Have you ever ached for someone?

Just stopped in the middle of what you were doing and just drifted off in a day dream? Somewhere warm, a room with huge windows facing the ocean, sheer white gauzy curtains wafting gently in the lazy breeze. Watched him standing there, and tried to resist, your eyes slip sliding down his wide, muscled shoulders which make you feel oh so delicate and protected. Such silliness, you try to tell yourself, as he shifts his weight to lean against the wall. I wish he wasn’t wearing those pants.
“Hmm? What? You want to wear my pants?” He looks up, mildly puzzled, and you realize you had actually said out loud what you were wishing. You want to arch against the pillows, present your breasts to him, knowing his weakness, or lazily turn over, your lushly curved butt revealed by the careless riding up of a soft cotton dress. You close your eyes, groaning inwardly with rueful laughter at the completely horny state you are in, completely unaware of the soft moan with which you sigh.
But then that is enough, and he comes to bed, a trail of discarded clothes marking his path. Even as he reaches for you, you petulantly decide it should be your night and push him back against the pillows, sitting on him to immobilize him, holding his wrists, leaning down on them, holding them high above his head. He resists for a few moments, and you insist on his obedience. Suddenly he stills, his hips thrusting meaningfully up against you, and you can’t help but rub against the firm ridge against that softest neediest part of you.
When he is finally quiescent, you lean down lick against his jaw, the stubbly prickle of hair, the angled edge of his jaw, the soft skin just underneath his ear.
A man’s body has such contrasts. I’m not a fan of body builders but the firm bunch of tense muscles under skin you have licked and kissed is thrilling somehow. The jump, the hungry jerk against you is gratifyingly responsive. To know the other is holding himself in, just so you can amuse yourself, is such luxury. That deserves a kiss just by itself, and a slight exploration of cotton covering firm velvet, as you lay your lips, your breath softly moistening the cloth. The hands that tangle in your hair warn you that patience may run out, and you continue on. You are on borrowed time you know now, and you feel the dull ache deep within you. But his hands deserve some kisses, the fingers long and nimble, that play over your body so deftly. Rubbing up against him, feeling your body give and twine about his.
But just as you try to turn him over he rises from his self imposed patience and rolls with you till you are the one underneath, his full hard body pressing heavily down on you.