We strip off our clothes and shoes inside the front door and are already wild—kissing and grasping. I can’t get enough of her. I’m afraid I’ll never get enough of her.
I swoop her into my arms and carry her up the stairs, depositing her on her feet on the bathroom floor. Kissing her again. She grabs my head, pulls my hair. Her hair is a total disaster, a messy bun gone completely to seed. Wet, muddy. I tug the elastic out and her hair spills down her shoulders.
“You’re so beautiful.”
I start the shower. Steam fills the bathroom, fogs the mirror. I reach out and make a heart on the mirror, with our initials inside. She stares at it, then at me. She doesn’t say anything, but she has that look on her face, the one she gets when I’ve done something she thinks is next level. It makes me want to cover the whole mirror with hearts.
I step into the shower and hold back the curtain so she can follow. The hot water pours over me. It feels good on my cold skin, on muscles that stretched in the woods and stiffened on the car ride back. I love the first shower after being in the woods, even on a day trip.
She slides into my arms. Her hair is dirty but smells like flowers. Her skin is soft and smooth. Nothing else feels like that, in my world of rough things. I have to touch it everywhere. I have to test all the spots, to see which is softest, which makes her whimper. I have to test them with my fingers and my mouth.
She likes having the underside of her breasts touched and licked. I stay there for a long time, teasing her nipples every once in a while.
I soap her belly, breasts, hips, ass, thighs. Then I slide my hand between her legs and circle her clit. She drops her head to my shoulder and moans, hitching her hips, asking for more. I tighten the circles, getting her close. Then I stop. “I want you to come when I’m inside you,” I tell her. I’m hard against her hip. She reaches for the soap, reaches for me. Takes me in her soapy fist, nice and tight. That’s the best thing about waiting so long. She knows exactly how much pressure and friction I like. She twists her wrist like a pro. She gives the head extra attention, her palm slicking over the most sensitive spot, lingering there.
I make her stop, my hand on hers. “I want to last a while.”
We towel off and she follows me down the hall to my room. “Here—sit here,” I say, and she does. I kneel between her legs, dipping to taste her. She is so, so soft there. The softest spot of all. And she tastes so good, sweet and briny and her. I take my time, winding her back up. I slide a finger inside her, so I can feel when she’s close. I don’t let her come this time, either, even though she curses me out.
I guide her down onto the bed, lower myself over her. We kiss and kiss. It’s heartbreakingly good. The mechanics, yes, but also whatever this other thing is. The soul of it. I’ve never told anyone what I told her in the woods. I’ve never felt this connected to anyone.
We kiss until she’s lifting her hips over and over again, seeking pressure, seeking contact. Yelling at me, telling me I’m a pain in her ass, and she needs me. I roll on the condom and settle myself between her legs, which she opens to welcome me. She’s so wet and so swollen. I line myself up and ease in. Her body resists me. She’s tight.
“Let me in, Lucy,” I murmur.
A tremor runs through her.
“Please.”
I bend my head and kiss her, working her mouth over, begging her with my lips and tongue, and she softens and blooms and opens to me, my cock easing into her tightness. And holy shit that’s good. Her mouth, her pussy, the clench of her body around me, the rasp of her fingernails down my back.
I already want more. I want her around me now, and I’ll want it again when I’m done, and again and again. Stay, my body pleads. My heart. Stay, stay, stay, stay.