True Love Tales

Whilst He Is Sleeping


It’s amazing that feeling that you get when you’re lying beside someone at three o’clock in the morning; you don’t want to sleep, just so you can watch them as they doze; oblivious to your eyes on them.

I gaze at him in his sleeping hours, watching as he breathes in and out, letting small moans escape from his beautiful lips. I wonder if he even knows just how beautiful he is to me, or how much I would shatter if I thought for one moment he was not there.

I don’t sleep; I stay awake, lie on my side and watch him. I gaze at his masculine beauty as he hugs his pillow for fear of losing it, and curls his hands up by his face with the innocence of a child. It’s hot tonight and he’s sleeping on the outside of his duvet in red plaid boxers and nothing but a gentle hint of a content smile.

I cast my eyes over his body and drink his beauty into my tired eyes; the perfectly sculptured muscle on his back is cradled delicately by his soft tanned skin. Those masculine shoulder blades that I adore so much stick out lightly, in perfect jagged curves. I ache to reach out and touch them, but I know I will wake him and the thought of disturbing his peaceful slumber is enough to stop me. I will touch him in the morning, just as I do every morning.

My eyes cast down his back and follow the subtle curvature of his spine and the soft flesh that clings to it. The single bead of sweat caused by this hot summer night seems to use it as a path to cling to and travels down, dripping onto the white sheets that crease beneath him. I can’t help but look down, past the place where his lower spine dips delicately, and I let my eyes rest on that prime rump I admire so much. I let a smile tug at my lips and cover my mouth with the palm of my hand as I gaze at it and the way that the red plaid boxers cover it so perfectly. I want to remove my hand from where they rest on my lips and tug them down slightly; I ache to playfully strike him and hear the small slapping sound that is like music to my ears. I decide not to.

From that point onwards I let my eyes lurk over his sculptured thighs, covered in dark strands of gentle curled hair. I allow my view travel south, down past the back of his knees and over the hard muscle on his calves. I look at his ankles and admire the way that the bottom of his bone disappears into his heel, taking the wraps of soft skin with it. And in that soft spot on either side of the bone, where they create small dints just large enough to out your fingers into, the lack of hair astonishes me.

I look down as far down the bed as I can see and look to the sole of his foot, and the spot I know causes him to giggle like a schoolgirl when I blow on it. His feet are the most sensitive part of him, apart from the other more obvious sensitive parts of his perfect male form, and I smile at the knowledge of the power that I hold over him. By that simple act of tracing a finger across the rough skin on his heel I know that I can get whatever I want. The small creases in his feet spread outwards and create small grooves that I enjoy tracing my fingers over whilst he laughs himself into stitches, unable to move. I can’t do it now; it would wake him and that’s the last thing I want.

He turns in his sleep, rolls over onto his back and lands on his side just like he does every night and I can see his face in the dim yellow light of the street lamp outside. The chocolate brown hair on his head is ruffled from the way he settles his head on the pillow and when you look closely you can see the pillow creases on his cheek that I yearn to iron out with my fingers. His skin is so smooth with one contrasting scar, etched into his face that seems to make him even more beautiful. His imperfections truly are the most perfect thing about him, in ways that nobody can understand until they watch him sleeping.

I cast my eyes across his face which is directly in front of me now; I slide down on the pillow and look at him closely. I urge to reach out and cup his face with my hands and touch the smooth skin that I love so much. I want to kiss his eyes whilst he is sleeping and run my cheek up against his to feel the stubble that scratches the pillow when he moves. I need to kiss his lips when I see him sleeping, and as I watch the way that they part so slightly in his deep slumber I want to feel them on my own, caressing my mouth in the early morning, before most people have awoken.

I watch the gentle contours of his toned body as he breathes; the rising and falling of his chest is too much to handle and I would give anything to touch him and nestle my head into him, sleeping whilst he held me in his arms like he always does in winter. It is too hot to hold me tonight, too hot to do anything but watch him as he sleeps through the heat that I simply cannot.

I gently touch my hands to his shoulders, not even coming into contact with him, but I feel him move at the heat and moan through his mouth, letting a small smile grace his lips without even knowing. I watch the beauty of the smoothness of his skin, glistening in the early morning as the gentle light from outside hits it, causing a small patch of yellow across his tanned skin. His arms are strong and toned without being too muscular; they are gently sculpted with soft muscle and covered in beautiful young skin which never seems to age.

His waist is toned, but not too much, with a few hairs in a whirlpool around his navel, continuing down past the elastic and into the red plaid boxers he wears for bed. The top of his hips protrude slightly, covered in that light muscle that he has everywhere, with a small amount of spare flesh to hold onto. I love holding onto that spare ounce of flesh when we make love and feel the smoothness of his body against mine.

My eyes cast down to the creases in his boxers, causing shadows that show where that ever-present bulge is. I yearn to reach down and touch it but that would wake him up with a start and it will be several hours until I can wake him. Maybe at six I can wake him in a way which would please him very much and we can have that hour of play before we both have to get up and go to work; maybe I’ll wake him at five.

He moves in his sleep, startling me, and hits his nose with the palm of his hand to warn off an itch and it makes me smile to watch him as he does it without thinking. His hands are large and I love them most. The way that the skin between his fingers seems to stretch out as he hits his nose again gently send shivers through me. The way that his thumb seems so much longer than it should; it’s a few times the size of mine and it oozes everything sexual and masculine about him. I can imagine his fingers as they move across my skin when he wakes in the morning and he will cup my cheek with a gentle caress before kissing my lips softly. I pay close attention to his thumb, and admire the way the gentle pink of his nail curves, with thin vertical lines etched in which make them look as though they were only just created. I catch a glimpse of the wedding band in white gold which he proudly wears; the band that binds him to me for all eternity and one which he has worn for almost ten years without removing even once. It looks almost new to me and glistens in the light. I move my hand beside his and compare the two rings, different in size but identical in style and meaning. I smile outwardly, as well as inwardly, as I think of what could be going through his mind. It is four o’clock now and I realise I have spent an hour looking at my husband as he slept, there is only one more hour until it is possible to wake him without him behaving like a bear with a sore head.

I touch my fingers to his softly, but I hope I don’t wake him, he works hard and he deserves his sleep, but the selfish part of me wants him to open his eyes so I can look at the blue depths that seem so bright in the morning.

He moans lightly, entwining my fingers with his own and takes them to his mouth, kissing them lightly. The warmth of his lips on my fingers warms my heart and I know he is still partly sleeping, dead to the world. He grasps my hand in his and holds it close to his chest, snuggling into it.

“Have you been watching me again?” he asks in a low throaty growl, letting a smile dance across his lips.

“It was hot,” I say, making my daily excuse. But Pacey knows me; he knows I have been watching him to see when he will wake.

“It’s not too hot to sleep,” he argues, finally opening his eyes and looking directly into mine; I catch my breath, still after ten years of sleeping by his side every night the sight of his eyes gazing directly into mine makes my breath catch in my chest. His eyes are blue; a colour of blue it is impossible to categorise or compare to anything else and they sparkle with a light film that somehow makes them magical in appearance. His chameleon eyes darken slightly as he leans over to me and covers my lips with his own. “I couldn’t wait another hour,” he tells me, caressing my cheek with his hands in the exact same way I had thought about minutes earlier.

“Well you’re just lucky I’m awake,”

“How is it possible that you get more radiant every single morning,” he asks, pulling my body underneath his as he moved himself on top of me slightly; I know what he has in mind.

“Maybe you’re just losing you sight,” I retort, smiling through the kisses he places all over my neck. The gentle grating of his rough stubble against my smooth skin is something that I always enjoy about his morning kisses; there is something almost erotic about it.

He moves his hands down the side of my face, finally resting them on my jaw and tilting my head to his lips; he always does that. Moving his hands down my body he unbuttons my nightshirt and slides his hands into the space, parting the material to gain access to my body. The heat of his hands causes a trail of sensations so intense it’s almost as if he cools me down to heat me up again. He runs his hands over my breasts and cups them, squeezing them gently; they are tender and he knows to be careful.

He moves his lips down my neck and over my chest, taking one of my breasts in his mouth and sucking on the nipple gently, tasting my skin before moving south and placing feather light kisses over my swollen abdomen. He smiles every time he kisses it, still amazed at the life that grows within me. He places his large hands over my stomach and spends a few moments just caressing the small bump before moving south and parting my legs with his thick fingers.

He pauses a moment, teasing me cruelly, before placing gentle kisses on my clit and swirling his tongue around it; it drives me wild and he knows it. I close my eyes and enjoy his loving sensations, arching my back when I feel his expert tongue delve deeply inside of me. I feel his lips curve into a smile as he watches me; I know he is watching me from his spot down there, gazing up at me and smiling at the way he makes me react to his gentle, loving touch.

He runs his hand down my legs and removes his tongue slowly; he replaces it with his fingers and moves his lips up my body. The hot trails of tender kisses are ignited by fire as the heat inside of me grows. He builds up the rhythm with his fingers and quickens his pace slightly, he can feel my walls contract against his fingers and I know it.

The heat inside of me, caused by his fingers inside and his lips on my skin, rises and I react to the gentle burn that starts at my toes and works its way up. It tingles; tiny sensations like gusts of wind make their way up my body and pass through me, rising from the heat between my legs and travel slowly towards my head. The sensations, now like butterflies wings, flutter their way up my body and rest on my head, fluttering more and more as I feel the waves cascade through me.

I open my mouth and let the moan escape; nobody can hear so I don’t stifle it.

Pacey smiles against me and removes his fingers, kissing my lips and removing his red plaid boxers, releasing the erection that ached to be removed. Moving between my legs he places the tip against my entrance and pushes inside of me slowly.

Our breath mingles together as he moves himself in and out of me, kissing my neck and shoulders, delving his tongue into the heat of my moth and exploring me, tasting everything I offer.

I let my hands roam his back, pulling him closer to me and arching my back; I need him deeper. No matter how deep inside of me I feel him I always want more, I always yearn to feel him closer to me, desperate to feel as much of this man as I can.

I feel the heat inside of me as I approach the edge, but I wait for him; I feel his lips pull from mine and his mouth open to allow himself to breathe. His heart beets faster against my chest; I can feel it beating with my own. Gruff moans escape his mouth and dissolve into my skin as he rests his forehead against my shoulder, kissing me whilst I run my fingers through his hair. I feel him push into me harder as his rhythm quickens;’ I know he is close, but not as close as I. He tips me over the edge, and a few moments later allows himself to do the same, emptying himself inside of me with a groan so deep and jagged I can feel it against my skin, vibrating though me.

He kisses my shoulders, my neck, and finally my lips, pulling away from my body and catching his breath.

He turns me around, so my back is resting against his soft chest, and pulls the light blanket over us. He holds me for a long time; almost an hour and finally, when he has no option, lets me go.

Tomorrow night if it’s hot I will watch him again; I will gaze at the wonder of him and drink his vision into my eyes again. But I will never stop wondering how he knows what I’m thinking whilst he is sleeping.


A droplet of Jupiter. (C) 2005