I take her hands in mine and hold them out to her sides. She uses her newfound leverage to buck against me even harder. She is calling my name at first, then just making incoherent noises.
She leans forward, lowering her full breasts to my face, and I flick one nipple with my tongue, then the other. She shivers and pulls back until I am nearly out of her. I grab her waist again and begin to pull and push her up and down on me. One of her hands is at the base of her throat, the other is at her breasts as she cries out against my thrusts into her.
I can feel her muscles clamping down on me with the climax that I vow will be the first of many tonight. She puts her head back, eyes squeezed shut, and comes on top of me, rocking back and forth, speared from below.
I heave my hips up and to the right, swinging them over to the edge of the mattress. It’s an easy matter then to roll her off of me and onto her back, all without emerging from her. I begin moving again inside her, this time slowly and deliberately. I give her two shallow thrusts and then one deep one, causing her to cry out each time.
She crosses her legs behind me and urges me up into her harder and faster. Her back is arched, and I can feel the tremble in her calves as they press against the backs of my thighs. She’s close again, but then so am I. My own orgasm will not be put off this time.
I push forward and into her with all of my energy as our bodies set off a thunderous mutual climax. I’m coming deep inside her now, pulsing into her over and over as she buries her face against my neck and screams. I feel her own muscles spasmodically squeezing me and her hands at my back, trying to grab for purchase.
Finally, we shudder to a stop. I support my weight over her on my elbows. Steph lolls against the bed, her legs draped over the side, breathing in great, jagged gasps.
“Trent,” she says breathlessly, “I…” She breaks off, unable to continue. I understand the feeling. I have been rocked by an ecstasy so powerful, I can barely think at the moment.
I slip out of her slowly, and she makes a small, despairing sound as it happens. I kiss the hollow of her throat, silently promising to be back inside her soon.
We lie there for a while, our breathing slowly smoothing out. After that, we get beneath the covers.
“This is much better than being out late,” Steph says, her head on my chest. “Your heart’s still beating so hard.”
“It’s been a long time since it’s had this particular kind of exertion. How’s yours?”
She sighs, nuzzling into me. “I’ll let you know when it starts up again. I think I may have blown a few fuses.”
“I take it that’s a good thing.”
“The best,” she confirms. “That was…” She laughs weakly. “That was the best. The best I can ever remember.”
I hug her shoulders. “For me, too.”
She looks up at me. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time,” she says, settling back.
“Me neither.”
“I hope I wasn’t as rusty at it as I am at dating in general.”
“No worries, Steph, not a speck of rust to be seen.”
She sighs. “I like it when you say my name.”
“I like it when you say mine,” I reply.
“I’m not so sure my neighbors feel that way. I was trying not to be too loud, but after a certain point…” She waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t know about you, but I am parched. I’m going to get water. Can I get you anything?”
“Water’s fine,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t be long.”
She sits up and laughs. “I can’t guarantee that because I don’t know how well my legs are going to support me for the trip.” Sure enough, she stumbles a bit as she makes her way out of the room.
While she’s gone, I cast my gaze around her bedroom. It’s sparse in both furnishings and decorations, the room of a woman who doesn’t spend a lot of time here unless she’s sleeping.
There is a book on the nightstand, though, and I angle my head to look at the cover. It’s an art book by the historian Natalie Jenkins, not quite thick enough to collapse a coffee table, but still a formidable object, nonetheless.
Steph returns with two bottles of water and what looks like a rag slung over her shoulder. I wonder what that could be for. As she draws closer to the bed, I realize it’s the ragged remains of her dress.
“Still think I’m not overzealous?” I ask, nodding my head at the ruined garment.
“You won’t get any complaints from me,” she smiles, letting it fall to the floor and crawling back into bed with me. “I do, however, think I’m destined for an I-told-you-so by a friend of mine.”
“You’re reading Jenkins,” I say, laying a hand on the book. “That’s some pretty weighty material. No pun intended. She really goes into a lot of detail about contemporary art.”
“So you’ve read it?” Steph asks with interest. “The clerk at the bookstore said that because it’s got more text than pictures, that tends to turn people off from it.”
“That, and it weighs something like forty-five pounds. And yes, I’ve read it, but it was a long time ago, so don’t quiz me on any of it.”
“So you like the arts as well as the culinary world,” she says. “Surprises all the time.”
“I could say the same thing about you. This is a book
