She Loves Him (Ode to Jill Scott)
Story Codes: MF, Consensual,  Exhibitionism



She Loves Him (Ode to Jill Scott)
by Dean Jéan-Pierre


A fever runs through her body and comes to rest at the center of its birth in the smoldering wet
sun of fire that awaits his touch, his lips and his full and undivided penetration between the ebony
of her legs.  To touch her scorching black sun hurts.  The only thing that will calm the fire of her
sun is to be filled with his love until she overflows with liquid passion.  It is the type of sweet pain
that is addictive, and you feel compelled to make it hurt some more...just one more time.  It never
is just one more time.  The fever of arousal becomes part of your breath; it beats to the rhythm of
your heartbeat and whispers in your soul as you sleep.  How did she get to this?  A quivering,
shivering pool of emotions, desires and secrets that you reveal without shame or embarrassment
as your black sun explodes into the sky, illuminating the night with showers of your fevered fire.  
How did it come to this?

His voice is a sweet beautiful melody, like an old Motown tune, with every note working its bass
deep into her soul as his fingers seduce her mind and body into a place of pure exultation.  The
distance between them bridged when she hears his voice on the line, and the night of her body is
laid to rest as her sun rises to its apex of heat emission.  There is no pretense of decorum or
façade of not wanting her blazing fire to be stroked into a sensual beautiful explosion, which will
rival the majesty of a full moon casting its light over the Earth.  His voice, deep and rich
undresses her and she stands naked waiting for his words to strike the flames that will set her
skin, her mind, her soul on eternal fire.  She is bathing in a sea of passion.  She wishes not for air
but for his breath to give her life, to give her back some of the dreams she has lost.  She wants
him to suspend reality and to take her back to a time before she knew the pain of heartbreak and
the joy of innocent love was still something obtainable.  She wants him to do the impossible.  She
wants him to give her back her innocence.

A hunger for everything him emanates from her core, invading all of her orifices, runs so deeply
and sweetly, that it leaves her gasping for breath as her imagination brings him to life.  He is
inside of her, swelling; everywhere is available for his touch, his influence—his penetration.  He
moves in and out of her as deeply as her last thought, as fluidly as the depth of his penetration
that settles somewhere between her hopes and dreams and he lives inside of her as she sleeps.  
How did she arrive at this place that to just close her eyes and feel his lips on hers makes her
blush and there is no one around?  How is it that love slips into you without your permission and
stays without an invitation?  Love, becomes that guest that you don’t want to go and open your
heart to so that it can build a home and lay roots in your soul.

She loves him.

He is special.

Everything about him passionately moves and feeds her soul.

A rain cloud drizzles over her black sun of fire as the cold water falls from the round holes of the
showerhead, and the heat radiating from her skin turns the coldness of the water into hot
streams of relaxing pleasure.  Love, when it is real, burns hotter than any emotion we can conjure
and, when sustained by two people, it becomes its own source of energy that nothing on Earth
can extinguish.

Hands are on her body, lips are kissing her shoulders, he enters her without consent because he
knows that he can, and the sun between her legs releases rays of warm light that bathe the walls
in a soft white paint of blissful pleasure.  It feels too real to be her imagination.  If it is a dream
then she will keep her eyes closed until it all fades away and all that remains is the empty
darkness to keep her company.  Kisses move liquidly from her shoulders, they find the tender
spot on her neck and linger there until she moans unrestrained.  She shakes her head back and
forth sending streams of water everywhere.  His warm kisses lick her chocolate nipples, chocolate
always melts when it is kissed with love.  Her body yearns with desire as his kisses venture lower,
licking the trail of warm water between her breasts; on her stomach, he sticks his tongue in her
navel and sucks on it as if he is drinking a glass of cold water.  The need to open her eyes to see
if it really is him overpowers her but she resists because she still remembers the last time she
opened her eyes, there was no one there.  There are lips now on her throbbing sun, licking the
hot rays of sunlight streaming warmly from her swollen lips, the roundness of a sweet mouth tries
to swallow the ball of fire between her legs and she doesn’t resist.  It is his to have.

Her eyes open and her body remains on fire from her thoughts.  He is still touching her,
everywhere.  He is here.  He is home.

He loves her.

She is special.

Everything about her passionately moves and feeds his soul.  Her sun of fire overflows with love
every single time it feels the warmth of his tongue expressing his love.  His fever of hardened
intensity swims deeper in her warm ocean, always in search of hidden treasures.

She loves him.

He loves her.

They flow in and out of each other like sugar melting slowly in hot water.



© 2010 Dean Jéan-Pierre


She Loves Him (ode to Jill Scott) is an excerpt from Dean's upcoming erotica short story
collection, "The Pussy Whispers" which is now available on his website
www.deanjeanpierre.
com



Other works by Dean featured on Bare Back Magazine include:  
Such a Beautiful Sight,   Soon From Now,     Warm Mouth,


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