I spread her legs, hands under her knees, and buried my face in her cunt. She was already shaking, hips lifting to meet me. I licked her, slow at first, then faster, sucking the clit between my lips and flicking it with my tongue. Her hands fisted in my hair, pulling, then shoving me deeper. She made these noises—small, frantic, pleading. I kept at it, tongue fucking her until she was right at the edge, then pulled back, letting her beg.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she said, voice raw.
I didn’t. I went harder, licking and sucking until she came, her whole body going rigid, her heels digging bruises into my back. She gasped, then sobbed, then laughed, the sound half-mad. I licked her through it, not stopping until she pushed my head away, too sensitive to take another second.
I crawled back up, kissed her cheek, then her mouth. She grabbed my face, pulled me in, and kissed me with a ferocity that stole the air from my lungs.
She rolled me onto my back again, straddling me, lining me up with a hand. She sank down, letting me feel every inch. Her eyes locked on mine, challenging, daring me to look away. I didn’t.
She rode me hard, her hands braced on my chest, nails leaving crescents. Her tits bounced with each thrust, herhair wild, her lips parted in a snarl of pleasure. I reached up, gripped her hips, and helped her set the pace.
I felt her come again, her walls clamping around me, her whole body shivering with it. She threw her head back and screamed, raw and beautiful.
That pushed me over. I grabbed her ass and thrust up, fucking her from below, the slap of our bodies loud in the small room. I came, biting my own lip to keep from yelling.
We collapsed together, tangled and sticky, our bodies slick with sweat and come. I held her close, her head on my chest, her hair damp against my skin.
For a long time, we didn’t move. I traced circles on her back, felt the rise and fall of her breath, the slow return to earth.
She looked up at me, eyes soft but unguarded. “That was…”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
She nestled in closer, her hand resting over my heart.
I’d never felt so exposed, or so seen. It was terrifying and perfect.
We fell asleep like that, skin to skin, the lamp burning low and the world outside as far away as the other side of the moon.
***
I woke with her hair in my mouth, and her arm slung heavy across my chest, as if she’d staked a claim in her sleep. The room was still warm from us, but outside the open window, the world was dark and muffled. Somewhere, a dog barked—a lonely, one-note wail that sounded like the end of a bad day.
Emily slept with her cheek pillowed on my shoulder, mouth open, breath slow and even. She looked younger like this, less the hard-edged woman who’d yanked me down the hallway and more like the kid I imagined she once was—freckled, stubborn, always bracing for the next thing to go wrong. I traced the curve of her spine with my finger, counting each bump, until my hand landed on the paw print tattoo behind her ear.
I stroked it, gentle, and she woke, blinking. Her eyes were cloudy, pupils blown wide from sleep. For a second, neither of us said anything, just watched each other in the amber light from the crooked lamp.
“You’re staring,” she whispered, voice frayed with sleep.
I thumbed the tattoo. “Tell me about it.”
She shrugged, a subtle ripple of her whole body. “It’s for the first dog I ever saved. She bit a chunk out of my calf, but I couldn’t stay mad.”
I thought about scars and the stories they told. “You ever regret it? Getting close?”
She rolled onto her back, pulling the sheet up to her chin, even though she’d spent the last hour naked and draped over me like a safety blanket. “Every time. But it’s worth it when it works.” She looked over, eyes searching. “Was it worth it for you?”
I wanted to make a joke, but the words lined up too honest to dodge. “I haven’t felt like this since… before my dad died.” I kept my eyes on the ceiling, not trusting myself to look at her. “Not just the sex. All of it.”
She traced a finger down my chest, found the compass tattoo, and tapped it twice. “I thought I was broken,” she said, the words hanging between us. “Or maybe just welded shut. But you…” She stopped, the admission too raw. “You get it.”
I nodded, throat tight. “I get it.”
We lay there a long time, letting the air settle, sweat drying on our skin. The only sound was the far-off hum of a refrigerator cycling on and off.
Then, inevitably, my phone vibrated on the nightstand, bright and urgent against the quiet. I tensed, and Emily noticed, because she noticed everything.
“You can get it,” she said, not moving. “It’s not going away.”
