning, when the bright sunshine flooding in through our kitchen window briefly masks how chilly it is outside, and I can glance up from my cup of tea to watch you gazing in quiet contemplation at the contents of a food cupboard, or moving between work surfaces as you prepare one of the various unnamed, randomly-timed meals that provide the punctuation to our weekends.

Naked when I get home from work after a long day, and instead of handing me a drink, you lead me through to the living room, push me onto the sofa, and lift your dress over your head in one smooth motion, revealing nothing underneath but pale skin and the green pendant necklace that you remove only when you’re about to ride my cock really hard and don’t want it to smack me in the face.

And naked in bed at night, your ass nestled between my stomach and thighs, flattening my cock against it; or one leg slung across mine and your tits pressed into my side, till I roll on top of you and pin your hands above your head. Naked afterwards too, when we’re both flushed and warm, and you kick the duvet aside with a laugh stripped of every quality other than pure joy, leaving only your glorious body in the lamplight, smeared and flecked with sweat and cum.

I like you naked – you know that. But there is one exception.

It’s Tuesday afternoon and the baby is down for his nap. I’m working from home and we’re both exhausted, so after you take him through to his crib, we close our bedroom curtains and crawl into bed for some sleep of our own. I wake 20 minutes later, confused by the darkness, and pull you into me, nudging your curtain of hair to one side with my nose so I can bury my face in your neck. The house is quiet enough that when your foot twitches, I can hear your sock brushing the sheet. Quiet enough to feel the full force of the small sigh that’s drawn from somewhere deep inside you and pulled almost reluctantly from your mouth as you shuffle against the crotch of my sweatpants.

You took off your skirt before coming to bed, so when I squeeze my hand down between our bodies, it’s easy to run a finger over the back of your knickers, then down between your legs. The soft cotton feels so inviting, as it clings to the contours of your ass and cups your pubic mound. I picture the pattern: silver stars on a blue background – your superhero pants.

You half-stir when my finger pushes the fabric into the groove between your labia. It’s not wet, but it’s not entirely dry either, and my cock is already aching, even though it’s only just starting to swell and rub against my joggers. I love this moment right before I get hard. I can feel it building elsewhere in my body: mostly in my stomach and my thighs, but it also spreads up and out across my chest, and down the backs of my legs. It’s a form of anticipation that blends heart-thumping excitement with an odd, deep sense of calm. I think that’s because the progress of the erection itself feels inexorable; not quite pre-ordained, but certainly impossible to interrupt once it’s first set in motion, deep below the surface.

There’s a bottle of lube on the shelf above our bed, just close enough that I can twist and stretch and hook it on my fingertips, without rolling away from your body. I pull my joggers down below my knees, then kick them off and pause to enjoy this new sensation of cool air and space around my cock. Before I touch you again, I want to pay myself a bit of attention, so I pump a generous dollop of lube straight onto the tip, and massage it all round the head in small circles with the dip at the very centre of my palm. It feels different to doing it with my fingers or with a curled fist; it’s tingly somehow, as if the reduced surface area intensifies each moment of skin contact, and I’m also aware that it requires a certain degree of self-restraint, which is always intrinsically hot.

When my cockhead is fully lubed, I press my other hand lightly against your back. It’s warm through your t-shirt, and I can see just enough of your face – a flushed cheek, a half-open mouth – to know that you’re not yet approaching the surface. But perhaps I can help bring you a little closer.

Because this – this moment right here – is the exception. And it’s so delicious, so cock-twitchingly hot, that I almost want to put off writing about it in order to enjoy the anticipation a little longer, so you can imagine what kind of rush I get from the act itself.

One more thing I should make clear first though (see: another delaying tactic!). It really doesn’t matter what kind of underwear you have on. In fact, it’s often the really boring, everyday knickers that are most satisfying to yank down. The ones you’ve had forever, with bloodstains in the gusset, and no identifiable pattern or even colour to them. I mean I’ll happily tug at a fancy pair too; I’ll twist that expensive lace between my fingers and pull it roughly over your hips…but somehow it just feels less…well, less spontaneous, I guess. M&S cotton is unremarkable. Unflashy. Unflattering sometimes. And for this, it’s perfect.

For all the build-up, when I reach for your waistband there’s no ceremony to how I do it. This isn’t a slow, delicate peel – we’re not talking thumbs hooked neatly under the waistband, nor am I trying to tease you when I pull them over your ass. As much as I love your “hey, come on, please” voice – the way I can hear the smile on your face, even as you beg for more – that’s not the vibe we’re going for here. Not the vibe I’m going for.

Instead I take a fistful of cotton and give it a good squeeze, before dragging it along your thighs, still stretched horizontally out towards the foot of the bed. I stop at your knees; I don’t require greater access than that. Unsurprisingly, this is the moment at which you take the first discernible step towards consciousness. A proper shuffle (if not yet a grind), rather than a reflexive spasm. You shift again when I coat my middle finger with lube and jam it straight inside your cunt.

With the hand still resting on your back, I feel you suck in air and hold it in your lungs, your torso tensing for one second, two, three. I think about taking my finger out and rubbing your clit, but it’s not necessary; I want to fuck you, not get you off with my hand – not yet, anyway.

Eyes still closed, you half-turn your head towards me. I take my finger out of your cunt and give it a gentle slap. Gripping the base of my cock, I guide it between your legs till the tip is nudging against the entrance to your vagina. My other hand slides up your back as you finally exhale, then curls round your shoulder and onto your chest. I pull you tight against me and thrust hard, gripping your hip and your tits as you slide all the way back onto my cock.

Your knickers remain bunched around your knees as we fuck – first in that same spooning position, then from behind, with your legs pressed together and your ass in the air. Afterwards I pull them back up and tap your ass appreciatively. The baby won’t sleep for much longer, and we both need to get moving.

But yeah: we’ll have to take another lunchtime nap soon.