Kat
Holy fuck.
Holy fuck.
He hadn’t even touched me yet, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
I heard him climbing the ladder up to the loft. I followed his instructions to the letter. We’d often come up here before, years ago. I hadn’t forgotten how he made me feel here. His fingers deep inside me. He knew I’d remember. I’d never done something like this before, touched myself, knowing that someone was coming to find me, to watch me.
The men I’d been with since Billy were few. I dated a lot and I’d had sex, but nothing like this man who owned my body. The men I’d been with other than Billy were dates, not lovers. Some I dated for weeks or months, but I didn’t let them in and certainly never would have listened if they told me what to do. But being with Billy was different. I was his instrument. He knew exactly how to tune me up and make me sing.
I laid the blanket in the back corner of the loft because that’s where we used to fool around. Billy walked up slowly. He was barefoot. He must have left his boots downstairs. Even his feet were sexy.
With his eyes on me, every stroke of my finger intensified. I wanted him already. I wanted him always. He was a fire in my blood. He unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned his jeans. He took his cock in his hand, lazily stroking, his eyes glued to my movements.
“Take your pants off, Kat,” he said, his voice heavy and dark with desire, moving so he was standing above me.
My heart was racing. I shimmied out of my jeans, very aware that I was wearing panties from the drawer in my bedroom.
He smiled. “Have I seen those before?”
I laughed nervously, “Maybe.”
“I don’t want to see them anymore,” he commanded.
I slid the lavender cotton over my ankles and tossed them aside. He stood at the bottom edge of the blanket, framed in my view by my knees. His hand stroking his erection. With every lazy stroke, my insides clenched.
“Open wider. Show me.” I dropped my knees a little and felt the cool air on my most sensitive parts.
“So sexy,” he purred. “I need to be inside you, Kat. I need to feel you all around me.” I wanted that, I did. But I wanted him out of control. I wanted him begging and desperate like I was.
I sat up, took off my top, got on my knees, and crawled toward him. When I was close, inches from his hand on his cock, I said, “I want you in my mouth, first.” When we were younger, before we had our first time, I used to lick and suck him for hours. I needed the physical connection and pleasure that we denied ourselves otherwise. The feel of him in my mouth, his head passing over my lips, the taste of him on my tongue, the control of his passion, it became something I craved.
And now I wanted that, I wanted to feel him unravel at my command. He was already so hard that I didn’t need to suck the length of him. Instead, I swirled my tongue in circles around the tip. He continued to watch my every move, growling his pleasure in low moans. His hands found their way to my head, and he threaded his fingers through my hair. I sucked him into my mouth.
“Fuck, Kat...” He rocked his hips just a little and I took him deeper. “God, I missed your hot dirty mouth ...” he whined as he pulled out, and then physically lifted me from the floor. Once I was standing, he kissed me, deep and fierce, his tongue penetrating my mouth. I used my hands to work the buttons on his shirt as he quickly shed his pants. And then we were both naked. I shuddered at our first real skin to skin contact, chills racing down my spine as he lifted me off the ground, huge man hands on my ass, his cock pressed tight against my clit, but not inside me. He carried me about three feet until we were supported by a pile of hay bales, and then he took himself in hand and pressed his cockhead to the entrance of my pussy. Holding himself there, he asked, “Are you still on the pill?”
I nodded. Then he looked me in the eye and a sweet softness, a kindness, came over his face, “Are you ready, Kit-Kat? Last chance to turn back.”
I didn’t want to go back, not now, not ever. I nodded again. Then, I leaned in and took his mouth in mine. I knew I would love Billy Morgan until the day I died. And I was one hundred percent certain that I wanted him to take me, hard. A couple of sweet kisses later, I said, “Do it. Fuck me until it hurts.”
He pushed inside me, and I cried out. I felt the axis of the earth shift. Everything in my life had been tilted off-kilter for an eternity, and suddenly, as he pressed into my flesh, it was all right again. I could feel all of him, thick and velvety deep inside me. His hands still pressed into the flesh of my backside, he used his strength to buck against me and rock even deeper inside. Then, keeping a deliciously torturous slow pace, he began to fuck me.
I looked down and watched him, glistening with my wetness, pull out a little and drive back in. He brought his forehead to mine, and with each stroke of his cock, he panted, “This. Pussy. Is. Mine. Tell. Me. Kit-Kat. Tell me you’re mine.”
It was. I was. I always had been. I arched my back, feeling little stalks of hay press into my skin, and drove my hips in rhythm with his, giving him what he wanted, freely. “Yours. Always yours.”
My orgasm came on quick and hard. I shattered all around him, contracting inside and out. I’d orgasmed this fiercely before, but only with Billy. The intensity was something I’d forgotten. But as soon as it was happening, the memory of this feeling came rushing back as if my mind destroyed all recollections of what orgasms were supposed to feel like so I could function without him.
I’m pretty sure he meant for us to hump all afternoon, but the waves of my orgasm claimed him too, and I watched the muscles in his face contract as he surrendered. When we stopped, a tangle of satiated limbs, we were suddenly laughing. Not at anything in particular, just roaring with happiness. He kissed me gently and ran his hands over my skin. Everything about him felt calm and peaceful. He picked me up and carried me to the blanket.
“Weren’t we supposed to do something on this blanket?” he asked, laying me down and spooning behind me,
“No sense in wasting a good blanket in a hay loft. We’ll have to rest up and put it to good use.”
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“Hmm…” I was so comfortable in his arms. “No. I’m good.”
Deep down in my core, there was a tiny piece of me that wondered if this could all be real. Could it be possible that Billy and I found our way back to each other this easily? Could we just move forward without processing the past? I mean, clearly, we were still physically fated, but could we truly love each other again?
He pulled me closer, nuzzled his nose into the nape of my neck, and his breathing started to slow. In a sleepy haze, he said, “I missed you, too.”