“Good girl,” he said softly. “Good girl.”
Chris has always had control that I can’t seem to find without his help. He’s teaching me though.
So, as I run now, I turn up the volume while his recording continues, and I don’t want to miss a thing. A mix of sweetness and sensuality in his voice compels me to run harder.
“Come home to me, Blythe. Meet me at the first place we reconnected.”
The outdoor shower.I remember that very well.
I make that last mile at record speed, but I take the walk on the dirt road to the house more slowly. I have to catch my breath before Chris takes it away again. The last song on his playlist has rhythm and build and lust, and the thought of stripping down in that shower with Chris pushes away any leftover sadness about the lonely house.
The light from the sun is fighting over whether or not to set, casting a nearly electric glow over the house. Near the house, I walk down the steps leading to the level land below, and I can see steam from the shower wafting upward. My earbuds come out, but they’re the only things I bother to take off before I step into the large wooden enclosure where Chris is naked and slick with water.
His back is to me, but immediately, he turns and takes me in his arms, my mouth seeking his because I cannot kiss him fast enough. Water pours over us, drenching my running clothes and sneakers, but I feel lighter than I have during the past few weeks. My hands move through his thick hair, pushing on the back of his head to press his mouth harder against mine, to get his tongue deeper into me.
Chris comes up for air and undoes the wide hook on my running bra. “How was your route?” he asks with a smile.
I move my hand between us and stroke his cock. “Fabulous.”
For a second, his eyes close, and he inhales sharply. Then, he looks at me and pulls my sopping running bra over my head. Chris kneels in front of me, and I step on the heels of my sneakers to get them off. The water flows over me while he peels off my leggings and underwear, and then he kisses my stomach and my thighs, swiping his tongue between my legs for a heartbeat.
Fluidly, he turns me around, and I lean forward, bracing my hands against the wall, while he glides his mouth up the back of my leg until his lips are on my ass where he lingers for a while. He stands behind me, holding me, while his touch wanders over my stomach and my breasts. He’s gentle, caressing my skin and igniting every part of me. I take my hands from the wall and stand fully, leaning into him and dropping my head back onto his shoulder. He cups my breasts, massaging his fingers over me, and then he takes each nipple and squeezes just enough to jolt me with arousal.
“I adore you, Blythe,” he says without whispering. “I absolutely adore you.”
I reach up to set my hand on his face. “And I absolutely adore you, Chris.”
He smiles into the palm of my hand. “You ready to get loud?”
I nod and set my foot on the shower bench, effectively spreading myself open for him. “Absolutely.”
So, we get loud.
Chris is behind me with one hand under my ass, lifting me just enough, while the other one is between my legs, his pressured touch on my clit. I keep my eyes open, letting my vision blur, as my pleasure escalates. When my fingers start pressing harder against the wall and when my panting and noises tell Chris that I’m nearly there, he scoops his arm from my ass to move around the top of my rib cage and brusquely pull me back against him, his fingers moving between my legs with more pressure now. I’m breathing so hard, and every time I exhale, the sound of my pleasure is pushed out from deep within my core.
“That’s right,” he says. “Let me hear you.”
His palm pushes up over my breast, his fingers dragging across my skin to the top of my chest. I’m trying to keep my eyes open, so I can stay totally in the moment, but it’s not easy. My head nestles into him, and his hand moves higher, settling just below my throat. I follow his grip, inching it higher, wanting him to have more of a hold over me than he already does.
There is something distinctly erotic about this move of his. It’s unexpected and deeply arousing. Having his touch around my throat isn’t scary or creepily controlling. It’s the opposite. The level of trust and understanding between us allows this. I get to enjoy boundaries being pushed because I’m in the safety of our relationship, in the context of something meaningful and based on love.
Because of that, because I like what he’s introduced, I tighten my hand over his. I want more, but he keeps the arc of his fingers firm, not letting me break the shape or position of his hand. He knows more than I do what is smart and what isn’t. What he’s doing is showing me how much he wants me to be his—to drop any extraneous thoughts, to just commit to the moment, to do nothing but focus on my own pleasure.
That, I’ve learned to accept, is of the utmost importance to him.
Oh God, I can’t last any longer.“Chris…”
“Come home to me, Blythe. Come home to me,” he says over and over.
My orgasm rocks through me, and the hand Chris has between my legs cups me hard, both to finish me and to keep me standing. When I slow down, I take my foot from the bench and bend to rest my hands on the edge. I don’t filter the cry that comes out when he enters me, partially because he likes hearing it and partially because I do. I lift up on my toes a bit so that I can move with Chris and get his cock as far inside me as possible.
We fuck steadily, letting ourselves groan and call out each other’s name.
“Come on, Chris,” I whimper out through the erotic fog I’m in. “It’s been so long. Baby, it’s been so long. You can fuck me harder than that, can’t you? Fuck me like you mean it.”
Romantic? Maybe not. But we’re not after romance right now. We’re after screaming and intensity and fast, hard fucking. The benefit of being so in love is that we get to do this with meaning.
Chris’s hand slaps against my ass as he grabs on to pull me closer against him, and he rakes his other hand down my back.
