Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

I shove his shoulder, but he holds firm. My laughter dies when he goes back for more. He sucks my clit between his teeth, then dives deep. I open my mouth toward the heavens, enjoying every nuance of his exploration. I grab onto anything I can—on one side, the sink faucet, on the other, the edge of a cupboard. “Oh my God, Nate. Where have you been with that tongue?”

He eats me out like I’m Thanksgiving dessert. In a way, I am. I smile as I moan. With a particularly pleasurable flick of his tongue, I grasp his hair. He stands up, licking his lips. “Now for the main course.”

It isn’t the first time Nathan has seduced me with cooking terms, but with his hair sticking up from where I pulled it and the irresistible smile on his face, it might be the cutest. He hauls me to the counter’s edge. The apron rides up, exposing me. We both watch as he takes his shaft in his hand and presses the tip against me. There’s nothing cute about his cock, or the way it fills me. Once he’s inside, he takes my hips and slides me onto him, steady but fast. He grits his teeth until he’s buried to the hilt. “God, Sadie. What was the matter with us? This is where we belong. It’s so clear.”

My only response is to arch my back. He grabs one of my tits through the ruffled top of the apron and squeezes. The ceiling blurs as my body submits to Nathan’s hard, commanding thrusts. He moves his hand to my mouth, his fingers pressing inside, urgent. I suck on them as he takes me faster, rougher. He uses his wet thumb to circle my clit. I’ve been on the verge so long, it doesn’t take much for me to capture my orgasm. I shut my eyes. My pussy closes around him, sucking him deep. He groans so passionately, it’s his primal sounds that take my climax to the next level and drive me wild.

When I’m spent, I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and give my body over. He slams into me, his thrusts powerful and assertive. “I love you,” he breathes on my neck. “Only I can love you this much.”

I answer him by hanging onto him more tightly. I meet his need and take him painfully deep. I tell him with my body what I can’t with my words—I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

“Fuck, my, God, yes,” he rages. His muscles are alive with tension. Veins cord his neck, forearms, temples. His last drive is the deepest, and he comes, claiming me from the inside out.

He hugs me frantically, feeling the backs of my shoulders, gripping my waist and hips. He digs his fingers into my skin as if to make sure I’m real. “Sadie.”

“Nathan.” I squeeze my arms around his neck and rub my smooth cheek over his scratchy one. “I’m here.”

He exhales into the crook of my neck, relaxing. When he straightens up, I loosen my hold, but keep my arms around him. He pushes my hair off my face, then kisses me. Slowly, our lips part, and I slide my tongue along his. He angles over me, trying for deeper. “Let’s do it again,” he rumbles with his whole body.

I laugh into his mouth. “All right. But can we move to the shower? There’s flour in my crack.”

He captures my bottom lip with his teeth and grins. “I’ll meet you in there.”

I slide off the counter and cross the apartment to our bedroom. In the bathroom, I flip on the shower. As I’m untying my apron, the trashcan catches my eye. It’s stuffed with calla lilies, and a couple of them are spotted with Ginger’s blood. I steady myself against the counter as the echo of shattering glass sounds in my ears. Ginger’s howling. Nathan’s crestfallen face. I grip the edge until my knuckles are white. It all could’ve gone a different way.

It didn’t.

The once-beautiful, now-ugly flowers are a part of our imperfect history. I look up at my reflection. White flour stripes my temple, my hip, my forearm. My hair isn’t just messy, but also greasy, and my makeup has been cried, rubbed, and fucked off.

Nathan enters behind me. He picks up where I left off, sliding the apron straps off my shoulders and setting it aside. He, too, has seen better days, with his day-old stubble, wayward hair, and a patch of sugar on his chin he got while eating me out.

I tilt my head up and back to look at him. “Come here.”

He leans down, and I suck the sugar off his jaw. Just like that, my horrible last memory in this bathroom is replaced with sweetness.

He wraps his arms around me from behind and hugs me with unrestrained strength. His love floods my system like a drug—instant, pleasant, warm. “I’ve missed you,” he says. “I love you.”

“I know.” My lungs burn for air as he crushes me to him. “Look at us.”

Our eyes meet in the reflection. He smiles with a wink. “What a mess.”

Neither of us moves. This is comfortable, our naked bodies glued together, the shower steaming over, the rhythmic sound of water beating the tub floor. Tonight, in bed, I’ll tell him about the conversation with my doctor. I’ll tell him that on Sunday, we have an appointment with a realtor in Park Slope. Right now, though, I just want to stay in the simplicity of our moment, memorizing its imperfections and the way it feels to be back home in Nathan’s arms.