There is a dream I have, over and over. It's not the same dream. There's always a different cast of characters, a different urgent matter that makes me sweat.
But there's always the same motif. I'm walking into a house I don't recognize, but I know that it's my home. I know that I can finally relax and sit down, because this house, this was the place I'd been searching for all along.
In the dream, I opened cupboards and immediately knew where everything was. I'd climb the stairs and instinctually turn the right way towards the bedroom. I'd lie down in the bed and the pillow was already molded to my head.
I'd never been there before, but I knew it was where I belonged.
Kissing her was like having that dream while I was awake.
The feel of her tongue sliding against mine made me groan. It was deliberate and on purpose. There was no way she could claim this was a mistake, as a drunken one-night stand in the back of the casino. She was kissing me, and I was kissing her, and even though we both knew there wasn't anything beyond this, we were still doing it. Maybe this time we were trying all the harder to make it last. To make it count.
I was seized with the sudden urge to have her, to see her whole body.
"I want to see you," I breathed against her skin, moving my lips lower. I delved my hands underneath her shirt, my fingers shaking as I slid the buttons through the holes. She looked down, watching as I undid them one by one, revealing first the white expanse of her stomach, then moving upwards and allowing her breasts to spill free.
Her hands immediately went to cover her stomach. "I have stretch marks," she grimaced.
"Where?" I asked, bending down and moving her hand to the side. "Here?" I asked as I kissed a thin silvery thread on her side. "Here?" I flicked my tongue in her navel before dragging my lips up to her breasts. "I don't see anything I don't want to see more of."
"I want to see you too," she gasped, sitting up.
I let her lift my shirt from my waistband and helped her yank it over my head without even bothering to unbutton it. Her small hand smoothed up my stomach, making me tense and then slid upward to press over my heart. Having her touch me, so slow and gentle, broke something wide open inside of me. I caught her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips and nipping down on the tip of her finger.
She gasped a small sound that echoed in my ears, spinning me in circles. There was no denying it, I was completely fucked for this girl.
"Take down your hair," I told her, plucking at the knot on her head. "I've been dreaming about getting my hands in your hair since the moment I first saw you."
She grinned and lifted her hands to her head. "You put them in there, you might never get them back again," she warned.
I watched, breathless, as the riot of curls tumbled down past her shoulders. Her hair was longer than I'd realized and I reached out and tugged a strand down and watched it rebound. "That's fine with me," I told her, brushing it back from her face. She peered out at me from behind the glinting curtain and I felt my breath catch in my throat.
"What?" she asked, alarmed at the noise I'd just made.
"Nothing," I said. "I just realized that this is how I remember you. With your hair down like this." I grinned and closed my fist, tugging her head back. "When I saw you in the hallways I always thought of your hair as a mane. Like you were a lioness."
She bit her lip and tilted her head upward, catching my lower lip between her teeth and nipping down. I hissed as the sharp pain went hurtling right down to my toes. "Lionesses don't have manes," she whispered.
Holy fuck. This girl.
I grabbed a handful of that hair and yanked tighter, slamming my mouth down on hers. Her shocked gasp only made me wilder and I kissed her lips, her jaw, her throat, needing to hear her gasping again and again. Pressing my hand between her shoulder blades, I lowered her backwards as I kissed her still. Her shirt fell open, and she shifted, her breasts bobbing tantalizingly before my vision.
Mesmerized, I pressed my hands down on either side of her and moved over her, meaning to taste her skin, but the bark of the log dug into the skin of my hands. "No," I said. "This isn't right. I want to fuck you properly."
She stood up and looked at me. The moonlight was so bright that her skin glowed pale and luscious, every highlight and shadow magnified like she was a piece of sculpture. A work of fucking art with those stripes at her side giving her texture, a beauty all of her own.
"Lie down," I urged her, standing back up again and spreading my suit jacket on the ground. I didn't give a shit if it got all dirty and sandy, I didn't give a shit about anything other than seeing Charlie underneath me.