Even though it’s only been hours, I feel as if I haven’t had sex for months… my whole body throbs with need. As if he can read it, he slides his hand into my hair and pulls my head back so he has access to my neck, and then he kisses down it, sucking over where my pulse beats. When I moan, he does it again, taking wet bites out of the skin, and I shudder, my nipples tightening.
He lifts one of them to his mouth and sucks hard, and my breath leaves me in a whoosh. He swaps to the other and does the same, moving my hand down between us. Taking the hint, I circle the pad of my forefinger over my clit, groaning as I discover myself slick and swollen, the tiny button sensitive and aching.
In what feels like no time at all, I know I’m getting close, and I move my hand to his cock and stroke him before guiding the tip between my legs.
“You’re sure?” he asks, and I don’t know if he’s asking if I’m ready for him, or more generally if I still want to have sex, but either way the answer’s yes. So I nod, and so he pushes his hips forward and slides inside me.
“Fuck.” I tip my head back and close my eyes, concentrating on the sensation of him filling me up. Ohhh… it’s so erotic, so amazing to feel myself stretching to accommodate him.
“Maddie…” He whispers my name, putting his arms around me, and then he kisses me, hungrily, and I almost sob with how much I can feel his need for me.
“Yes,” I say, leaning back and knocking the toaster and the stand holding the kitchen utensils, but I don’t care… I widen my legs, abandoning myself to him as he starts thrusting with purpose.
All the times we’ve had sex have been good, but this time it feels more raw, more desperate. Perhaps we can sense it’s probably the last time, or maybe it’s just that we’re both accepting the reality of our passion for one another above everything else. Either way, his thrusts are harder, faster than they’ve been before, and everything on the counter trembles and crashes together, but neither of us cares as he drives us both closer to a climax.
“Ahhh…” he says with a groan, “you feel so fucking good…”
“God, yes, please…” I forget I’m pregnant, forget about the baby, forget about everything except the desire coursing through me. “Yes… ohhh… harder… oh God, I’m gonna come…” I screw my nose and eyes up as it hits me, and he says something, I’m not sure what, but he holds me tightly as he gives a final few thrusts, and then I’m clenching around him, and he’s saying my name, and then he shudders and his hips jerk as his climax hits. We lock together, hands clutching, nails digging, him buried inside me, and I never, ever want it to stop.
For a while, neither of us moves. Still inside me, he holds me tightly, and I nuzzle his neck, conscious that our skin is sticking together, slick from the afternoon sun.
Eventually, though, he peels himself off me with a wry groan, withdraws, then opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of water. He takes off the top and hands it to me, and I have a few mouthfuls, then pass it back, and he does the same.
Our eyes meet, and he doesn’t look away as he screws the top back on, then puts the water down.
“I didn’t fake that,” I point out, and he gives a short laugh. Then, sighing, he moves closer and gives me a hug.
“Let’s not talk about it,” he says. “We’ve only got one night. Let’s make the most of it.”
I’m more than happy to agree to that, and nod with relief.
“Want to go for a walk?” he asks. “Do your tests?”
“Yeah, okay.”
So we get dressed again, I collect my equipment, and we leave the cottage for another walk around the paddocks.
He asks questions about the fields and the pasture, about the equipment and the system, and I answer him without pressing him for details about his thoughts on it all. He falls quiet for a while, and I concentrate on my work and let him think, and eventually, as we walk on, I’m surprised when he takes my hand. Emotion swells inside me, but I just ask him about his farm in Cambridge, and we talk lightly about our childhoods and how we became interested in farming and science as we walk slowly back.
This time much of the moisture has disappeared in the sun, so the ground is a little less muddy, and I avoid the worst patch, so manage to make it back unscathed. We go into the cottage and decide to cook dinner. We end up with an easy pasta dish that we sit on the sofa to eat while we talk about movies again.
After we’ve washed up the dishes, he puts some music on, leaving it low in the background. We sit on the sofa, and he puts his arm around me. I open my book, and he reads something on his phone; I’m not sure what.
I find it hard to concentrate, and after a while I close my book and just cuddle up to him. He puts down his phone and kisses the top of my head.
“What were you reading?” I ask.
“Just work stuff,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate.
I wonder whether he’s thinking about our systems, and what he’s going to say when he gets back to Auckland. He obviously doesn’t want to discuss it. It makes me sad. I’ve lost hisconfidence because of that stupid text. Just when I thought we were making inroads.
“That was a big sigh,” he says.
“Sorry.”
He stretches out his legs and props his bare feet on the coffee table, sliding down the sofa a little so he can lean his head on the back.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and we sit there, listening to the music, not talking, while the shadows lengthen and the sun goes down.
