(Untitled)

[shewaswarned]

[Continued from here.]I might be starting to sober up at this point, but I can't really tell. My heart feels like it's close to practically beating straight out of my chest, but my hands aren't warm to the touch. I can tell they're as cold as ice against his, as his practically envelopes mine despite the fact that our fingers are tangled. I look

Comments

[shewaswarned]

I could feel the tension rising again the minute we'd stepped into the lift, the small space forcing us in close together, but somehow we'd managed to linger apart, like two similar sides of the magnet drifting in before just barely glancing away. It's a relief in itself to get the heels off, and the sensation of soft rugs underneath my feet is enough to make me feel a little more comfortable in being here, inside this abandoned place, the shells of memories lingering around us. I've only just made it towards the doorway of the first room when I feel a hand at my waist, fingers curling in the fabric of the dress, and I turn in kind, spinning halfway.

I'm effectively reeled back in, pivoting back into his arms as my own wind up around his neck, the movement familiar this time after the beach, my mouth finding his in the darkness with minimal fumbling. I can feel the wall inches away and back up, using the leverage to pull him in flush against me, needing more body contact with each second that passes.

It's quieter in here, no waves on the beach to muffle us, nothing but what sounds like the ticking of a distant clock as I sigh into the kiss, press in, draw myself closer and as everything I'm feeling starts to spill over.

[bloodycrescents]

Every time she pulls me closer, it's a relief, remembering all over again I've managed to do something right this time, that she wants this. That she barely even knows me doesn't matter. If this is what she wants, all she wants, well, it's not like I'm asking her for anything else either. We don't know each other enough to ask for anything more, and somehow, that's a relief, too. Callie ate away at me. She still does. I'm not ready to deal with that, whatever it is. All I want is to touch her, be inside her, if she'll let me.

Moving with her until her back's against the wall, I slide a hand to her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, the other sliding up under her skirt to her hip again. Just the feel of her skin under my palms makes me feel like I've been turned inside out, already hard enough to want to beg her for it, though I somehow dig up enough pride not to yet. Instead I move my hand up, skimming over fabric now, tracing along her waist to her tits, sliding up over one until I think I can feel her heartbeat thrumming under my fingers. I groan against her mouth, plucking at the dress again, wanting to rip it off, controlling myself enough to ask wordlessly for permission, hoping she understands.

[shewaswarned]

I've learned to stop thinking, stop questioning. Doing one or both always got me into trouble before, in way over my head when all I wanted to be doing was relaxing back at the hotel I'd started calling home with a glass of wine. A year before that, I would've found a way to see David, whether it was before his shift at the hospital or after, and we'd find a way to make up for lost time. I don't have any making up to do, not time owed to anyone other than myself. But maybe a part of me feels I need to partly owe something to Harley, if only this, and this I can manage.

I tip my head back into his hand, feeling more hair spill out of where I'd pinned it up earlier, sliding over his fingertips, and his other hand is skimming over me like he can't decide where to touch first. It's been a long time since I've been this wanted, since I've wanted, and I'm not going to turn back now. There's a clip that holds the dress closed, above my shoulders, and I turn slowly, keeping our hips aligned even while my back brushes against his chest, both hands rising to fiddle with it until it gives way and I can shrug my shoulders forward, feeling fabric part from skin. The lower half hangs on my hips and I clutch the front against my chest before turning back, suddenly self-conscious.

[bloodycrescents]

All my impatience crashes to a temporary halt, breathing catching in my throat. No matter what I imagine, no matter what I want to ask for, the truth is always bigger somehow, different. Occasionally it's even better instead of being a disappointment. I don't expect her to turn away like that. I don't expect the quiet slide of fabric against her skin or the way she stands there, close and not at the same time. She's half caught in shadows still, but I don't need to see her expression clearly to feel the slight hesitation, almost a shyness. For a second, I consider running, but it doesn't feel like a real option now.

I want to see her, touch her, and I'm all but shaking between that and how difficult it is not to do just that. I don't want to scare or rush her. I don't want to care either, a little spark of frustration flaring up at the thought. Tracing my hand down her neck to her shoulder, I lean in to kiss her again, a little more careful now, but hoping that will temper my desperation enough to keep me from just pulling it away from her like I'm itching to do. That she's here and undressing is an unexpected kindness and, on an island full of them, easily the one I like best, want most. Whether she knows it or not, it's about as far from my limited experience as I can imagine right now, and I don't know how to feel about that, excited or guilty or angry I'm not home. Mostly I'm just horny and hoping she'll just take pity on me so I don't have to feel anything else.

[shewaswarned]

I don't know why I stutter to a stop, just in that moment, that slight breath of hesitating between pulling back and continuing forward, but it doesn't have anything to do with him, not in the way his eyes find my shape even shrouded in shadow. I can feel his gaze caressing me almost as plainly as his hands do, fingers spiderwebbing from my neck down the curve to my shoulder, and under his touch, I can't even attempt to disguise the shiver that lingers in the wake of his skin, the warmth blossoming outward from each individual fingertip.

In that second, that simple touch turns out to be all I need. I step towards him and shift, lifting my arms, feeling the dress fall away from my chest, and then a brief twist has it continuing to fall, to puddle around my ankles with a whisper of a sound, until there's nothing under his hands now but me, all of me and a mere scrap of black lace still covering my hips. I step out of the dress, feeling around the corner behind me, and back us into the room, further and further in until the backs of my legs hit the mattress and I'm falling freely, drawing him down over me, needing his weight and warmth to cover me as I cup his face in my hands and tilt it up to mine, kissing him deeply.

[bloodycrescents]

I don't really know where we're going or what we're doing until I'm stumbling forward, catching my hands on the bed on either side of her. I'm half afraid I'll put too much weight on her and this close to laughing anyway, a giddy mixture of relief and hysterics, the thought that we're actually on a bed hysterically funny in a way that isn't at all. Any sound I might make gets stifled anyway, swallowed up by her kiss.

My hips rock automatically against hers, desperate for something, anything. "Fuck," I groan against her mouth, startled by my own breathless voice, but her hands are on me and she's practically naked and kissing her isn't enough. I pull away to kiss down over all that bare skin, a hand moving over the curve of her waist, her hip, just to touch her. She's soft and warm and perfect and my head is spinning with it as I suck at her nipple, forgetting again to be careful or try to slow down. It's a hopeless cause anyway and I'm past caring.

[shewaswarned]

I do laugh a little when he topples over me, bracing his weight on his hands to keep from crushing me completely, but he's tall and lean and settles over me, recovering quickly from the sudden shift in gravity, his lips already descending over my skin as he works his way down. My head is swimming from the alcohol, from the light fall onto the bed, and it's easier to just close my eyes and focus in on this, on the feeling, touch and warmth, as every other sense fades away.

I don't hear his breathing, but I feel it against me, a heated stream of air that counters the light chill in the room and coaxes a shiver from me, forming goosebumps on my skin as my nipples harden and I shift beneath him with a sigh, a roll of my hips and an arch of my spine, fingertips digging into the coiling muscles of his back as he moves over me. It feels too good for me to try and remember to speak, so I don't bother, relying on the sounds that stream from my lips to encourage him on.

[bloodycrescents]

The way she feels and sounds is more encouragement than I could possibly need, and somewhere after working over to her other breast, I lose track of where I'm kissing, enveloped in the taste of her skin, nosing blindly against her. It's impossible to ignore the fact I'm still dressed, but the last thing I want to do is pull away from her. Fingers pressing hard into her hips, I drag that scrap of lace down over her thighs, the sound in my throat choking me with want and frustration both.

In the dark, she could be anyone and it wouldn't matter, she could be Callie or someone else completely. It's her name I say, though, slurred and desperate as I draw back to fumble aimlessly with the button on my jeans. It's not my first time, no, but basic mechanical skills still seem just about beyond me when every inch of her is bare in front of him and I feel like my dick's hard enough I could fuck her through the denim with no problem. I just barely manage to get my pants and underwear halfway off before I'm moving forward again to touch her, any of her, all of her. The beer's all but worn off, but she hasn't.

[shewaswarned]

I'm almost amazed at the utter lack of nothing that swims behind my eyelids, no visions of David's face in my mind's eye, even as I start to sober up from the drinks. It's proof that whatever it is he's doing - because I've lost the ability to focus on each individual sensation, all of it blending together into what serves to make another moan fly from my lips, out into the empty air - it's working, helping to make me forget, at least for now. I lift my hips to help him remove the last scrap of fabric that remains and then it's only me, just my body bare beneath his, and the sudden and complete exposure has me trembling for a deeper reason.

My ears catch the sound of zipper lowering, the noise almost deafening in the quiet, only otherwise punctured by my gasps and his groans, and I welcome him back up as he slides above me, between my thighs, my skin rubbing up against denim as I hitch my legs up along the outside of his hips, drawing him in close, right where I need him. I'm so wet it's embarrassing, bordering on obscene, and I can't even attempt to remember how long it's been since I've felt that connection - and beyond that, enjoyed it enough to get off. I'm whispering something now, against his mouth, and it only just hits me, the realization of what the word is: please.

[bloodycrescents]

The word hits me like a freight train and I feel it all over again, the sudden weight of wanting to do right by her, a duty I don't owe in the least, except it feels like I do. Like I need to prove somehow that she hasn't made a mistake letting this happen, even if she probably has. It doesn't have to be that. It's one stupid night, an idea that I can let myself by startled by later, that this is actually happening, but I'm determined to make it worth her while, however limited my skills are.

It's all I can do, though, not to just leave my head resting against her shoulder, the slick heat of her pressed against me maddening as I stammer some kind of hurried agreement. She doesn't need to ask, but the fact she does is intoxicating in its own right, and I feel a kind of desperate gratitude. Mostly, though, it's buried under everything else, under wanting this more than I want air. Trying not to fumble over much, I reach down and slide into her, one hand moving instinctively to her hip, clutching her against my side as I thrust into her again and again. I don't want to let her go, don't want to do anything but stay inside her and listen to the sounds she makes, the soft, ragged, girlish noises that sound better than probably anything else in the world.

[shewaswarned]

I've been ready, on proverbial pins and needles this whole time and likely even longer than that, back to when I'd touched his hand at the bar and tried to convince myself I hadn't felt that spark of energy, that indescribable flutter of arousal in the pit of my stomach. It doesn't have to be fancy, it doesn't need to involve all kinds of moves. I just need the simplicity of this, and the ease with which he slides into me is enough to knock my breath out of me, my body opening up underneath him, slowly unfurling, legs spreading wide and wider as he starts to move, slowly but still just enough to get me there.

My hands find his shoulders and then his back, fingertips forming light pressure points before giving way for the sharper dig of my fingernails, scratching just enough for him to feel it through the cotton of the shirt. All I need is a few more thrusts, my toes curling against the bedspread as that familiar heat starts to coil low in my belly, and I tense underneath him, so frustratingly close that I feel the moan choking up in my throat as I clutch at his back, helpless, unable to do anything else but move into him, rocking up to meet him halfway, my eyes squeezing shut as his name finally spills from my lips.

[bloodycrescents]

I don't know if it's her nails or my name, but something pushes at me and I rock into her that much harder, head dropping to bury against the curve of her neck. It hasn't actually been that long since I got here, since I last saw Callie even, but it feels like a lifetime. I nearly forgot how good this feels, the electric charge crawling over my skin and down my spine, except I can't forget about it for a second. I think about it constantly, but thinking doesn't hold a candle to what it's really like, the way she pulls around me and the sounds she makes.

But when my hands close on Ellen, she feels like she's there. Moving, but solid, real, underneath me as I arch my back into her hands. I know there's no way I'm gonna last long, and I think a fervent prayer she'll be as quick as me or miraculously not mind, and then I forget to care about that and pray instead for this to last longer, to let me just keep fucking her, or else for the end to come at once.

It's a miracle I last even as long as I do, my arms shaking and fingers digging into her thigh as I gasp against her skin, and the world goes white and blank and perfect, then hot-red behind my tightly shut eyelids, blood rushing in my ears. I feel everything, every bit of it, every inch of her stretched under me, and none of it registers. There's nothing there but the liquid heat, draining everything from me, good and bad, before and after, until I just about disappear.

[shewaswarned]

I'm spiraling end over end, the tension building and rising to a damn near agonizing degree, every single sense but sight assaulted with my eyes still closed. There's the scent of sweat, sex, dust, probably from however long the blanket on this bed has been here, and beer as he pants against my lips, my neck, my breasts, breathing hot over my skin until I arch up again, towards him, into him, around him and almost through him as we collide into one another, over and again, sped up to the point of sloppy, staccato movement that doesn't look elegant but does the job perfectly.

I used to try to picture being with David again, tried to recall the way it had felt when his lips were seeking out the constellation of freckles on my left shoulder, the soft hitch of breath when he'd finally come, the heat of his body that never seemed to dissipate as we lay there together afterwards, and the way I'd try to preserve the scent of him on my skin for as long as possible after that. But when I open my eyes, finally, the face swimming in my vision isn't David's, and I cup Harley's jaw in my hand, draw him down to press my forehead against his as he thrusts for those last precious seconds.

It's a slow building, and maybe I've even come already, I wouldn't be able to tell by this point, feeling stretched and pulled taut underneath him, and the release is good, so good, each thrust of hips now and thereafter only perpetuating the sensation until I'm rendered hoarse from crying out, my head slowly lolling to one side, too limbless to even reach up and brush hair out of my face as full-body shudders continue to course through, and I rest fingertips against his ribcage and laugh breathlessly, punctuating the sound with a sated moan.

[bloodycrescents]

Letting out a heavy breath I didn't even know was still in me, I collapse still half on top of her, dazed. It hits me for a second that there isn't much difference between the way the world looks when I'm coming and the way it is with the back of a hand to my head, but this is better in every way imaginable, and it flickers away fast, forgotten almost immediately. I never made Callie sound like that, but she's barely on my mind now, a ghost in the background. Ellen's laughter is brighter, stronger.

My thumb strums up over her waist, her ribs, and there's a dull ache in my wrist from holding onto her like that. Hard enough to leave bruises, I think, and the idea's a satisfying one. Marks to remind her tomorrow I was here, this was real.

For the first time since leaving home, I might get a decent sleep tonight.

"Fuck," I say again, like it's the only word I know other than her name. It might as well be. My voice is rough as it is, so that I'm surprised I even speak. Nuzzling against her cheek, I still don't know much of anything at all about her, but for the moment, she's just about perfect to me.

[shewaswarned]

He's still there, when I can summon enough energy to open my eyes again, my entire body warm and loose-limbed, a feeling of pleasant satisfaction working its way through my veins as if my heart is responsible for pumping out the feel-good hormones, causing it to course through me from head to toe. On a reflex, I reach up to run my fingers through his hair, my palm cupping the back of his head, keeping him against me, inside me for a few more moments. There's no question I'll be sore tomorrow, but it's difficult not to smile even now when I realize what the gentle pain in my muscles is bound to make me remember.

My skin is still oversensitized, nerve endings working overtime in the aftermath, and as his fingers caress up my side, I shiver and gasp before a lazy smile works its way onto my expression and I groan, stretching lazily underneath him, tensing for a few beats until I collapse back into a slow ebb of endorphins.

"Fuck is right," I murmur, another breathless laugh slipping past, and I blow hair away from my face, turning my head to look up at him as his nose brushes along my cheek, and then my jaw. I reach up to push a few strands of his hair back from his forehead, fingertips sweeping dark pieces away and lingering there, against his temple.

[bloodycrescents]

There's something hypnotic about the brush of her fingers. This is nothing, I know, not in the long run, not really. It's just sex. But right now, she's tender and warm, and it's nothing but it's not meaningless. I like her well enough, but I don't like her the way my sisters would say, that isn't what I mean. It still means something that I'm here, and I'm grateful in a way I don't know how to voice or if I should. If I could without sounding like a jackass.

Pulling out of her, I still don't want to move or go far, turning onto my side next to her. My fingers catch on her wrist, so delicate under my hand. It's still true what I said, that she's tiny. That she seems fragile. She's not, though, not even close. And she seems content enough. Even in the darkness, she looks pleased, and there's the enormous sense I got something right.

Even here and now, I don't feel like MOST GUYS, but looking at her, I don't even know if she can tell. I don't know if I'm relieved or annoyed by that. I just know I want to kiss her again, so I do.