When I emerge from the steamy bathroom, Sofia’s already under the covers. The light of the late-night news muted on the television casts the room in a quiet, shadowy glow. I drop the towel from around my hips on the floor and slide between the sheets.
She’s facing away from me, her brown hair fanned out across the pillow. And it occurs to me that we had dinner—but no dessert.
Dessert was always my favorite.
I slip down the bed, taking the covers with me, and come eye level with the silk-covered swell of Sofia’s ass. I skim the material up to her waist, baring smooth skin unhindered by panties. My heart beats faster, pumping blood lower, and I press my lips to one cheek, nipping playfully with my teeth.
“Stanton.”
It’s not an urging moan, but a crisp statement. A no.
I pull back. “What’s wrong?”
She pushes her nightshirt back down, covering herself, and turns my way. I slide back up, resting my head on the pillow, just inches from her beautiful face.
“I don’t think we should have sex while I’m home with you.”
Disappointment crashes in, like the roof of an abandoned house. “Why not?”
The possibility that Sofia might be uncomfortable about my feelings for Jenny flickers briefly, but I discount it. She’s always known about Jenn, even before we hooked up that first time, and it’s never bothered her before. Plus, the way I see it, Sofia has nothing to do with Jenny—they’re like two completely different rooms. Buildings, even. Like a barn and a house. Both important but unconnected, serving totally separate purposes.
In the dim light of the room, her eyes look darker, shiny. She opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it. She thinks for a few beats and then starts again. “You should . . . save up that passion, you know? Like a quarterback before the big game?”
I push her hair behind her ear. “And what about you?”
Sofia’s sex drive is as healthy and demanding as my own. We’ve been screwing three to four times a week for the last six months. Doesn’t seem fair that she should have to go cold turkey for the next two weeks.
Her ripe lips stretch into a smile. “I can . . . take care of myself.”
The visual that statement brings with it has my cock straining.
“You’re killing me, darlin’,” I groan.
Her hand rests on my collarbone, then slides up to my jaw, caressing the stubble. “Sorry.”
I mimic her actions, not yet ready to give up on dessert—not entirely sure she wants what she’s suggesting. I cup her cheek, then slide down to where her pulse throbs under my palm.
“Aren’t you going to miss it?” I ask.
“Miss it?”
I take her hand from my jaw and scrape the sensitive tip of her finger with my teeth before sucking it into my mouth, swirling with my tongue. I slide it out with a pop. “Aren’t you going to miss my mouth on you? The way my tongue licks you? The way I spread your legs wide, so I can slide my cock in slow—inch by inch—and you dig your nails into my leg ’cause you need it just that bad?”
She breathes heavy and quick. And she stutters, “Um . . . yes, I guess I’ll miss it.”
“What if I told you I just wanted one last kiss?” I lean closer and run my tongue across her lower lip. “One last taste of your mouth? Could I have it?”
Her eyes glaze over, seeing us behind them, entranced by my words, remembering each moan we’ve shared. Every touch.
“Yes. I’d let you have one more kiss.”
I nip at her chin, her jaw. And whisper, “What if I told you I needed one last taste? One last lick of your sweet, tight cunt? I wouldn’t make you come if you didn’t want me to . . . or I could. Would you let me?”
“Oh God . . .” she moans, but it’s all pleasure. All yearning desire. “Yes . . . yes . . . I’d let you.”
I move down her body, heating the silk with warm breath. I kiss the taut skin on her stomach, I lick the soft flesh at her inner thigh. Then I look up at her—watching her watch me.
And when I speak, there’s a desperate edge to my soft voice.
“What if I told you I had to have you again? Feel you clamping down around me so hard I see heaven. That I can’t stand the thought of not fucking those hot, breathy sounds out of you, until you scream my name? Would you let us do that one more time, even if it’s the last?”
Before I finish, her fingers are running through my hair. Tenderly pushing it back, on the brink of pulling me up to her. “Yes, Stanton, I want that too.”
I smile. “Good. ’Cause we’re not even close to home yet—so we’ve got lots of time.”
Sofia’s smile turns into a relieved giggle. She crooks her finger at me—beckoning. “Get up here and kiss me.”
• • •
Hours later, my hands grasp Sofia’s hips, my fingertips dig into her ass, helping her ride me. I suck on her tits, ’cause they’re beautiful and because they’re in such close proximity to my mouth.
“That’s it, baby . . . ride my cock,” I tell her, loving how it makes her gasp. I slide my hand down the tight crevice between us, to her clit—swollen and slick. I rub it slow, with just enough pressure to keep her teetering on that edge, to make her hotter, wetter all around me. Her breath hitches, and her hips thrust against my hand.
“H
arder,” I order with smooth authority that doesn’t leave room for argument—even if she’d want to. I raise my hips, meeting her more than halfway. “Fuck me harder . . .”
My head presses back into the mattress as Sofia does what she’s told. For a woman who likes to be top dog at the office, she takes directions amazingly fucking well.
With her fingers in my hair, she pulls my lips up to meet hers. Then, looking into my eyes, she asks, “Is it like this with her?”
“What?” I ask, mindless, as she squeezes around my dick.
But then she stops, stills, seems more serious, tracing my jaw with her fingertip. “Is it like this with Jenny? Do you look like this?”
She places her palm on my chest, where my heartbeat goes wild.
“Do you feel like this when you’re with her?”
There’s something about the dark that makes honesty easier. And something about being surrounded by a woman, filling her, lost in her—that makes lying impossible.
“No. Not like this.”
She waits a second. The corners of her mouth pull up ever so slightly.
“Good.”
Then she starts moving her hips again, and everything else fades to black.
10
Sofia
“I really have to go.” I wiggle in my seat like a child who . . . well, who has to pee.
Stanton grumbles. “We’ll be at the house soon.”
“Soon’s too long—stop at the next Starbucks.”
He looks at me like I suggested going for a dip in the ocean—on the moon.
“We don’t have a Starbucks here.”
I look from left to right, suspecting he’s messing with me. “What kind of godforsaken place is this?”
Over the course of our two-day cross-country trek, the strip malls and tall buildings have come fewer and farther between, replaced with cornfields and lonely houses set back from the road. A few miles back, Stanton pointed out the Welcome to Sunshine sign, but all that I’ve seen since are trees and empty fields. Soon I’ll be desperate enough to use one of the trees.
We pull onto a quiet street, sparse with cars. “A restaurant then,” I plead, trying to think of anything besides the incessant pressure on my bladder. “When we pass through the business district.”
That has him laughing, but I don’t get the joke.
“Ah¸ Soph? We’re in the business district.”
I look around. There’s only a few two-story buildings. The rest are small, one-story structures—a post office, a pharmacy, a barber shop, a bookstore—each with quaint awnings, not a chain name in sight.
“How can you tell?’
Stanton points to the red stoplight we’re waiting in front of. “The stoplight.”
“The stoplight?”
He smiles broader. “Yep . . . just the one.”
We drive down the street and I’m struck by how empty it seems, especially on a Saturday morning. I shiver as I think of Children of the Corn, an eighties flick that scared the shit out of me when I was ten years old.