FF: Crave 9? / In Her Pocket
FF: Crave 9: In Her Pocket
Author: Katherine Quinn
Pairing: A/O
Summary: Goes with the rest of the Craved series…but I think of it as a companion to Heal.
Rating: MA
Every day I love her. I find myself, watching her, staring at her. I am lost in her strength, in her eyes, in her smiles. Every day I love her, and every day, she reminds me that when I wake up beside her, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
I wake up early, a habit I’ve had from my law school days when I would get up before day light to get started on whatever lay ahead. She’s always asleep when I wake up. For all her charms, she’s definitely not a morning person, so this is my chance to see her, quiet, innocent, and vulnerable, before she has time to adjust her mask and turn on the professional mask she uses to shield herself from the world. I watch her-the way her lashes fall against her face, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the imagined warmth as she snuggles under the mountains of blankets she piles on top of us in the night.
I know that when she wakes up and walks out the door, she will be a force to be reckoned with-on top of her game, making the world a better and safer place for all of New York, but in these moments, she is mine and mine alone, and I am happy.
Every day I love her. Every day I remind myself how empty my life was without her, and how much I need her, but today, today I will fall in love with her all over again.
It’s too early in New York to charitably call it spring, but with a wry smile, I decide to try to force the season by tackling our closet and in the best spirit calling it spring cleaning. I have wanted to empty them out and get rid of the power suits from the eighties, purge the closet of the frilly lace shirt phase she went through a year ago after Elliot called her a boy. She hoards things, clothes I’m sure haven’t seen the light of day since she was in high school hang from hangers in the back of her closet, and the floor is covered with “nostalgia,” that was come hell or high water going to spend tonight in a Goodwill donation box. I’d nearly finished, surrounded by piles of hers, mine, and ours, when I had finally worked my way to the very end, when I came across her old leather jacket. And when I say old, I mean really old. Not even charitably vintage, it had looked beaten and weathered even the first time I had seen her in it. But my heart melted when I saw it. I had a soft spot for it, remembering how sexy she’d looked the night she showed up on my doorstep ready for our first date with flowers in her hand and that sexy shy smile on her face as she looked intently into the ground with a light blush in her cheeks.
Slowly, I ran my fingers over the stitching, leaning into it and breathing in the faded scent of leather mixed with her soft feminine smell. A smile slid onto my face as I slid the jacket over my shoulders, feeling as though she was hugging me. Sticking my hand into the pockets I realized they were full. Intrigued because she hadn’t worn the jacket in what seemed like forever, I pulled out a handful of receipts and ticket stubs and scraps of paper that had been dog eared through age. I tumbled through them with dawning wonder as I sat cross legged on the floor washed away in memories that had fallen hazy in my mind.
I smiled at the crumpled boarding passes from our first vacation together. We had both been so excited-sure that everything was going to be perfect for our first time away from the city. Together a year, it was our first vacation together. With tickets in hand to our own personal tropical getaway, we were sure our week away would be everything ever written in any romantic novel ever penned. Instead, it was a total bust, and the only good thing we ever said about it was that it was over and that we made it back to New York alive.
It rained every day of our seven day magical getaway. Not a slight rain, but a hurricane style gale. Our room, roughly the size of a shoebox, complete with broken air conditioner, added to the package, but even though it poured outside, we managed to make it magical. The best memory was one of those hot, sticky afternoons with the storm clouds rolling into on the horizon, the two of us laying naked on top of the sheets. Lying there with her, it felt like time had stopped. Like there was no one else in the world but us, as her fingers slid down the contours of our body. It was like she was discovering me all over again, every curve, and every hollow, from the back of my knees to the swell of my breasts.
“Did you have this freckle yesterday?” She asked, with a furrowed brow as she leaned into me and sucked it gently.
Even though it surprises me, I hear myself giggle at the utter seriousness of her expression. “I’m sure I did,” I reply to her.
“And this one?” She asks, as her lips slide over my skin.
“Yes baby, that one too. I’m pretty sure they’re all exactly where they were yesterday. And the day before…” I deadpanned.
“I’m not so sure,” She said, “I think I need to count.” With a tilt of her head she slid her fingers over my ribcage to the underside of my breast, starting her examination.
“It might take awhile.” I laughed.
“I’ve got my whole life,” she said, as her lips once again fell down to grace my skin.
She was right.
I reached for her, framing her face with my hands and brushing her hair off her forehead, running my thumb over her jaw. She kissed the pad of my thumb, and then gently reached down to capture my hand in her own. I looked at our fingers laced together, the warmth and love shining in her dark eyes and knew without question this was the best trip I had ever been on.
I sighed, letting a slight smile spread on my face, as I thought of the hours we spent loving each other that day. I thought about how we’d stayed in bed until the rain stopped and our stomachs growled begging us to crawl out of bed and stumble into the soggy night to find food. With our flushed cheeks and tousled hair, we must have looked like a couple of crazy kids in love. I suppose we were.
And then there was something else. A receipt faded with age bearing a date I’ll never forget. We’d been seeing each other for over a month and were completely caught up in each other-in the intensity that accompanies all new things. We’d meet in the evening, for drinks, for dinner, or for coffee, and spend hours talking, touching, telling our stories to each other and getting lost in the minutiae of being together. We’d debate the profound as well as the absurd, and then we’d spend quiet hours trembling with the force passion that burned between us. No matter how late it got, or how tired we were, invariably one of us would be shuffling out the door at four or five in the morning heading for home. Looking back now, I’m not sure how we survived that time, subsisting on a few hours sleep and a few gallons of coffee.
The thing is-even though we’d shared everything-we’d been to hell together and back, we’d never given voice to the emotions we both knew was there. We spoke in generalities, about what a great connection we felt. About what chemistry we shared. But love? Not a word. In the quiet of my heart I knew, but we’d both been burned in the past, and neither of us had entered into this expecting more than casual fun, nothing serious. To admit love would be wondrous, but it would be yet another chance to admit pain and heartache into our lives.
So we were there, together, eating eggs, feasting on toast and jam in the early Manhattan sun, with a fake fire grate lit behind us. But the light held no warmth and the fire did nothing to dispel the chill that still lingered in the air. Our cheerful and happy banter did nothing to hide the sadness that lingered in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulder and chased and errant egg around her place. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Come on,” I coaxed her.
“Generally?” Nothing.” She said, her eyes avoiding mine.
“Well, what if we wanted to be technical? What would you tell me then?” I asked, my heart beating in my throat.
She paused, her eyes scanning the horizon before settling on my face. Such a wealth of emotion played in her beautiful dark eyes. They shimmered, while she picked out her words. “I am so in love with you.”
The corner of her mouth rose a little and I smiled in return, feeling as though she just given me wings. I opened my mouth to tell her I loved her-to tell her all the things I’d already told her a million times in my mind, when a child’s laughter broke out a table away and broke the moment. We laughed a little too, our discovery making us giddy; relief of having braved the words that had been unspoken for so long rang through us both. We finished the coffee and paid the bill, eager to be anywhere we could fold into the new love blossoming between us
As we settled into my car, I looked at her strong profile and reached over to stroke my fingers through her short dark hair. She looked at me, and for a brief moment a shadow flickered through her eyes. My heart ached with what I felt for her. I reached over and wrapped her in my embrace. “You must know how much I love you,” I whispered to her, “you must.”
I knew that day that what I felt for her would never be equaled. I knew that I could only live my life with her. I knew there was no credible way for me to know that, and I knew that my friends and family would think I was nuts, but only time would prove my heart right, and it has.
I ran my finger over the receipt and set it aside. I continued through the pile: the card attached to the first flowers I’d ever sent to her, thanking her for that day in the diner, telling her I’d never forget. There were directions to my Uncle’s cabin in the Adirondacks’, where we had spent a week acting like children, floating around in a boat by day and skinny dipping in the moon light.
And here-here was the card the realtor had left in the gift basket by the front door the day we got the keys to our new apartment. I smiled remembering our excitement that day. I don’t think two people ever wanted something more than we wanted to be in that apartment. Our apartment. Ours together. We insisted on moving in that very day, sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags with blankets thrown on the ground that you had through to bring. Our furniture, what we had decided to keep would be delivered in the morning, but it was too much for us to not take advantage of our first night in our place.
We sat cross legged on our makeshift bed, eating Chinese out in cardboard cartons and dreaming about our future in this place, while we giggled and poured champagne into beer mugs. As dusk turned to night, she produced a quantity of candles and set them about the floor so we were bathed in the warm glow of their light, and our bedroom, though meagerly furnished, seemed the most beautiful place in the world.
She kissed me then, a gentle kiss filled with the love and tenderness and the promise of a lifetime. She pressed her forehead against mine and said, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Likewise,” I smiled, and kissed her in return, my pulse quickening at the warm slide of her tongue against mine, the attraction between us not dying out with the passage of time, but instead, intensifying. I could spend hours like that: kissing her exploring her mouth, getting lost in the taste of her, the sensuous feeling of her tongue rhythmically stroking into my mouth, the heady sensation of her body tight against mine.
She slid against me, her body and mine moving together. Our mouths and limbs entwined so that I was on my back on the mattress and she was beside me, braced on one elbow, one hard thigh between my own, her free hand caressing my breast, teasing my nipple through the fabric of my shirt.
She smiled and my heart caught in my throat. Just that simple smile flooded my body with such intense emotions, all the things I felt for her. All the things I knew she felt for me. I watched as her eyes wandered down my body, resting on her hand gently cupping my breast. She swallowed hard before catching my eyes. “I want to see you,” She said, her dark eyes glittering in the reflected lights of the candles.
I nodded at her, and licking her lips, she slid her hand beneath the hem of my shirt, drawing it up over my belly, skimming lightly over my ribcage and coming to rest against the underside of my breast. She hesitated for a moment-waiting for me. I arched my back for her and grasped the edges of my shirt where she’d left it, deftly removing it and tossing it aside.
For a moment, cool air teased my nipples only to be replaced by the heat of her breath, and the warm stroke of her tongue. I moaned my pleasure as she suckled my breast, drawing it into the hot moisture of her mouth. My hands were restless curling in the hair at the nape of her neck, exploring the expanse of her shoulder and back through the cotton of her t-shirt as she continued to lavish attention on the first one, then the other breast. It felt like heaven, having her mouth on me like that; but more, it felt like every stroke of her tongue and nip of her teeth was directly connected to my center. The more I felt the pull of her mouth on my breast, the more aroused I became feeling my body open, my hips rising off the mattress to grind against her thigh.
I bit back a whimper of protest when she moved her leg from between mine. I caught her smile in the flickering light, and purred my contentment when I felt her nimble fingers open the front of my jeans and slide inside. She found the hard swell of my clit with practiced ease, circling it with a teasingly light touch, then trailing lower to dip into the wet heat she’d created coating her fingers. She retraced her path then, making my clit a slick hard surface beneath her fingertips. She felt so good like that, with her mouth and hand working me, my mind was reduced to a singular thought:
“More…” I moaned, my hips undulating, frustrated that I couldn’t feel her skin against mine, frustrated that with the layers of clothes that still separated me from the contact I craved, “I need…”
She kissed me again, but this time the kiss was filled with the heavy sensuality that vibrated between us. Her tongue filled my mouth stroking deeply and fully against my own. It’s rhythm wreaking havoc with my senses-reminding me of nothing so much as the rhythm I wanted to feel her hand driving out inside my body.
She drew back slowly, nipping my lower lip and sucking it into her mouth, then healing the tiny hurt with her tongue.
“Tell me what you need,” she said.
“I need to feel you-please,” I whispered, breathlessly.
She slide her hands across my belly then lower to delve beneath the waistband of my jeans and panties, leaning over to press a tiny kiss in my navel. “Here?” she teased.
“Yes-no-…more---I need to feel more of you...” I pleaded trying in vain to capture her face in my hands, to draw her to me, to bring her closer. She evaded my seeking hands , moving lower, sliding my clothes down the length of my legs and off leaving a trail of kisses along the inside of my thighs, down my calves to the tips of my toes
“Like this” She asked, her face a mask of innocence as she continued to torment me.
“What I want,’ I said, holding her eyes with the heat in my own, “is your tongue in my mouth, my hands in your hair, your teeth on my neck, my fingernails on your back. I want your skin against mine, your clit hard and pulsing, your wetness against my thigh, and your fingers inside me.”
I saw the desire flare, strong and fast in her eyes-heard her swift intake of breath. She rose without a word and quickly removed her clothes, her eyes never leaving mine. I breathed in the sight of her, drinking in her high firm breasts, her tight stomach, her gently curving hips. She sank into my arms with a groan, fusing her mouth to mine in a kiss that embodied deep passion and intense yearning, rising desire and intense love. I reveled in the feel of her breasts against my own, her nipples hard with arousal. I ran my hands down the length of her back and over her hips as our kiss intensified, our legs intertwined, and our bodies rocking together gently.
“Please, baby,” I whispered, breaking the kiss and feathering her cheeks with loving kisses, “I need you inside of me.”
She shifted her weight, sliding her hand between our bodies and groaning helplessly with desire her forehead against my chest, as her fingers found my swollen core. She stroked my wetness, looking up to meet my eyes in an unspoken question.
“Now, please,” I moaned, our eyes locked together as she entered me with agonizing slowness, my back arching off the bed as every nerve ending fired in pleasure a pleasure that only intensified as she curled her fingers back hitting me in the place she knew made me tremble. Her thumb found my clit moving in slow circles in time with her thrusts until a sheen of perspiration covered my skin and my stomach muscles tightened; my heart beat out its rhythm like hammer in my chest, and I felt that delicious coil deep in my belly
I loved when she was inside me like this-for all the endless ways she loved me; I never felt closer to her than when we moved together like this, her flesh in mine, connected in these moments as closely in body as we were in our hearts and our spirits.
“Come for me baby,” she whispered, her eyes filled with love and desire. She increased the pressure of her thumb and the speed of her thrusts, rocking me with an irresistible rhythm until I cried out my release and pleasure exploded through my body, leaving me spent and trembling in its wake.
It was always like that with her. Overwhelming and all encompassing and shaking me to my very core. I had never been as deeply connected to anyone as I was to her, and I knew that if I spent the next fifty years loving her, I’d still feel as thought it was never enough. I loved her then, telling her with my hands and mouth all the things for which I had no words until the candles burned low and the sky grew bright with the approaching dawn. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, which really was home no matter where we were.
I looked at the wealth of cards and receipts and scraps of appear in my hand-anniversaries and milestones and memories that she’s carefully saved.
At the bottom of the pile there’s a page torn from her daily planner: the address of my old place, scribbled next to my name and phone number, dated the day of our first date. I was so nervous that night; I felt such an attraction to her and such a connection to her, just from being around her for so little time, and I wanted much for her to feel the same. I worried over my clothes, my hair, chiding myself for being so girly and looking at the clock every other minute. At then there she was, standing on my doorstep in the faded leather jacket with a slow seductive smile and she looked to sexy for words.
“Hi,” she said.
She took my breath away.
I hear the door open and look at the bedside clock, amazed at how the hours had passed as I’d sat there on the floor immersed in memories of our past. I heard her footsteps in the hall and quickly grabbed a pen from the night table adding today’s date to the page from her day planner, and my own words below her distinctive scrawl. I tucked everything back in her jacket, and carefully replaced it in the closet, stroking the soft leather fondly, and thinking with a smile of the surprise she’d experience the next time she leafed through her pockets.
“You had me in your pocket right then and there-I’ve been there ever since.”
Author: Katherine Quinn
Pairing: A/O
Summary: Goes with the rest of the Craved series…but I think of it as a companion to Heal.
Rating: MA
Every day I love her. I find myself, watching her, staring at her. I am lost in her strength, in her eyes, in her smiles. Every day I love her, and every day, she reminds me that when I wake up beside her, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
I wake up early, a habit I’ve had from my law school days when I would get up before day light to get started on whatever lay ahead. She’s always asleep when I wake up. For all her charms, she’s definitely not a morning person, so this is my chance to see her, quiet, innocent, and vulnerable, before she has time to adjust her mask and turn on the professional mask she uses to shield herself from the world. I watch her-the way her lashes fall against her face, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the imagined warmth as she snuggles under the mountains of blankets she piles on top of us in the night.
I know that when she wakes up and walks out the door, she will be a force to be reckoned with-on top of her game, making the world a better and safer place for all of New York, but in these moments, she is mine and mine alone, and I am happy.
Every day I love her. Every day I remind myself how empty my life was without her, and how much I need her, but today, today I will fall in love with her all over again.
It’s too early in New York to charitably call it spring, but with a wry smile, I decide to try to force the season by tackling our closet and in the best spirit calling it spring cleaning. I have wanted to empty them out and get rid of the power suits from the eighties, purge the closet of the frilly lace shirt phase she went through a year ago after Elliot called her a boy. She hoards things, clothes I’m sure haven’t seen the light of day since she was in high school hang from hangers in the back of her closet, and the floor is covered with “nostalgia,” that was come hell or high water going to spend tonight in a Goodwill donation box. I’d nearly finished, surrounded by piles of hers, mine, and ours, when I had finally worked my way to the very end, when I came across her old leather jacket. And when I say old, I mean really old. Not even charitably vintage, it had looked beaten and weathered even the first time I had seen her in it. But my heart melted when I saw it. I had a soft spot for it, remembering how sexy she’d looked the night she showed up on my doorstep ready for our first date with flowers in her hand and that sexy shy smile on her face as she looked intently into the ground with a light blush in her cheeks.
Slowly, I ran my fingers over the stitching, leaning into it and breathing in the faded scent of leather mixed with her soft feminine smell. A smile slid onto my face as I slid the jacket over my shoulders, feeling as though she was hugging me. Sticking my hand into the pockets I realized they were full. Intrigued because she hadn’t worn the jacket in what seemed like forever, I pulled out a handful of receipts and ticket stubs and scraps of paper that had been dog eared through age. I tumbled through them with dawning wonder as I sat cross legged on the floor washed away in memories that had fallen hazy in my mind.
I smiled at the crumpled boarding passes from our first vacation together. We had both been so excited-sure that everything was going to be perfect for our first time away from the city. Together a year, it was our first vacation together. With tickets in hand to our own personal tropical getaway, we were sure our week away would be everything ever written in any romantic novel ever penned. Instead, it was a total bust, and the only good thing we ever said about it was that it was over and that we made it back to New York alive.
It rained every day of our seven day magical getaway. Not a slight rain, but a hurricane style gale. Our room, roughly the size of a shoebox, complete with broken air conditioner, added to the package, but even though it poured outside, we managed to make it magical. The best memory was one of those hot, sticky afternoons with the storm clouds rolling into on the horizon, the two of us laying naked on top of the sheets. Lying there with her, it felt like time had stopped. Like there was no one else in the world but us, as her fingers slid down the contours of our body. It was like she was discovering me all over again, every curve, and every hollow, from the back of my knees to the swell of my breasts.
“Did you have this freckle yesterday?” She asked, with a furrowed brow as she leaned into me and sucked it gently.
Even though it surprises me, I hear myself giggle at the utter seriousness of her expression. “I’m sure I did,” I reply to her.
“And this one?” She asks, as her lips slide over my skin.
“Yes baby, that one too. I’m pretty sure they’re all exactly where they were yesterday. And the day before…” I deadpanned.
“I’m not so sure,” She said, “I think I need to count.” With a tilt of her head she slid her fingers over my ribcage to the underside of my breast, starting her examination.
“It might take awhile.” I laughed.
“I’ve got my whole life,” she said, as her lips once again fell down to grace my skin.
She was right.
I reached for her, framing her face with my hands and brushing her hair off her forehead, running my thumb over her jaw. She kissed the pad of my thumb, and then gently reached down to capture my hand in her own. I looked at our fingers laced together, the warmth and love shining in her dark eyes and knew without question this was the best trip I had ever been on.
I sighed, letting a slight smile spread on my face, as I thought of the hours we spent loving each other that day. I thought about how we’d stayed in bed until the rain stopped and our stomachs growled begging us to crawl out of bed and stumble into the soggy night to find food. With our flushed cheeks and tousled hair, we must have looked like a couple of crazy kids in love. I suppose we were.
And then there was something else. A receipt faded with age bearing a date I’ll never forget. We’d been seeing each other for over a month and were completely caught up in each other-in the intensity that accompanies all new things. We’d meet in the evening, for drinks, for dinner, or for coffee, and spend hours talking, touching, telling our stories to each other and getting lost in the minutiae of being together. We’d debate the profound as well as the absurd, and then we’d spend quiet hours trembling with the force passion that burned between us. No matter how late it got, or how tired we were, invariably one of us would be shuffling out the door at four or five in the morning heading for home. Looking back now, I’m not sure how we survived that time, subsisting on a few hours sleep and a few gallons of coffee.
The thing is-even though we’d shared everything-we’d been to hell together and back, we’d never given voice to the emotions we both knew was there. We spoke in generalities, about what a great connection we felt. About what chemistry we shared. But love? Not a word. In the quiet of my heart I knew, but we’d both been burned in the past, and neither of us had entered into this expecting more than casual fun, nothing serious. To admit love would be wondrous, but it would be yet another chance to admit pain and heartache into our lives.
So we were there, together, eating eggs, feasting on toast and jam in the early Manhattan sun, with a fake fire grate lit behind us. But the light held no warmth and the fire did nothing to dispel the chill that still lingered in the air. Our cheerful and happy banter did nothing to hide the sadness that lingered in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulder and chased and errant egg around her place. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Come on,” I coaxed her.
“Generally?” Nothing.” She said, her eyes avoiding mine.
“Well, what if we wanted to be technical? What would you tell me then?” I asked, my heart beating in my throat.
She paused, her eyes scanning the horizon before settling on my face. Such a wealth of emotion played in her beautiful dark eyes. They shimmered, while she picked out her words. “I am so in love with you.”
The corner of her mouth rose a little and I smiled in return, feeling as though she just given me wings. I opened my mouth to tell her I loved her-to tell her all the things I’d already told her a million times in my mind, when a child’s laughter broke out a table away and broke the moment. We laughed a little too, our discovery making us giddy; relief of having braved the words that had been unspoken for so long rang through us both. We finished the coffee and paid the bill, eager to be anywhere we could fold into the new love blossoming between us
As we settled into my car, I looked at her strong profile and reached over to stroke my fingers through her short dark hair. She looked at me, and for a brief moment a shadow flickered through her eyes. My heart ached with what I felt for her. I reached over and wrapped her in my embrace. “You must know how much I love you,” I whispered to her, “you must.”
I knew that day that what I felt for her would never be equaled. I knew that I could only live my life with her. I knew there was no credible way for me to know that, and I knew that my friends and family would think I was nuts, but only time would prove my heart right, and it has.
I ran my finger over the receipt and set it aside. I continued through the pile: the card attached to the first flowers I’d ever sent to her, thanking her for that day in the diner, telling her I’d never forget. There were directions to my Uncle’s cabin in the Adirondacks’, where we had spent a week acting like children, floating around in a boat by day and skinny dipping in the moon light.
And here-here was the card the realtor had left in the gift basket by the front door the day we got the keys to our new apartment. I smiled remembering our excitement that day. I don’t think two people ever wanted something more than we wanted to be in that apartment. Our apartment. Ours together. We insisted on moving in that very day, sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags with blankets thrown on the ground that you had through to bring. Our furniture, what we had decided to keep would be delivered in the morning, but it was too much for us to not take advantage of our first night in our place.
We sat cross legged on our makeshift bed, eating Chinese out in cardboard cartons and dreaming about our future in this place, while we giggled and poured champagne into beer mugs. As dusk turned to night, she produced a quantity of candles and set them about the floor so we were bathed in the warm glow of their light, and our bedroom, though meagerly furnished, seemed the most beautiful place in the world.
She kissed me then, a gentle kiss filled with the love and tenderness and the promise of a lifetime. She pressed her forehead against mine and said, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Likewise,” I smiled, and kissed her in return, my pulse quickening at the warm slide of her tongue against mine, the attraction between us not dying out with the passage of time, but instead, intensifying. I could spend hours like that: kissing her exploring her mouth, getting lost in the taste of her, the sensuous feeling of her tongue rhythmically stroking into my mouth, the heady sensation of her body tight against mine.
She slid against me, her body and mine moving together. Our mouths and limbs entwined so that I was on my back on the mattress and she was beside me, braced on one elbow, one hard thigh between my own, her free hand caressing my breast, teasing my nipple through the fabric of my shirt.
She smiled and my heart caught in my throat. Just that simple smile flooded my body with such intense emotions, all the things I felt for her. All the things I knew she felt for me. I watched as her eyes wandered down my body, resting on her hand gently cupping my breast. She swallowed hard before catching my eyes. “I want to see you,” She said, her dark eyes glittering in the reflected lights of the candles.
I nodded at her, and licking her lips, she slid her hand beneath the hem of my shirt, drawing it up over my belly, skimming lightly over my ribcage and coming to rest against the underside of my breast. She hesitated for a moment-waiting for me. I arched my back for her and grasped the edges of my shirt where she’d left it, deftly removing it and tossing it aside.
For a moment, cool air teased my nipples only to be replaced by the heat of her breath, and the warm stroke of her tongue. I moaned my pleasure as she suckled my breast, drawing it into the hot moisture of her mouth. My hands were restless curling in the hair at the nape of her neck, exploring the expanse of her shoulder and back through the cotton of her t-shirt as she continued to lavish attention on the first one, then the other breast. It felt like heaven, having her mouth on me like that; but more, it felt like every stroke of her tongue and nip of her teeth was directly connected to my center. The more I felt the pull of her mouth on my breast, the more aroused I became feeling my body open, my hips rising off the mattress to grind against her thigh.
I bit back a whimper of protest when she moved her leg from between mine. I caught her smile in the flickering light, and purred my contentment when I felt her nimble fingers open the front of my jeans and slide inside. She found the hard swell of my clit with practiced ease, circling it with a teasingly light touch, then trailing lower to dip into the wet heat she’d created coating her fingers. She retraced her path then, making my clit a slick hard surface beneath her fingertips. She felt so good like that, with her mouth and hand working me, my mind was reduced to a singular thought:
“More…” I moaned, my hips undulating, frustrated that I couldn’t feel her skin against mine, frustrated that with the layers of clothes that still separated me from the contact I craved, “I need…”
She kissed me again, but this time the kiss was filled with the heavy sensuality that vibrated between us. Her tongue filled my mouth stroking deeply and fully against my own. It’s rhythm wreaking havoc with my senses-reminding me of nothing so much as the rhythm I wanted to feel her hand driving out inside my body.
She drew back slowly, nipping my lower lip and sucking it into her mouth, then healing the tiny hurt with her tongue.
“Tell me what you need,” she said.
“I need to feel you-please,” I whispered, breathlessly.
She slide her hands across my belly then lower to delve beneath the waistband of my jeans and panties, leaning over to press a tiny kiss in my navel. “Here?” she teased.
“Yes-no-…more---I need to feel more of you...” I pleaded trying in vain to capture her face in my hands, to draw her to me, to bring her closer. She evaded my seeking hands , moving lower, sliding my clothes down the length of my legs and off leaving a trail of kisses along the inside of my thighs, down my calves to the tips of my toes
“Like this” She asked, her face a mask of innocence as she continued to torment me.
“What I want,’ I said, holding her eyes with the heat in my own, “is your tongue in my mouth, my hands in your hair, your teeth on my neck, my fingernails on your back. I want your skin against mine, your clit hard and pulsing, your wetness against my thigh, and your fingers inside me.”
I saw the desire flare, strong and fast in her eyes-heard her swift intake of breath. She rose without a word and quickly removed her clothes, her eyes never leaving mine. I breathed in the sight of her, drinking in her high firm breasts, her tight stomach, her gently curving hips. She sank into my arms with a groan, fusing her mouth to mine in a kiss that embodied deep passion and intense yearning, rising desire and intense love. I reveled in the feel of her breasts against my own, her nipples hard with arousal. I ran my hands down the length of her back and over her hips as our kiss intensified, our legs intertwined, and our bodies rocking together gently.
“Please, baby,” I whispered, breaking the kiss and feathering her cheeks with loving kisses, “I need you inside of me.”
She shifted her weight, sliding her hand between our bodies and groaning helplessly with desire her forehead against my chest, as her fingers found my swollen core. She stroked my wetness, looking up to meet my eyes in an unspoken question.
“Now, please,” I moaned, our eyes locked together as she entered me with agonizing slowness, my back arching off the bed as every nerve ending fired in pleasure a pleasure that only intensified as she curled her fingers back hitting me in the place she knew made me tremble. Her thumb found my clit moving in slow circles in time with her thrusts until a sheen of perspiration covered my skin and my stomach muscles tightened; my heart beat out its rhythm like hammer in my chest, and I felt that delicious coil deep in my belly
I loved when she was inside me like this-for all the endless ways she loved me; I never felt closer to her than when we moved together like this, her flesh in mine, connected in these moments as closely in body as we were in our hearts and our spirits.
“Come for me baby,” she whispered, her eyes filled with love and desire. She increased the pressure of her thumb and the speed of her thrusts, rocking me with an irresistible rhythm until I cried out my release and pleasure exploded through my body, leaving me spent and trembling in its wake.
It was always like that with her. Overwhelming and all encompassing and shaking me to my very core. I had never been as deeply connected to anyone as I was to her, and I knew that if I spent the next fifty years loving her, I’d still feel as thought it was never enough. I loved her then, telling her with my hands and mouth all the things for which I had no words until the candles burned low and the sky grew bright with the approaching dawn. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, which really was home no matter where we were.
I looked at the wealth of cards and receipts and scraps of appear in my hand-anniversaries and milestones and memories that she’s carefully saved.
At the bottom of the pile there’s a page torn from her daily planner: the address of my old place, scribbled next to my name and phone number, dated the day of our first date. I was so nervous that night; I felt such an attraction to her and such a connection to her, just from being around her for so little time, and I wanted much for her to feel the same. I worried over my clothes, my hair, chiding myself for being so girly and looking at the clock every other minute. At then there she was, standing on my doorstep in the faded leather jacket with a slow seductive smile and she looked to sexy for words.
“Hi,” she said.
She took my breath away.
I hear the door open and look at the bedside clock, amazed at how the hours had passed as I’d sat there on the floor immersed in memories of our past. I heard her footsteps in the hall and quickly grabbed a pen from the night table adding today’s date to the page from her day planner, and my own words below her distinctive scrawl. I tucked everything back in her jacket, and carefully replaced it in the closet, stroking the soft leather fondly, and thinking with a smile of the surprise she’d experience the next time she leafed through her pockets.
“You had me in your pocket right then and there-I’ve been there ever since.”