Not What I Expected

“Jesus …” I closed my eyes while he teased my nipples with his teeth and tongue. He reached along the side of the seat and lowered the back of it, reclining my body right along with it. I was cramped and bent like a pretzel, but when he lifted my body a few inches farther, so his tongue could join his fingers between my legs, the pull of muscles straining disappeared. I turned into a contortionist willing to break bones, tear ligaments, or rip muscles just to feel his hot mouth on me.

One hand pressed to the window to brace myself and my other hand claimed his hair, keeping him there for as long as possible. Labored breaths passed my parted lips, my heavy gaze locked to his as he fingered me with one hand and gripped my inner thigh with his other hand. Every time his tongue flicked my clit, my vision blurred.

I swallowed repeatedly as everything inside of me dissolved. Kael hummed his pleasure, sometimes letting his eyes drift shut for a few seconds.

He didn’t stop to tell me how I tasted. I really didn’t want to know that. I hated when Craig felt the need to describe that like a pussy connoisseur. Or my favorite … “Elle, do you know how good you taste?” I’m sure some women loved that but not me. And the answer was always a silent “No. I haven’t been down there tasting myself recently. Less talk. More tongue. Thank you very much.”

Nor did I want Kael to ruin the moment by saying the words “eating me out.” That phrase wasn’t sexy, and it grossed me out. Overthinking oral sex, in general, grossed me out. All I wanted was for him to just … do it. Put his mouth in places where I was too afraid to ask him with actual words. Sex wasn’t an interview.

No questions. I hated questions. It wasn’t sexy, and it came across as a lack of confidence. If I needed something more—something different—I would’ve spoken up or used nonverbal cues to get what I wanted … what I needed.

It was why I used one hand to hold Kael’s head between my legs. It was a nonverbal “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. DON’T STOP!”

However, the most magical part about Kael’s ability to read my nonverbal cues was he knew the second I loosened my grip on his hair, it was time for him to put on a condom and get inside of me. I wanted to let it build again together instead of mentally twiddling my thumbs for him to finish because he made me orgasm too quickly.

Making a woman orgasm quickly didn’t deserve a special award. Driving her crazy over and over again until she begged for it … that deserved a trophy or merit badge of some sort.

And … he deserved the championship trophy if he could do it without narrating the whole damn situation aloud.

Kael grabbed his jeans and fished out a condom. Taking a seat next to the opposite door, he rolled it on as I shifted my body and straddled him. Our mouths crashed together, moans filling the silence. And we fucked in the middle of nowhere like animals who had no control over our actions—fed only by desire and lack of accountability to anyone else in that moment.

He made me feel like a horny teenager.

He made me feel drugged without a reason to ever be sober again.

He just made me feel.

And when it ended, everything lingered. The amorous glances persisted as we worked to piece ourselves back together in the cramped space. It wasn’t a “what did we just do” vibe. It was a “life is fucking good” vibe. I was unsure how, after years of marriage, children, and church every Sunday, I managed to let go of the guilt and allow my body to enjoy the most pleasurable things in life.

But it happened. And it was magical.

“I need to get home.”

Kael nodded and started to open the back door. I grabbed his arm. When he glanced back at me, I pressed my hand to his cheek and pecked at his lips—soft and featherlight as I smiled. He smiled too.

“I like kissing you,” I murmured before kissing him slowly. It had been too long since I felt that kind of intimacy—that high from a kiss.

“I like kissing you too.” He leaned in to steal back my lips as I started to pull away.

There was a unique intimacy to a kiss, in some ways, more than sex. He took his time, letting his kiss move to my cheek and along my jaw before returning to my mouth. I liked the tenderness in his hands as they caressed my face and hair the way I caressed his. It was a mix of every sense—taste, touch, the whisper of lips moving together, the pine and mint of his scent, the tiny glimpses of his face so close to mine as my eyes fluttered open.