After the Climb (River Rain 0.50)

The kids were riding.

We still hadn’t talked about what to do about Samantha.

I needed to call my son to inform him that I was seeing a man, and it was serious, not to mention discuss other things with him.

And I needed to sort things out with Tom.

The shower went on.

I reached out, took a sip of coffee, and grabbed my phone, which Duncan had plugged in my charger so it could charge while we slept.

I texted Tom, Just so you know, Sasha is here. And I understand why you’re angry. You have a right. Now we need to talk it out. I’m here whenever you’re ready.

After I sent that, I set my phone aside, took another sip of coffee, tossed the covers from me and got out of bed.

It wasn’t the time and it wasn’t right.

Yet it was always the time and it was always right.

But bottom line, Duncan was naked in the shower and there was no way in hell I could lie in his bed, knowing that, picturing him there, without touching myself.

And I vastly preferred him touching me.

He’d closed the smoky-glassed double doors that led to the bathroom.

I opened one and went through, shutting it behind me.

The shower was pride of place.

Now it had droplets on the glass walls, and it was steamed a bit.

But there he was.

My Duncan.

I’d been right when I first saw him again, and I’d felt it in our makeout sessions (but not seen it), he carried a little weight around his belly.

But I liked it.

And God.

Those thighs? Those shoulders? That chest?

That cock?

He saw me just as I started pulling my nightgown up.

“Baby,” he said.

I yanked it off, walked to the door of the shower and shoved down my panties.

“Babe,” he growled.

I liked his cock a lot better like that.

I opened the door and stepped out of my panties when I slipped in.

He took hold of me, grasping my hips and pulling me to him, his back taking the spray, even as he said, “I wanted you first in my bed.”

“Needs must,” I replied, sliding my hands up his slick chest, the hair there damp, but still rough.

So nice.

“Genny—”

I lifted my hands and gripped his beard on either side.

“Kiss me, Bowie, and then fuck me,” I ordered.

His hazel eyes flashed.

Then he did as told.

We were naked.

He was hard.

We were us.

And it had been a long, long time.

So this was never going to be sedate and lengthy.

Not even in a bed.

There was kissing and stroking and licking, he got my nipple in his mouth and tugged for about two seconds.

And I was ready.

“Bowie,” I whimpered.

He knew.

He always knew.

And so I was up, slammed against the glass.

Oh yes.

I rounded him with my legs, he shoved a hand between us, then he yanked me down and I had him.

I had him.

I had him back.

My Bowie.

I fisted my hands in his wet hair and he pounded into me, both of our gazes locked.

“Harder,” I begged.

“Genny.”

“Fuck me harder, Bowie.”

He fucked me harder.

I kissed him.

He held me with one hand on my ass, the other he trailed around my hip to go in at the front.

I broke the kiss. “No, just you.”

“I want it to be big.”

“No, just—”

He drove deep and there it was.

My head jerked back, hit glass, then fell forward and landed on his shoulder as I gasped at the beginning of my orgasm, then whimpered through the rest of it.

And those whimpers went on forever.

In other words, Duncan got what he wanted.

It was big.

As it floated away, I rounded him with my arms, trailing my nose, lips, tongue on the skin of his neck, his bearded jaw, his ear, tracing the hairline at his neck with my fingers, stroking his nape as I clenched and released with his thrusts.

I thrilled at his grunts and thrilled more when his control snapped, and he fucked me into the glass near to violently.

God, yes, I’d loved this with Duncan.

I still loved this with Duncan.

And I’d missed it so…fucking…much.

His release came on a deep groan that sounded so delicious, it caused my entire body to quiver, and he slammed inside me through it.

I took his harsh breaths on my skin that were better than winning an Oscar.

I hadn’t won an Oscar.

But I knew that to be true down to my soul.

When he got a handle on it, he lifted his head.

And I whispered, “God, I’ve missed you.”

Warmth and happiness and million other good things chased through his face before he settled on playful.

“You always did like a solid fucking.”

I smiled at him, because I loved playful Duncan.

And then I said, “Yes. And that you knew my mom and dad when they were still young and vital, and you remember them that way. That you have stories to tell about Mom that dive deep in my history that no one else knows. That we had those times where Corey hung back, bitching and telling us to hurry up, when you took me off trail to show me some flower or a game trail you’d discovered. That I was there for you in those years you were beginning to understand the power your father had over you, and the time would come soon you’d have to decide to be him, or be you. And you could look at me, and I could ground you. I love how we connect, Bowie,” I squeezed him in a variety of ways, and enjoyed watching and feeling the tremble of his body in reaction, “all the ways we connect. I missed it, and I’m ecstatically happy to have it back.”