I sit up slowly, keeping her in my lap. Her hands move to my shoulders for balance, her fingers curling into my skin. I kiss her again and again, until she is breathing fast against my lips. I slip one hand between us, guiding myself to her entrance, teasing her gently. She trembles in my arms, eyelids heavy.
“Please,” she whispers.
Her voice sounds like a prayer.
I push into her slowly, inch by inch, until her entire body tenses and then melts against me. Her forehead drops to my shoulder. Her breath shudders. My hands grip her waist, steadying her as she adjusts to me. The feeling is nearly unbearable. Her pussy is so hot and tight. It’s perfection.
I move my hands down her thighs and pull her closer, lifting her just enough before lowering her again. She moans softly, the sound muffled against my neck. Her nails scrape lightly down my back, and it takes everything in me not to flip her onto the chaise and take her with the kind of desperation that has been burning in me since the moment she came out of that damn bathroom.
Instead, I move inside her slowly, letting her body guide the pace. She sits up, her hair falling around her face, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. She rests her hands on my chest, fingers splayed, breathing hard as she rides me gently. Every sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
I cup her breasts, thumbing her nipples lightly. She gasps, arching into my touch. She moves faster without realizing it, hips finding a rhythm that pulls a low groan from my throat. Her body shudders, pulses, tightens around me.
“Samuil,” she breathes, her voice breaking on my name.
The way she says it almost undoes me.
I grip her hips more firmly, meeting her movements. She moans, head tipping back, throat exposed. I lean in and kiss the soft skin beneath her jaw, then her collarbone, then lower. She clings to me desperately.
She comes with a sharp, breathless cry. Her body trembles around me, tightening in waves. Her hands grip my shoulders so roughly that her nails leave crescents in my skin. I hold her through her entire shuddering release, moving slowly until she slumps forward, exhausted and limp.
When she finally lifts her head, her cheeks are flushed, eyes dazed, mouth soft and slightly bruised from my kisses.
“You’re unbelievable,” she whispers.
My only answer is to pull her back down onto me, kiss her again, and flip her gently onto her back on the chaise.
She laughs breathlessly against my mouth. “You want more.”
“I don’t think I could get enough,” I tell her honestly.
I take her again, slow and deep, until she gasps. Then harder. Then slow again. I learn the places that make her clench around me. The sounds that pull her back from exhaustion and into another wave of pleasure. The way she curls her toes when she’s about to come. The way she tries to hide her face when she’s overwhelmed. The way she reaches for me when she falls apart.
I lose track of how many times she comes beneath me.
I lose track of how many times I follow her.
At one point, she’s on her stomach, hips lifted by my hands as I thrust into her slowly, deliberately, kissing the back of her neck until she collapses with a broken sob of pleasure.
Another time, she’s beneath me, legs wrapped around my waist, her hands gripping my biceps as I kiss her mouth again and again until she begs for release.
When her body finally gives out, trembling and sore and spent, I carry her to my bed. She’s half asleep already, head resting on my shoulder, fingers curled into my chest like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I lay her carefully on the sheets and pull the blanket over her. She doesn’t wake. She only shifts slightly, reaching blindly for me. I sit beside her and take her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles.
Her breathing steadies and her face softens. She looks peaceful, and I know I should leave her be, but I don’t. Instead, I lie down beside her and let her curl against me. Her hand rests over my heart. Her cheek presses to my shoulder. I listen to her breathing until mine matches it, until the edges of the world blur and everything inside me quiets.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep beside someone. It’s just more evidence that this woman is driving me out of my mind.
When I wake up, sunlight spills across the bed. I can’t tell what time it is, but it feels later than I usually wake up. My body is both exhausted and wired. I roll over and reach for her, wanting to experience her perfect body one more time, but the space beside me is empty.
Her scent lingers on the pillow. Her warmth still clings faintly to the sheets. But she’s gone. The robe is folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
I get up slowly, stretching and trying to put some life back into my body after the marathon of last night. I vainly hope that I’ll find her in the kitchen, brewing a cup of coffee or chewing on a bagel, but she’s truly gone.
She did, at least, leave a note for me on the front door, like she wanted to make sure I didn’t miss it:
Thank you for last night. If you ever want to do this again, here’s my number.
