It’s cold right now. The skin-tingling winter sun of a few days back has given way to the damp grey that characterises a lot of British winters. But there are some memories that never fail to warm me up, no matter how drear the weather.
The first time I felt his mouth on my breasts I thought I was dreaming it. He was so gentle, and I was so tired, that the most fleeting of sensations was easy to mistake for my imagination. But I looked down and there he was, his stubble grazing my breast as his lips moved around my nipple. The sight blew my mind completely. For some reason that was so much more difficult to comprehend than seeing his head between my legs and feeling his tongue flicking and swirling around my clit and vulva – and the stubble. I do like stubble. I couldn’t wait to drag him back up my body and kiss him as deeply as I possibly could to show my appreciation.