That would always turn Connor on. We’d feel his cock jump between our hand. Hers squeezing the top of his shaft, her fingertips brushing across the tip of his head. Mine squeezing the bottom half, taking a break sometimes to cup his balls.
And one of us would eventually change position and go down on him. He’d place his hand on her head or my head, and I would pump his cock into her mouth, or she’d pump it into mine.
There was no jealousy in the dark of night, naked bodies pressed against each other. The insecurities only manifested in the light of day. During school, or lunch, or whenever it wasn’t appropriate to show off who and what we were to each other.
“That feels so fucking good, Kiera,” Connor says as I grip him tight and pump him harder. “I want to be inside you.”
And back then I’d have to wonder who he was talking to and now I don’t. He’s only talking to me right now.
“Not yet,” I reply back, my voice throaty and hoarse from lack of conversation.
We used to talk more when it was the three of us too. Dirty things. So many dirty things came out of our mouths.
“Her pussy is so wet,” Sofia would say to him. “Your cock will slide in deep now, babe. Put it inside her.”
And he would. He’d climb on top of me, or I’d climb on top of him. And Sofia would help. She’d take his cock and flick it back and forth across my clit, making me squirm and wait. Then she’d position him at my opening and play with me as we fucked.
Or I’d do that to her. Didn’t matter.
In the here and now he pulls away from our kissing and repositions himself, taking my nipple in his mouth. Biting it with just enough pressure to make me gasp, but not enough to really hurt. He squeezes both breasts as his mouth moves down to my stomach, kissing as he goes. Dropping lower after a few seconds to continue the pilgrimage. Seeking just the right place I need to be worshiped. Soft, fluttery kisses on my lower belly. His hands parting the soft, wet flesh between my legs as his mouth descends, licking everywhere but the place I crave his attention.
Sofia, in those times she went down on me, did it the same way. And I realize we taught each other how we liked it. She taught him, and I taught her, and he taught us. And there is no difference, I realize. No difference at all between him and me, and him and her, and him and us.
When did that happen?
Why isn’t she here now?
But just as that thought manifests in my head he touches me with the tip of his tongue, flicking it back and forth across that one spot on my body that feels it the most. Then he puts his whole mouth on me, sucking hard for a moment. With such ambition and determination, I moan, and squeak, and even cry out a little. But his fingers are there again. Pushing inside me just the way I like it. Pumping gently at first. Teasing me until I grip his hair. My hands making fists, demanding more.
He laughs. Right into my pussy. Because he knows me so well. After ten years apart, he’s still the only man on this earth who knows me like this.
“I’m ready for you, Kiera,” he says, lifting his head up a little to look me in the eyes. I’m still gripping his hair, but my eyes are open, because I like this view. The view of his body positioned between my open legs. His eyes seeking out mine as he runs his chin back and forth in the place I want his tongue.
It’s scratchy, and it hurts a little. But I don’t care. I want to feel what he’s doing tomorrow when I walk. I want to be uncomfortable and sore, the way I used to be back in college. And Sofia and I would be sitting in class and our eyes would meet across the room as we squirmed in our chairs, and we’d know. We’d both leave the room and enter the night that came before. And that’s how we spent so many afternoons in Masters of English Lit class. Dreaming about how we fucked him, and he fucked us, and we fucked each other.
And we would blush. Or she’d put her hand between her legs—discreetly, so no one would even notice except me—and I’d do the same. And every once in a while we’d come like that. In class, across the room, dreaming about the sex we had the night before.
Why isn’t she here? When did I start missing her? How did I not know?
“Tell me when,” Connor says.