“David,” I look down, take a breath, and swallow. “David, I don’t think-”
“Good,” he leans closer, his lips a whisper above my own, “don’t think, sweetheart.”
His lips against mine, his breath warm on my face, I can’t help myself. My body overrides my mind. My heart flies up and out of my chest and I am in his arms.
His arms are thick around me, scooping me against his body so I melt into his strength. I am half leaning into him, half carried by him as he bends over me, his lips firm and unyielding.
“Open your mouth,” I hear him whisper and I obey, helpless. His kiss is hot, wet, and all consuming. I hear a soft, deep-throated moan from somewhere and I realize it’s me, my sound, a deep guttural part of me calling to him, my siren song bringing him into shore.
I taste coffee and man and early morning sunshine on his mouth. His hands travel along my back, one finger trailing inside the waist of my jeans, pressing me gently forward until my breasts are tight against the expanse of his chest and the thick line of his cock presses against belly.
“God, Jane,” I hear him whisper, murmuring shocking, delicious things against my lips as his hands travel across my body, moving forward to gently lift my shirt, its faded, tired cotton no protection against the heat of his touch. Hooking both thumbs under the hem, he slides his fingers up my torso towards my breasts, running his fingers softly against the cups of my bra.
I realize he has pivoted me so that I am supported by the edge of the kitchen island, my back arched against him as he plunders my mouth, fingers slipping torturously slowly under my breasts. My thighs fall open and he is standing inside them, cradled against me, the thick length of him pressing against my core as he scoops me up, grinding against my pelvis.
I hear the sound again, that deep, soft sound, organic and earthy in nature, nothing that has ever left my lips before. As if the very core of me is responding to the very core of him, our most primitive parts calling to each other, recognizing kinship and belonging. It’s matched by him, a deep rumble I feel in my mouth, across my belly and down between my thighs. He’s rubbing against me, and my body matches his, the ancient rhythm of the tides caught between us, as natural and unstoppable as moonlight.
His fingers move higher, slipping beneath my bra completely and I feel his palms against me, the coarse texture of his fingertips lightly catching on my nipples. They instantly contract, standing upright and painfully tight, desperate for his touch, his mouth. He moves one hand down my back, cupping my ass to hold me closer to his pelvis, pressing so close against me I can feel the heat of him through my jeans. The other hand dances on my skin, rubbing and teasing my nipple, pinching gently as I moan and writhe beneath him.
His mouth leaves mine and I feel him pull my shirt up, jerking my bra down, before his mouth is on me, hot tongue and lips suckle me as I moan, loudly this time without his kiss to absorb the sound. My thighs spread wider all on their own, enveloping him as much as humanly possible with clothes still on and I feel wetness between my thighs, my body opening, aching for him. My eyes are closed and behind my lids I see him sliding into me, thick and hard and deep, pressing inside and pulsing, thrusting until I shatter around him.
The light fragments behind my eyelids, his body rubbing against me, the rough lining of my jeans teasing me. His mouth on my breast, sucking me completely into his mouth as I arch against him, writhing against him like a cat, and I’m coming, harder than ever before, louder than ever before. Almost fully dressed and on his kitchen island. I pulse and thrash against him, sobbing and clawing and gasping for air.
Slowly, I come down. His movements slow. His mouth softens. He releases my breast and moves up my body, face against mine, lips on mine, whispering sweet things against my mouth. I nod, despite barely hearing him, agree with whatever he says, whatever he wants to do.
“God, Jane,” he says again, his voice deeper and rougher this time, thick and hard around the edges. The sound of it makes me want to come again, wet and wild against his skin, with him inside, under me, behind me.
My brain, the tiny piece that hasn’t been blown to smithereens whispers a warning, so soft and subtle I ignore it, my body choosing this moment, this pleasure over thoughts or fears for the future.
“Come to my bed, Jane.” He murmurs the words, between request and demand, and before I can formulate any words in return, I’m nodding, my legs around his waist, face pressed against the hot skin of his neck as he lifts me off the counter.
19
David
I carry her to the bedroom, enjoying the feel of her skin against me, her breath warm on my throat, her hands in my hair, thighs pressed tight around my waist. A small part of me wonders if we should wait, if we need to talk, if it would be better at night, but all the other parts of me want her, want to feel her and kiss her and sink inside of her, just as I wanted to do that first night, when I saw my fairy sprite naked and free and dancing in the water in the forest.
The bedroom is bright and I move to the windows, Jane still wrapped in my arms, and pull down each of my shades. Their cream color casts a warm shadow across the mostly empty bedroom, my giant mattress on the
