my jeans. All I wanted in that breath was him pulling the cold stiff denim down, him helping me kick them off into the darkness below, him nudging my legs apart, and his face his tongue working a wet trail on the inside of my thighs so his spit is hot, the air that hits it is cold, and my cock and my balls have never been this frozen and on fire at the same time.

I wanted to feel his nose dragging hard across my ass, so I know that he was pushing his face hard into it, so that when he pulls me apart with that thick lick, when he takes me from behind like that, his twisting muscle undoing me from behind my balls, he's going to go for that other muscle inside of me.

He strokes the outside of my hole, with the freezing rain, the softest bullets hitting me. The iced tree branches break, snap, and are gunshots, and he is eating me out while I am half frozen. My cock has never been harder, it reaches out into the freezing fog, pulses through that mist, and I push back grinding myself onto that tongue squirming inside of me. My fingers are breaking off little bits of stucco because I'm gripping the ledge above me so hard. I look down.

His arms wrapped around my waist jerks me backwards, because I am pulled forwards towards falling, because he's finger fucking me with two fingers as he's eating me out and my cock is aching and boiling ice-icicle dripping, melting, in the sun, going to break off the roof going to fall off the roof and smash to bits, smash to pieces

You can burn up in ice and disappear. You can stand on a ledge forty feet above the earth, the earth at an angle, because you're on the side of a mountain but your mountain is behind you and inside of you.

The world is a trip, dance, spin, and you believe you are falling because you're cumming and moving, your feet are no longer on the ledge. You're in the air, because your mountain, your husband, has lifted you up and over the ledge and back into him, back into the bedroom, back into the music, back into him and onto him, and you came, it was freezing, you thought you were falling and dying, but you came, and the night has just started, because he your husband has just started.

He is my mountain and I come to him, pull myself up by my fingertips trying to know him and occasionally I admire a secret, like a view from the top of the mountain, his smile upon me finding the real him is a cold wind bitten with ice and aspen.

My husband Greg tastes dark and crisp, like some sort of fresh winter snow on a pine bough that you just grabbed a handful of and ate. So does his cum. And I have never fallen before in the harshest darkness as I have in his hands and his eyes. The Colorado mountain, the ledge, and the ice can only imitate my mountain.