Even when I’m spent, she persists, licking at every drop like a thirsty cat. I’m her saucer, her milk, her treat. I don’t give a fuck. The room goes hazy around me, and only she is in focus. Her beautiful face, berry nipples, and the splay of her long legs, shamelessly showing me how wet she is, how ready.
“Lay back,” I mutter, still seeing stars, my head spinning.
She complies, licking at the traces of me on her lips. After lifting her leg, bending her knee, and resting her heel on the edge of the bed, I run my palm up and down the inside of her thigh, with each pass moving closer to where she wants to be touched most. To where I want to touch her.
“Canon, just…” She watches me with passion-glazed eyes.
“Just what?” I maintain the simple, steady strokes, kneading the firm muscle of her thigh, working my fingers down to the private space just shy of her pussy. She moans, widening her legs as if to tempt me, to force my hand.
“You know,” she whispers.
I do.
Skimming my hand over the taut muscles of her stomach and the valley between her breasts, I pluck her nipple in time with the taunting touch along her thigh. In slow inches, I slide two fingers inside, searching forthat elusive spot that sends her to bliss. When I find it, she gasps, her neck arched, nails clawing the sheets. A frantic pulse batters beneath the vellum skin at the base of her throat. Lifting her foot, I kiss the delicate arch, run my nose over the fragile bone of her ankle, and lead a procession of kisses down the curve of her calf, behind the delicate bend of her knee. I grip the backs of her thighs and drag her to the edge of the bed, sinking to the floor, my mouth watering at the rising scent of her. Spreading her, I close my mouth around her clit, sucking, eating her like sun-ripened fruit. A peach, the flesh slick and sweet and wet, juices dripping down my chin. I’m a pauper at a feast, so lost in pleasure, I almost forget it’s hers, too, until her sobs and whimpers float over my head.
I draw deep breaths, struggling to subdue my most primitive instincts. I know Dr. Okafor gave the greenlight for us to do this, but she probably doesn’t expect me to fuck like a wild boar after only two weeks of celibacy. If I were to hurt Neevah… I can’t even contemplate that transgression. I’d never forgive myself.
I stand and crawl onto the bed, gently turning her to her side. Leaving her left leg on the bed, I straddle it and bring her other leg up to my chest, resting it on my shoulder. She watches me, her eyes curious, excited.
“We’ve never done it this way,” she says.
“Is it okay? Are you sure us doing this is okay?”
“I won’t break, Canon.” She frowns. “It feels like I’m losing everything. Don’t take this from me, too.”
I will make this good for her, for us both, but this position leaves her completely receiving and exerting no effort except to come. I enter in one quick thrust, and we both gasp at the fit—a large fist in a tight glove. I take up a rhythm, slowly building, delving deeper. She’s spread for me, one leg on the bed, the other on my shoulder. With one fingertip, I caress her clit, never letting up the pumping pace.
“Jesus,” she gasps, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling like a stargazer. Our bodies move in sensual unison—a hypnotic rhythm that we can’t break, but that only builds. With one small hand, she cups her breast and thumbs the nipple until it peaks. I wrestle with the beast inside wholaughs at my restraint, a pitiful thing weakening every second I’m inside her. I grip her leg to me, turning my head to kiss her calf, biting into the sleek muscle. She tilts her head back, her eyes shutting tightly, the orgasm shuddering through her. Ecstasy seizes my muscles, rolling through my legs and the taut muscles of my shoulders. I drop my head back, my voice exploding in the room like full-throated thunder. She skitters her hand over the sheet until she finds mine, joining our fingers and meeting my gaze in the dying storm.
“Tell me again,” she whispers.
I don’t have to ask what she means. She wants the same words I want to hear.
“I love you.”
A contented smile lights her eyes, christens her lips. “And I love you back.”
SIXTY
Neevah
Canon loves me.
It’s my first thought, and absolute joy and a sated body coax my lips into an irrepressible smile. The previous night plays out in full panoramic color projected onto the walls of my memory. It was measured not in hours or minutes, but in kisses and whispers. At first, we had urgent, impatient, frenzied fucking. Then languid, lazy, we’ve-got-all-night loving. We ordered food. We climbed into Canon’s oversized tub, my back against his chest, and talked until my fingers and toes wrinkled, and the water grew cold. He shared his dreams with me, bright and unfinished like uncut diamonds kept in a bag no one else has seen. I shared my aspirations with him, which have been revised since the diagnosis. They’ve gone from winning a Tony to living to see my next birthday.
It’s funny how we speak of the future like it’s promised. Now, I feel less and less like I can assume anything, even tomorrow. It does lend life a certain preciousness it’s easy to take for granted. It’s a different perspective that forces you to change your lens. I do believe I’ll beat this. If Canon has to scour the whole country, we’ll find a kidney for me, but facing something like this changes you.
I roll over in the rumpled sheets, breathing in the coupled scents of our bodies. I’m alone, and I wriggle over to Canon’s side, fitting my head into the dip in his pillow.
“You got it so bad, girl.” I laugh at myself ruefully. It’s true, but at least so does he.
He told me so last night.
The best and worst of life make strange bedfellows. I’ve worked so hardfor years to have an opportunity as big asDessi Blue, and I’ve gone years never feeling for anyone even an ounce of what I feel for Canon. I should be high on possibility, and yet the future is as uncertain in many ways as it is bright.
I sit up, tucking the sheets under my arms.
What time is it?
