As time goes by things get put on the back burner.... kinda... I find myself thinking about Rob less, although still very often, just less than every second like while I was in London. It's more like every 5 minutes now. Work does keep me mostly busy.
On occasion I find myself stopping in mid sentence while explaining something to my students, because something caught my attention and reminded me. The strangest things will come to mind and make me laugh, like salt and vinegar chips. Rob went out late on Monday night at the hotel to have a smoke. I stayed up in the room but he asked if I wanted anything to munch on. He brought back two bags of salt and vinegar chips and a bag of cheese chips. We sat quietly and ate them while watching tv.
There were times in that room that we weren't having sex where we'd just sit and watch tv. He'd sit on the chair at the desk, I'd be sprawled on the bed. In other words we weren't constantly all over each other.
It was during those times that I'd observe him, watch him. I wasn't interested in the tv. I just wanted to watch him while he wouldn't notice.
Those were times when I felt like I should make moves, go to him and touch him, just drag him close to me. But I knew that it wasn't the right thing to do. I don't know how I knew, but I did. I think that we probably needed to contrast the constant touching, sex and just overstimulation with that void. Perhaps it had to do with my fear of ruining the situation with overdoing things. Maybe I was just afraid of getting too close.
The void of not touching, not getting too close eased us into sleep as well. We slept close. But to be able to actually get any sleep I can't be touching a person I've never slept with. So I kept my distance, I needed to sleep at least a little. I don't remember who made the first move in the morning, it could have just been a random rolling over or something, but we ended up spooning. It was an amazing sensation, after not having touched for those few hours at night. I remember pulling his arm around me, around my waist. I could feel his body behind me, every move, every muscle, his slow breathing, his warmth. The sensation of his stiffening cock had me wet immediately. All I knew is that I didn't want to leave that day without having more of him. I'd have never forgiven myself if I hadn't taken full advantage of the situation.
We moved, perhaps he moved onto his back, I moved close to him, one leg over his, but I could feel him stiffen through his boxers. My hand slid under the covers, I caressed, and rubbed him through his boxers, until he opened one eye to look at me, to ask me what I was doing. I just smiled, didn't answer. Then I moved under the covers, straddling his legs, going down. I slipped his boxers off, and the question came again, "what are you doing?" in that accent I love. "Nothing, what do you think I'm doing?" I joked. And proceeded to take him in my mouth.
Just the simple sensation of the head of his cock moving past my lips was enough to make me cum. All I needed was a little stimulation really. I could suck him off for hours without ever getting bored... although he might. But he wanted to be inside me that morning, and I wasn't going to complain about that. I came up to face him, and straddling him I grabbed him from behind myself, slipped him in slowly, easily, all the way down the shaft, and I gasped, he groaned, and the sensation made me collapse towards him. He fucked me slowly in that position and then told me to ride him. I did, I rode him, upright, cowgirl, but I'm a weak girl with no muscles and ended up getting tired fast. He lifted me by my thighs, I kept my hands on the bedboard to ease the weight a little and he fucked me from below. There was a moment when his cock hit my g-spot and I just yelped. It was a sensation I'd never felt before meeting Rob. Bf has never hit it, I've never hit it on my own either. Rob is the only one who has ever found it, and his cock hits it perfectly.
I was basically incapable of moving after that, Rob moved his hand swiftly to my clit, pressing hard, flicking his thumb back and forth, pushing from inside me with his cock, I would go limp at each pulse. The next thing I knew he was joking around, and I was trying to get over what felt like three orgasms in a row. He said "look, watch this!", he put two fingers to his left temple, closed his eyes and made his cock pulse inside me, making me weak in rapid succession, I was laughing and in a state of ecstasy all at once.
He then asked me if I'd had enough. But my answer was "I'll never have enough". He lifted me off him. He moved around behind me, telling me quietly what to do, put your head down, guiding me with his hands. He slid himself back inside me from behind, my face planted flat on the bed. His hands gripping my wrists and my hips all at once. He pounded me hard and I had yet another orgasm, I collapsed helplessly on the bed, I didn't have an inkling of strength, I lay there, eyes closed, panting, arms beneath me now. Feeling the bed vibrate as he moved around to my side, he was caressing my back, up and down, his nails just barely grazing my cool skin. I opened my eyes to see a calm, serene look on his face, relaxed, smiling, caring.
I rolled onto my side, propped myself up and after he may have told me to take it easy, I went back down to taste myself on him. Making myself gag on him, his hands pushing my head down as they'd done numerous times before. I went down, sucked his balls lightly into my mouth, something I'd never done before, so delicate, soft, fragile, yet resistent. Such an amazing sensation. He was getting close. This time it took minutely less than the other times. He warned me that he was going to cum, and he pressed my head down onto him, his hot cum filling the back of my throat. I haven't swallowed in years, and it was so much easier than I'd remembered. It was warm and tasted slightly bitter. I could taste him for ages after that. Right through to the next morning.
The rest of the morning consisted in us having breakfast and just lounging, perhaps both dreading the departure. I wrote about our departure before, but it was a fairly long wait, or it felt long. We went down and had a breakfast that made us both laugh, he managed to fill a teapot with a teabag and coffee and almost insisted on drinking it. We talked about what had happened, we talked about how we felt. He is so easy for me to talk to, he makes everything easy.
The rest of this story is somewhat of a repeat, I've mentioned it before but I can't finish this post without it.
When we returned to the room, we didn't know what to do. I finished packing my bag while he lay face down on the bed looking at the newspaper on the floor. I flopped myself onto the bed to look over his shoulder, reading and not reading, occasionally commenting. But soon we stopped. He just lay there, his face buried in the nook in his arm. I wasn't sure what to do or say. I got the feeling he was dreading going home, or maybe dreading waiting. I wanted to tell him to go when he wanted, that he didn't have to wait for me. He looked up at me, his eyes were shiny, but partially hidden behind his mass of blond eyelashes, he looked at me through them and said that he was worried he'd make himself sick with guilt in the following days.
I told him to hate me if it would be easier, but had to turn away, lay on my back to wipe the tears away.
We checked out of the hotel and headed to the train station. We hugged, half kissed, it was awkward, neither of us knew what to say or do, so we just went our separate ways. Neither of us looked back. But the train ride into London was hard.