My hand was still working her clit and I was happy to die right there, knowing I was getting her off, giving her pleasure, but the selfish bastard in me wanted her ass on that fuck bench quicker than I could even comprehend.
“On the bench,” I demanded. My independent, ballsy, don’t–take–shit–from–anyone Skye didn’t hesitate and that only made me harder. I tapped the camera lightly with one finger and it moved exactly where I wanted it. Trained on her, spread out on the bench, pink hair against teal, breasts exposed, a lip bite. No clothes, no worries, no thoughts. I wanted her naked and with me, her full body pressing against mine, legs wrapped around each other. Barriers gone in more than one sense of the word. She laughed, her nose crinkling, a finger pushed against her lips as I pulled her jeans away, panties next. Loud, brash Skye was delicate there. A landing strip, neat, tight and ready. I wanted to worship there, watch and adore, but her legs parted, and her face said, Take me the fuck on.
I crouched at her feet, kissing my way up her leg, the inside of her thigh, licking the curve of her pelvis before finding her clit. It was there, against my tongue, round and raised and as I added my fingers, dipping in to find her slick and hot, she almost buckled off the bench. “Will,” she whispered, “Will,” she moaned, at one stage chanted, and I’d take my name on her lips any way it came.
She smelled amazing; I was in awe of her taste. The wonder of finding rainbow syrup in her veins became a reality, her pussy tasting sweet like sugar and vanilla, the most expensive confectionary…addictive. All the time I was feasting, her hands were in my hair, her fingers trailing along my face, soft touches, loving traces. Every stroke and brush took me higher, a physical reminder of the love I felt for her. Don’t get me wrong, the need to fuck her was strong. The urge to get lost in her, heavy, but the overwhelming feeling of yearning for her affection, her devotion, her love was instinctual now, and arousing as fuck.
She lifted herself from the bench and I took advantage of being close to her mouth, kissing her as she manoeuvred herself out of her corset, pulling it away from her body and dropping it to the floor. She lay back, her full body on display for me. She was beautiful. Perfect. Her body luminous under the cameras, glowing like a holy light.
I traced my fingers across the fern tattoo underneath her breast. Delicate and ornate. Light green, following the arch. A tribute to her grandmother’s name. Something I knew after years of friendship but was only just discovering on her skin. It was heart-warming and so her. A message behind her sexuality.
“You like staring at my vagina, don’t you?”
I laughed lightly, reaching her eyes. “I like looking at you full stop.”
“Will?”
“Yes?”
“Can you stop now?”
We didn’t need many words to know what we were thinking. She wanted my mouth back on her body.
I pushed her legs apart, hands on both ankles. More familiar tattoos graced her skin there, just above the bone. Friendship left, love, right. And as I flattened my tongue against her clit, I realised the significance.
It was us.
Friendship and love.
19
Skye
I was in an, arms-stretched-out-above-me, totally-lost-in-his-mouth kind of moment. It wasn’t just his mouth that had led me to euphoria. It was him. He was on me, near me, in me and I was gliding. Was it gliding? Floating seemed like the wrong word. Not big enough. Floating suggested light and airy. This wasn’t light. His tongue wasn’t light. He was eating me like a starved man. Like he wanted to shake the orgasm from me. Like he was making up for years of dicking around. Five years wasted. Five years without this.
I’d always wondered if we came this far, hit this spot would we have regrets? How would we look each other in the eye the next morning? I didn’t have expectations of relationships, never had the idealised view of dating and marriage as the next happy step. I’d never seen it in real action, not within my own family or my friends. I didn’t have scrapbooks full of wedding ideas or the hope that falling in love would happen before my biological clock gave out. Relationships were fine. A way to pass the time. Cheating the norm and never caused me heartbreak. Then Will walked in, all dark and handsome with a bit of nerd to keep my interest. Banter ensued. We fell into a rapport. Our friendship deepened when his hand squeezed my shoulder as we found Elliott lifeless. He held me as I cried. Checked in. Listened. I always thought taking things further would ruin us, but I realised there was something…missing. Before, the far-away whispers of, He could be your one, would be drowned out with music, wine, disappointing one-night stands and quick relationships. Those whispers were now close and being shouted through a megaphone. He’s your one, idiot! Always has been.
And those voices were really strong when he was between my thighs.
Or on top.
Or below.
The last piece of us was falling into place. Wild and untamed and we needed each other this way. It made us both feel the energy within. Reminded us that whatever went before, however bad things became, we were alive and breathing and we’d celebrate in this way from now on in. Each kiss was redefining us, each touch reformulating and reinventing.
And all that time I thought sex would break us? It was bringing us closer together.
“Will, I’m…going to cum.” His fingers sped up, strumming my clit and all the time he was doing this he looked me in the eyes, smiled, lifted his chin to get a better view at me. “Oh…fuck.” I held my hand to my mouth, laid back, threaded my
