The hug makes it better. Puts me back in my body, which makes my mind a quieter place.
“Tegan okay?”
She nods again, then lifts her head and sets her chin on my sternum.
In the low light of the room, her blue eyes look dark as they search mine. “Are you?”
“Yeah.”
Her lips curve in a small smile, a private playfulness I only learned about last night.
“I snuck out.”
“Did you?” I raise an eyebrow, playing along.
“Mm-hmm.” The murmur of it vibrates against me, becoming a hum, a hunger in my blood.
Before I can adjust enough so that Jess doesn’t have to be subjected to my hard-on while she’s only trying to get a nice hug, she moves: her arms coming up to link behind my neck, toes pressing up to put her mouth closer to mine. I must move, too, because a half second later I’m getting that murmur of hers right against my mouth—her soft lips and seeking tongue, a scolding nip of her teeth when she thinks I might be pulling away.
That quick, things between us transform, both of us seeking a harder kind of comfort than a hug has on offer. It’s unreal how I missed her—how I spent half last night beside her,insideher, sat next to her in close quarters for most of today, and none of that matters now that I have my hands on her bare skin again. I curl my fingers against her hips, walk her a couple steps forward to the opposite wall, lift her so she can brace her back against it and wrap her legs around my hips.
At first, her hands and mouth and hips move over me restlessly, a little recklessly. But even after one night, I recognize this—her haste a reflex, as though she thinks anything that feels this good might get snatched away from her at any second.
I doubt we have much time tonight, but still, I slow her down; I surround her.
I make my body the safest place in the world.
She moans when I get it right—when I’ve stripped off her shirt and lifted her enough that I can get my mouth on her breasts, when I’ve tilted her hips so she can rub against me exactly the way she wants. Those shorts she’s wearing are thin enough that that I can feel her warmth and wetness against my skin, and every time she tightens her legs around me to tug herself closer, I feel the soft ribbing of those inexplicably hot socks.
I run my teeth lightly against one of her nipples as I lift my head.
“You want the bed?”
She shakes her head no. “It’s quieter here,” she says, pressing one of her palms back against the wall, and I guess she’s right. If we’re on the bed, we’re one thin wall away from her sister, and that’s not how I want this to go, either.
So we do it a new way tonight: untangling ourselves only long enough for me to go into the bathroom and wrestle up protection from my kit, fitting ourselves together again when I come back to her, her face and neck flushed, her sleep shorts gone. She likes it this way—her against the wall, all the muscles I still keep strong bunched and working. She strokes her hands over my shoulders and biceps while I bend my head and keep at her breasts; she grinds the most sensitive part of herself against me; she gasps my name when I push the head of my cock one inch in, then another.
Another.
It feels too good then for me to do two things at once; I have to raise my head again and press my forehead into the wall over her shoulder and clench my jaw tight as she squeezes her thighs around me, pulling me the rest of the way in. I was better last night—nervous but more focused, more in control. Now that I’m inside her again, though, the day’s stress bears down on me anew, different this time. I want my body to know what my mind didn’t for the last few hours—that she’s okay, that we’re okay, that nothing from today destroyed what we built out on the farm.
“Adam.” Her whisper is a contrast to her nails digging slightly into the skin of my shoulders. I press my forehead harder against the wall, breathe through my nose. “You can go harder. Please.”
“I don’t want to hu—”
“You won’t. I can come this way.”
Just hearing her say that, Jesus. My cock twitches inside her.
“I can move just right.”
“Yeah?” I ask, but I think I might be past listening for the answer. It’s one driving thrust and her pubic bone grinding against me and I’m done for—my hands gripping the backs of her thighs more tightly as I set a rhythm that feels good to me. I use my whole body to fuck her, faster and harder than any time I did last night, and I like the way she pants in my ear; I like the way she keeps getting herself off; I like the way I can feel her inner muscles tighten around me when she succeeds.
And I like that I’m only distantly liking all of that.
Because the biggest part of me right now is muscle and blood and movement. No thought, only driving need and a hot, promising tinder at the base of my spine.
When it explodes, I come with a groan, my body damp with sweat, flushed with exertion and pleasure and relief.
