::THIRTEEN::
I had thought I would hurt a lot more, that I would never be able to touch another woman much less make love to her. I had thought I would feel guilty and that once I had made love to her I wouldn’t want to touch her again. My face buried against the side of her neck, I waited, swearing to myself that if I felt that way I would never ever let her know, I would never hurt her, and never reject her. I waited for something that never came, which was painful in itself. Maybe letting Stacy go had less to do with forgetting and more to do with this, with making room in my heart to love another woman, to make love to her, and be with her fully.
I had tensed up, holding her, waiting for what I thought would be the inevitable. Braced on my elbow to keep my weight off of her, unwilling to move yet for fear that the moment will be lost, that once I stop touching her, it’ll be gone. She arches her neck a little, making that strange purring sound, as I scraped against the delicate skin of her neck with my beard. Her hand strokes over the stubble on the back of my neck, making me feel more relaxed, more happy, than I feel I have any right to be.
She’s as tense as I am, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s waiting for the guilt too. Swallowing hard once, before she speaks, softly, her lips brushing my ear. “Do you feel bad about this, Sean?”
If I weren’t so close to her, if I weren’t touching her, maybe if I just didn’t care so deeply about how she felt, I’d never know how scared she was to ask what she asked. Her pulse racing, a shake in her voice. Maybe someone else would have dismissed it, or maybe never even heard it. I had been waiting for guilt. The few words she’s spoken make it clear to me that I never will, that I can’t, and I wouldn’t.
She’s vulnerable, in many ways, and strong in so many others. Looking down at her face cupped in my hands, my thumbs tracing the tiny crinkles at the corners of her eyes, the skin still damp from her tears. “I love you, Jeanette. No, I don’t feel bad.”
I feel giddy the minute I’ve said it out loud, knowing that it’s true, completely true. That I don’t feel bad, and I don’t feel guilty. I feel wonderful, alive. She lets out a short squeal, as I flip us over, pulling her to my chest, laughing out loud. “No, I’d never feel bad with you, ‘Nette.”
She flips her hair back over her shoulder, the sunlight from the bedroom window lighting up her pale skin in a flickering wave. Her skin the palest gold, the tiny hairs raising in gooseflesh as I run my hands up her arms. The tip of her tongue traces quickly along the inside curve of her bottom lip, before she sucked the bow of it in, pulling it gently with her teeth, before letting it go. The movement was quick and subtle, unrehearsed. It’s sexy as hell.
I watch her eyes widen, the pale gold flecks back, where the sun hits them. The distance between us vanishing, in the heavily charged air. I’ve been holding my breath, just watching her. Her hands resting at the sides of my neck, holding herself up. Her hard buds of her nipples move slightly against my chest with her every breath. A deep arch in her back has our bellies almost touching, her hips straddling me. My skin burns for her at every point of contact.
“Jeanette..” Barely a word, hardly even a sound. An exhale, her name whispered into the electric current between us. A whisper becomes a moan as our tongues meet and tangle. Breaking to readjust, to breathe, “…oh fuck…’Nette…..” I want to scream with needing her but all that comes out is this hoarse shaky whisper.
She whimpers, a little moan of pleasure, as the wet heat of her slicks a trail along the length of my shaft, already painfully hard just at the thought of making love to her again. She arches her back, her clitoris pressed hard into the base, our kiss forgotten for the moment, as I watch her. Her neck arches back exposing her throat and her eyes flutter closed, her lips part, breathless, before a quick almost pained inhale. She presses harder before whimpering, her voice a pale reflection of the cries she let out earlier, the sound of her now only whetting my appetite for her.
I take my time, running my hands slowly over her sides, to hold her hips as her wet folds caress over me in tiny maddening circles. She’s holding almost still for me, her movements nearly imperceptible, telling me with her eyes what she wants. My own body moving in time with her, our foreplay so much like the real thing that I have to will myself not to raise her hips and drive up into her.
“‘Nette…”
“Do you want me to stop, Sean?”
Her voice is deeper, more raw, and a little breathless, my balls tightened just at the sound of it. She’s not teasing me, she’s already stopped, her hips lifting slightly. Jeanette doesn’t tease. Her question is sincere, her eyes watching mine, full of intensity and shyness both.
“Only for a second, beautiful.” She kneels above me, her hand resting on my hip as I reach back to grab another condom. Lying back, preparing to fight with yet another wrapper, my heart skips a beat as her cheeks flush a deep pink. Pulling her lip in again, nervously, before reaching out and taking the stubborn wrapper from my hands. It disappears in her hands as she watches me for a second, breaking into a beautiful grin. Lowering her hips, the soaking wetness of her open flower sliding over my head, just across the opening. Fuck. I had my wrist in my mouth, fighting a deep groan, so I know I didn’t swear out loud to her this time.
Her soft laugh, a deep sound, as she settles her weight between my legs, nudging my thigh out of the way. My breath a hiss, as she nips the skin just over my navel, my dick twitching as she rests her exposed throat along it’s length. Making that same deep contented purr, the vibration making me wad the sheets in my fists to keep from pulling her hair. If she keeps it up I’ll come right here.
The tip of her tongue traces a line where her throat lay, flicking over the hole at the top, taking forever sliding to the base, before changing directions. A swirl of tongue, her teeth scraping so gently at the rim, before taking me halfway. The thought of her, with her own taste in her mouth, has me groaning out loud again. Her tongue slicks back over me, leaving me wet for her. Swallowing hard, at the feel of her hand slicking sheepskin over me, the wetness underneath making it nearly frictionless.
There’s shyness, and sweetness, in her voice as she speaks my name, a whispered question in that one word. Asking me what I want. I want her, all of her. My hands reach back for her hips, an invitation, an answer she accepts eagerly, straddling me. Her hands brace against my chest, watching me as she eases back, my head brushing against her petal edges, making me gasp. My hands hold her hips steady as I slip into her slick wetness, slowly, an inch a time, wanting to feel all of her.
Time slows in the charged air between us, making her graceful glide to the bottom feel like forever. “Move your hair, beautiful.” A breathless plea, watching every move she makes, feeling every tiny motion in her body, as she flicks her hair behind her to fall down her back. The slight swaying motion causing internal muscles to tighten and release in a wave with her body as she does it, making me want to scream.
I had dreamt of her like this. No dream could ever prepare me for how she could make me feel, for how beautiful she is. Her back arched and her head thrown back with her hair a wild untamed tangle. The light from the window making her sweat sheened skin glow. Her breasts, with their beautiful telltale pink flush, pushed forward between her braced arms.
She pulls forward a little, her hands pressing into my chest, her eyes again holding mine. There’s so much fire in them, so much passion. It’s not lust. Lust is fleeting, lust has no depth, it’s a faint pale shadow compared to the intensity in her eyes.
My hands tighten on her hips, as I buck up hard into her, my head pressed back into the pillow as I fight for a measure of control I don’t think I have anymore. The low animal scream, the flutter of her internal muscles, push me over whatever edge I thought I ever had.
Pulling her to my chest, as we both fought to keep the brutal pace we had set, one we were in no condition to keep, out of practice as we were. A pace we wouldn’t have to worry about long. Her every cry louder than the one before it, her every cry I answered with a deep growl. The muscles in her thighs twitch first, starting a chain reaction, her back arching painfully as she drives herself back hard into me, my hands on her hips to hold her as I buck hard into her, wanting to push her over the edge, to feel what I feel. Her eyes flutter closed as a wave of ecstasy rips through her, the intensity of it pulling a raw primal scream from her, the last dying gasp of it my name, whispered.
My belly is a pit of fire, every muscle in me burning with the strain. Pressing my head back, feeling the roar build as my balls tighten with the inevitable release. My own hoarse cry a second after hers, coming so hard I see stars. The deep flutter in her answering my own throb.
I hold her so tight it’s got to hurt but I can’t seem to let go. I don’t ever want to let go.
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