A Week's Worth Of Love - Wednesday

“So how was yesterday's lesson for you?”

“Yesterday's lesson in vanilla Bdsm, you mean?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Well, how did you like it?”

“I like the blind folding and the bonding part. And the part where I absolutely did not beg you for relief.”

“Did to.”

She turned her lips downward. “Alas, I did. But I gave you a run for your money.”

“I agree to that begrudgingly.” He faced her. “So you like that part?”

She nodded, then launched forward and wrapped an hand round him from behind. “You're turning out to be worth the pay after all.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner. “Fuck you, sweet.”

“I would like that very much.”

Surprised, he turned his head to face her. “Fucking? It's not making love.”

“What's the difference?”

“You tell me,” he challenged.

“I'm a learner, remember?”

He had to laugh. “Alright. I'll indulge you.”

“Hmm.” She was draped over him like a coat.

He maneuvered them so she was laying on him.

“Where do I begin?”

“Anywhere.”

He cleared his throat and took the voice of a professor. “Fucking doesn't involve the emotions. Well, mostly.”

“Example, please,” said the student.

“If a man and his wife fight, they might decide to air their opinions out through that act.”

“Why not making love?”

“They could make love, but not when they're both still angry. If they come together in anger, best to let you know that they will fuck.”

“But it'll be a lot tamer than if it was with a random person.”

“You're correct. Fucking is angrier, a way to let out emotions, to get relief - an act of merging your

bodies and physical needs. Fucking is a one night stand. Fucking is not tender. Don't let a man do that to you, Jaz.”

She was surprised. “Why?”

Because then I'll know that you've lost your will to love, he thought in his mind but what he said was, “Because you're made from something softer, more precious. You can separate your heart from your head, true, but I know that there is no way you will touch a man who doesn't have an emotional connection with you.”

Her voice was hushed as she said, “How about you? You're touching me.”

Gabriel trailed an hand down the middle of her face. “We're friends. I know you and you know me. I care about you.”

“But what if I want to be fucked?”

“Fucking can occur when making love. You started slow and now you want it faster.”

“So what's making love, then?” She managed to ask,

despite her parched, dry throat.

“You know what it is.”

“Tell me.”

The tension was so thick in the room that she could almost choke on it.

He smiled, his eyes shut. “You let your guard down.”

“What?”

“Making love. You let your guard down with your partner because you trust him or her enough to make you feel. Fucking can be one-sided; one partner after only their own pleasure. Making love is listening to you partner's body. And you don't rush when making love. Also, fucking can be a quickie behind an alley, in the restroom in a bar, making love can not. When making love, you take your good time, and it helps bring the participants closer. Makes you more emotionally attached and fulfilled, too.” Pause. “And no dirty talk, either.”

“You've been making love to me,” she noted, trying to find a chink in his armor. “We're not lovers.”

“No, we are not. I might not be in love with you, Jaz, but my heart adores you very much.”

She almost scowled, then caught herself just in time. She'd been the one to propose this. So why get angry? Was she in love with him? No doubt. But—

“You good, Jaz?”

She curled up beside him and he brought an arm around her. “Yeah.”

He kissed her then. Tenderly. And he slipped his fingers down the waist of the baggy trousers she was wearing and past her panties.

He began to caress her clit.

Jazmine's breath hitched and she tried to keep her eyes open, tried to keep it on his face. She was no longer shy or unwilling to look in the face of her lover, like before. Gabe had taught her that her pleasure wasn't a thing of shame.

“Look at me.” He commanded. He wanted to see her eyes and the desire that clouded them.

“Jaz,” he called again.

She gripped at his wrist, hard, and writhe. “No. I can't.”

“Look at me.” He said again. The knowledge that he had brought her pleasure, that he had given her the flush and feverish fits of passion, would be one he would cherish. Tucked away somewhere warm in his memory.

As his finger gently went in and out of her wet, warm vagina, he felt like he was losing himself. He shuddered when she shuddered and kept his eyes on her face.

“Gabe,” she whimpered, her hand still on his wrist.

“I know,” he leaned forward and kissed her head, then her mouth, managing to keep his finger working below.

She kissed him with the intensity of a thousand suns, as if she couldn't get enough. He couldn't, too.

He quickened his pace and she parted her legs open

to give him more access, her warm, moist flesh sending thrills through him.

She was all woman then. Eyes shut, soft and yielding.

Abruptly, he took out his fingers and she clutched back for it with a needy gasp.

He shook his head, “No. I want to be inside you.” He took off his trousers and boxers, his penis hard and straight. He turned her so she was sleeping on her side and he cuddling her from behind, one of his strong hands coming around to craddle her breast.

Instinctively, she raised her leg up and he slipped into her. He felt her shake.

Muttering words into her ear, he began a tempo that left her gasping — slow and tender and enough to fill her to the very brim.

Gabriel kissed her ear and her neck - anywhere his mouth could touch. He wanted her to know what it felt like to be loved and truly wanted by a man.

Jaz moaned as he played with her nipple, his

breathe fanning her ear. It was as if he couldn't get enough of her. She couldn't get enough of him as well. She wanted more, more, more and she would take as much as she could before the week lapse.