Tenderness ... She always wondered if there was a threshold for tenderness ...

Tenderness is VERY different.

The feeling of delight that overwhelms her when she gives affection to her dear person, as if dissolving in it.

Watching the changes in the face.

For a slight quiver of long eyelashes.

For a barely noticeable shake of dry lips.

For strayed breath, when it is like lightning cuts the air and seems awfully loud, compared to the surrounding silence.

Watching this, she barely breathes in those seconds.

Absorbing like a sponge everything that can be taken from it at this moment.

And the most interesting she gets with this wild pleasure.

It is wild.

Because even the brightest orgasm doesn’t compare with THIS feeling.

The feeling of complete dissolution in another person

Feeling himself a piece of it.

That small particle from which he is very good at this moment.

And nothing else around does not exist.

How to describe the growing lump that blows everything inside, like an inflating balloon, and when it reaches the chapels it bursts noiselessly, releasing mad energy, hot contents, which suppress everything by its pressure?

This is not an orgasm.

This is something else.

This seems like moral satisfaction. The joy of the fact that you give yourself completely to this person. To give EVERYTHING is really much nicer than receiving.

It is then that something arises inside, something painfully sweetly whines, rising from the groin to the stomach.

There are no usual goosebumps, no small tremors or subtle shudders of the body.

Something weightless and at the same time very large and strong is born somewhere inside, forcing you to stand still in the hope of prolonging this delightful feeling for longer.

What happens to her - she doesn’t know, she doesn’t come here, but this feeling ... It’s not even sexual arousal.

But when communicating with him, this feeling causes such a power of emotions, which turn it inside out, that, in comparison with this feeling, the brightest orgasm fades.

She suddenly madly wanted to do something very pleasant to him.

Something tender.

Do not fuck like a mad jump.

Namely gentle.

She came to his office at the very end of his work day.

Most of his colleagues, of course, have already diverged.

And he, as always, lingered after work and right now was absorbed by how the lines lay on his monitor.

Whether he wrote an e-mail to her now, embodying her thoughts in beautiful and exciting lines from which her cheeks started to burn, her nipples rose and her pussy flowed - no one would say.

Maybe he was expecting another project with crediting, estimating how much profit the company would receive from each ruble invested and reducing the payback period to a decent profit - and no one would say that.

She quietly walked around the room, divided by a set of partitions so that she did not notice her appearance. Leaning her back against the rough painted wall, she began to watch him.

There was something magical about everything he did.

And indeed in his very workplace.

It would seem that unusual in a simple computer desk, where everything is as usual: office supplies, a telephone, a low partition separating two jobs and allowing you to be in relative solitude at the same time ..

But if she were asked to guess exactly where her Boss is sitting, when she communicates with her, she would have unmistakably indicated this place.

She was leaning against the wall. Her eyes were riveted on a flawless white shirt and a dark head with a neat short haircut.

She wanted to feel now how this hair is flowing between her beautiful long fingers when she kisses him on the lips.

I wanted to feel the nails slightly scratching his head, combing his hair like a comb.

She very keenly wanted to lower her face to his head and, as a child, gently and tenderly kiss the top of her head.

She wanted to put all her feelings into that tenderness and unexplained thrill that the person sitting now at the computer desk caused in her, whispering something with slightly plump lips under the brush of dark whiskers, slightly puffing up her cheeks.

She saw him lean back in his chair, and his right hand shot up in the air. Strong fingers habitually spent from bangs to the back of the head, and he again stuck to the monitor screen.

“He does it not at all as I imagined,” flashed through her mind.

There was something unusual now in the feelings that she felt, watching from the side of her man.

So mothers watch over their children when they crawl in the sandbox, experiencing hidden pride, tenderness and love.

And here she again felt within herself this strange feeling, which slowly but surely was coming up to the very throat, catching her breath.

If he turned around and looked at her:

How much he could see in her eyes.

Something strange, bordering between pain and pleasure, as if standing on the edge of a high cliff under the strong pressure of the wind, the body is torn between life and death, then almost throwing itself into the unknown and immediately returning to life.

Something wild and primitive in those eyes wide open.

Looking at him like on God.

Something similar to the worship of his essence, it is the essence.

Something forcing you to believe that this gaze looks into the very soul.

And he sees everything through.

Something was stretched inside, and she involuntarily laid her hand on the lower abdomen.

How she wanted to approach him now.

I wanted to touch him.

Without words.

Gently.

As if he was a fragile and priceless thing for her.

The most expensive thing a person can have.

That they are afraid to lose.

I wanted to stretch his beautiful shoulders with light touches.

Taking his hand in his hand, put his cheek to his thumbs and rub his cheek against them.

I wanted to bury my neck in order to inhale his exciting smell.

He wanted to release his shoes and, taking off his toes, gently knead his feet with gentle movements, then replacing his fingers, touching the tongue.

She wanted so much:

But she did not allow herself to approach him.

As quietly and silently, she slowly advanced into the exit, without taking her eyes off his figure.

Just a second and the fact that she was in his empty office, reminded only a slight smell of perfume "Mirakle".