In the depths of them was wildfire. I didn't want to stomp it out; I wanted to coax it, fan it, bring it to full, bright, raging, uncontrollable life.
Abbi sucked in a breath, her narrow ribcage expanding with a flutter as I lowered myself slowly to my knees in front of her at the end of the bed. I took her tanned ankle, which was wrapped with beaded bracelets of sea glass and turquoise and tiny, smooth-as-silk river stones, and pressed a tentative kiss to the top of her foot. I followed a trail of sun-kissed freckles up the length of her calf. I suddenly wanted to know where she got each: aquamarine pools or roaring waterfalls or rocky seashores. I traced with my thumb along the tiny, silvery scars crisscrossing her knees. Did she get them climbing barbed wire fences in sunny fields? Did she get them racing barefoot across sun-bleached piers that seemed to stretch away forever into the horizon? Did she get them swinging from some old tyre over some old watering hole?
I ran my hands along her thighs and brushed the tips of my fingers along the eyelash lace on the edge of her white cotton panties, the sensation sending shivers along my arms. I imagined Abbi pulling them up her long legs in the morning, blinking awake in the morning rays, hair a beautiful tangle she brushed over her shoulder to expose her back. I imagined a hand reaching up to trace his fingers along her spine. I imagined it was me. In that moment, lips sliding along her quivering inner thigh, I imagined a hundred such mornings with her, a thousand such morning, as many mornings as I could grab, hoard, steal.
My breath was hot against the wet cotton between her legs as I slipped my fingers beneath the band and pulled down her panties. Abbi moved her legs silently, helping me slip them free of her and drop them beside me on the floor. I exhaled shakily as I took in the sight of her completely naked. Slowly, I trailed my eyes over her.
I drank in the sight of the soft blonde hair between her legs, the freckle next to her belly button, the peak of her nipples like pink sand beaches, the curve of her long neck, the deep indentation of her cupid's bow.
And her eyes.
Abbi's eyes had been watching me, waiting for me. When mine finally landed on hers like a swan sweeping down into still, deep waters, she held my gaze in hers and slid her hand along the well-worn quilt toward me. Her long, narrow fingers wrapped around my wrist, and I could feel each of her rough callouses.
A deep need that rivalled the need of my physical body struck me: I wanted to know the story behind each and every one of them. I wanted to lie side by side on the bed with her, hands tucked beneath our cheeks, noses mere inches away and listen to her tell me. I wanted the stories to last past dawn, past dusk, past time itself.
Abbi's hand gently urged me up toward her and I followed like a leaf dragged toward the edge of a waterfall: I gave no resistance, even knowing I was about to fall. As I crawled up along the length of her at the urging of her hand, her eyes never left mine and mine never left hers. Abbi's arm slipped around my shoulders and she cradled the back of my head gently. Her other hand moved between us to wrap around my erection.
She pulled me into a tender kiss as she eased me without a word between her legs. Her breath hitched and her back rose, breasts pushing against my chest, when I pushed fully inside of her. I stilled, even though every animal instinct screamed at me to move, to fuck, to take. Abbi's fingers clutched at the hair at the nape of my neck as her breathing came in short gasps. I brushed my lips against hers, soft like the petals of a rose. I kissed her closed eyes, felt her eyelashes against my chin. I cupped her cheek and felt her heart pounding against mine in a silent race.
With tender care I started moving, drawing slowly out of her and easing slowly back in. Between us there was an intimacy far deeper than just the linking of one body with another. There was a closeness more meaningful than sweat-slick skin against sweat-slick skin. There was a significance stronger than just the performing of a sexual act.
I wasn't sure how I knew this with such certainty. Maybe it was the way her lips sought mine as her thighs tensed and the muscles along her lower stomach quivered. Maybe it was the way she held me tight as we rocked together, like we were lovers reunited at long last after years, centuries, millennia apart. Maybe it was the way I clutched at the quilt as I came closer and closer to conclusion and she instinctively interlaced her fingers with mine.
"I'm close," she whispered, nearly breathless.
Her desperate moans filled the silent bedroom as I thrust into her, squeezing her hand tight as the tightening and spasming of her muscles almost sent me over the edge. Abbi's fingers twisted almost painfully in my hair, and she pulled me down even closer to her. Her lips found mine as her back arched and her head pushed back into the bed and she cried out as she came, body quivering uncontrollably under mine.
It was all too much and I followed immediately after, slipping my arm under her limp body to hold her tight to me, teeth sinking into the tender flesh
