Trouble, with a rating

I hear him chuckle through my pleasure from where he has ‘gone down on’ me, as he likes to gently put it. Something he enjoys, something that culminates in ripples of pleasure forcing their way through me on a level that transcends my body. And there, through the clouding of my mind I hear him chuckling, loving what he can do to me, loving the act of loving. He kisses one last time before crawling up my bed towards me, still smiling. Enjoyed that didn’t you, the statement emanates from his eyes and his smile, both of which are darkened by pleasure of his own. It is a question that requires no verbalisation and receives an answer, also unspoken, that is all too apparent to be mistaken. He feels accomplished, I feel indescribable. I smile and kiss him with a whispered thank you, feeling the heat of him resting eagerly against my thigh as he strokes my neck. He tells me we’ll wait until I’m ready and somehow, like no one before, he knows exactly when that is.