Jamison
Iwas going to tell him. While I was waiting, I changed and put on his t-shirt because I stupidly thought that if I could already feel him all around me and smell him on my skin, then I’d be brave enough to just spit it out. I meant to tell him as soon as he got to the house but he looked sexy marching up the porch steps, and my instinctual reaction was to feel wanton. He had this determination in his eye and his glare was hot all over my skin. And then he came right out and said he wanted me, and I wanted him.
God, I wanted all of him so badly. And if I didn’t have him right then, there was no guarantee I’d ever have him again. It didn't matter what Horse said. What I’d done to Cody was unforgivable. Facing the moment of losing him, something in me just broke and I got selfish, so selfish. I had to have him just once before I destroyed everything between us.
My selfishness faltered for one second when he was slowly savoring me, kissing my body from head to toe. I almost blurted it out then. The words rose up from my lungs, tearing through my chest like comets made of hot garbage, and then they got painfully trapped in my throat, my tongue soured with the ugly taste of them. I tried to speak, but he didn’t let me. Instead, he kissed me so deeply, so passionately that the sweetness of him flooded in and cleared away everything painful. I let all the sorrow and bullshit melt. I let his kiss tell me that in this moment, he loved me and all I had to do was love him too.
He just kept kissing me like it was the end of the world, like I was water and he was dying of thirst. This meant that my shirt was pushed up, caught between us, and although he was trying to push it down, his underwear was half off, the elastic trapping his thighs.
Sex is funny. In the movies and in books, it’s all smooth transitions and idealized rhythms. In real life, there are pauses, awkward sounds, and socks. Nobody ever talks about the socks. I mean, it was summer and neither of us were wearing socks, but still there are always little things. The condom wrapper that won’t tear. The position needs adjustment. The hair trapped in your mouth or a show-stopping leg cramp. Whatever it is, sex is messier and sillier than the way it gets portrayed and sometimes those moments are so not sexy. But with Cody, those moments were the sexiest. They were the moments when we were in love, smiling at each other like dumb idiots, giggling and kissing and touching in ways that said I love you, not just I want to fuck you.
I pushed against his chest, breaking our kiss and said, “Clothes off.”
“Stupid clothes,” he said with a wicked smile. “Always in the way.”
Beneath him, I pulled the shirt over my head. He lifted his body above me, holding his weight on his elbow and toes, planking like I did in yoga, and said, “Help me.”
I reached down, arching my body up just a little to access his boxer briefs. I shimmied them down the best I could, and then I felt his lips close around my nipple.
I kinda laugh-moaned. “I can’t help you when you're doing that.”
My nipple popped out of his mouth. “Don’t care.” His mouth was silky and warm, the tip drawing a circle around my areola. I felt the sensation everywhere, even in my toes. I was so ready for this, for him. Pulling up one foot, I crooked my toes around the elastic of his boxer briefs and pushed them down the best I could. My torso was still instinctually pushing up toward his mouth. Once the briefs were at his ankles, he kicked them off.
“Mmm... good girl... so innovative,” he said between licks as he dropped down so that our legs intertwined, and then I felt the warmth of his cock press against my hip bone. As soon as I felt him, my hips bucked, grinding against his thigh. I was so needy for him it was almost pitiful.
“More like desperate,” I said under my breath, but he heard me.
He paused his kisses to let out a little laugh, the kind you might call a chortle. Then, dropping his forehead to my sternum, he whispered, “I know, right?” Silly, he pretended to peek around and see if anyone was listening. Having confirmed that the coast was clear, he whispered more. “I’m dying over here, trying to be all sexy when all I want is to push inside you.”
I didn’t respond with words. Instead, I shifted my hips so that he was centered at my opening.
He looked up, eyes wide, “Like this? Bare, again?” His words were soft, gentle. He trusted me completely and it stung. And it was probably dumb to have sex without a condom, again. But I was still on the pill and now I never forgot, and I knew I was still clean because he was still the only one, ever. And I knew he was clean because I knew that even though I didn’t deserve it, he would never hurt me. So, I smiled, nodded yes, and then I felt him, strong and bold, hard and smooth as he rolled his hips and slipped inside my swollen anxious folds.
As soon as we were joined, shit got serious. We grew quiet. The only sounds were our little grunts and heavy breaths. We kissed. We touched. We moved, slow and languid. My emotions and the physical sensations of making love to him were so heightened that I almost felt lost, like I was drifting in and out of each moment, like everything slowed down and I became conscious of every little touch. His fingertips dragging up the side of my torso, my palm pushing into his lower back, his hand in my hair turning my head so he could kiss me deeper, the moment our tongues broke apart, his forehead pressing against mine, the sweat running down our brows, my nipples scraping against his chest, his cock inside me. It was unlike any sex I’d ever had before. Our eyes were open more than closed. My heart was racing even though our movement was unhurried. I was panting and shuddering and hanging on for dear life.
We were making love. This is what people meant when they used that phrase, this all-consuming heatwave feeling of connecting to the person you were fucking, like you were literally melting into each other. And then, like a flood of water, a dam unleashed. I came. Every single muscle in my body contracted from my toes to my nose. Fear of all the mistakes I’d made bloomed in my chest right alongside the totally uncomplicated truth that I would love him forever. I looked up, hoping that my eyes would tell him everything, but mostly, I wanted him to know that he was the one, the only one for me.
He held my gaze as he said, “I love you. I love you so much, James.”
I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t speak at all. I could barely catch my breath. Instead of the fire I felt the many other times I orgasmed in my life, this feeling was sparkling like ice in the sun. It was like his energy flowed through my body, like we were blending our souls. The sensation rippled up my spine, through my limbs until I was a mess of tremors and gasps.
He pressed up, shifting the angle of his hips, and drove in harder. It was all I could do to hold on, shuddering and weak, and then I felt him prepare to release. Like me, he grew tense and tight like a kettle about to explode and then surrender. He called out my name. Well, his version of my name, and there was whooshing too.
In the end, we were a tangle of floppy limbs. He rested with his cheek pressed to my chest. Sweat cooled on every inch of my skin. I lifted my hands and threaded them through his fingers as I said, “I love you too, ya know.”
He nodded against my skin. I could feel the scruff on his jaw.
We were quiet for a long time, just basking in the glow as they say. I thought he might have fallen asleep when he breathed, “Is Flynn my son, James?”
And like that, everything shattered.