She woke me up by tracing the outline of my cock with her tongue and ever since then I’ve been tense, aching for her, aching to dip myself inside her, to feel her mouth, her flesh, her body absorbing me; I’ve been anxious to own her, all of her.
Her eyes are locked to mine as she moves back towards me, the only light in the room coming from the subtle lines that run across the cabinets. I have an urge to flick every light in the room on, to light her up, to fill this room with white so I can see her properly, all of her, every line, every indent, every mark, so I can see her face as I possess her, see her pleasure wrap through her, see her face as she breaks apart.
Her fingers on my hips are tentative. She slides them into the waistband of my bathing shorts and pushes them down my hips, still looking at me, looking at me as she bends down, crouching slowly, bringing the shorts to the floor and staying where she is, at my feet, her eyes on mine.
My dick is right there and deliberately she moves her attention to it, and I hold my breath. I hold it until I may possibly pass out. I still hold it when she brings her mouth to my tip and runs her tongue over me. I hold my breath as she widens her mouth and her eyes lance mine as she takes me in, deep, as deep as she can. I feel the back of her throat and now I release my breath in one sharp hiss, an expletive somewhere in there, too. My hands twitch by my sides. I hold them there, even when I want to lift them to her hair, to feel its wet ends in my fingertips. I stand there, legs apart, watching her move her mouth up and down my length, her breasts jerking with each movement, the curve of her arse visible to my devoted inspection.
Her hand lifts up, finding my balls, and she holds them then moves to the base of my cock, squeezing it as her tongue licks my tip again, and self-control—something I pride myself on—wanes. I shudder as I almost spill into her mouth and I pull back, not ready to come, not ready to end this. As fucking amazing as her mouth is, I need to be deep inside her sex right now.
Right now.
I swear again and reach for her, lifting her under her arms, higher, wrapping her around my body and pushing her against the desk, a narrow piece of wood locked to the wall. It’s just enough space to give her arse some purchase. I thrust into her hard and she cries out, digging her nails into my back, but she shakes her head and says my name in a way that is serious—serious enough to pause me even when I’m so close to exploding.
‘Condom,’ she grunts, her hands running over my chest like she can’t stop touching me.
Fuck.
Condom.
‘I’m sorry.’ I am. I always practise safe sex. I spin away, moving with alacrity to the side table and pulling out a rubber, sliding it over my length. Even that motion makes me jerk and spasm and I grind my teeth—no way am I going to tip myself over the edge. I need more of her and I need to see her come, I need to feel the force of her orgasm. Within seconds I’m back, spreading her legs, dropping my mouth to hers and kissing her as I thrust deep inside of her, balls-deep, and her tight muscles squeeze around me, promising me heaven on earth, promising me a delivery to some kind of magical, mystical bliss.
‘I love this,’ I groan into her mouth, and she stills before kissing me back, harder, fiercer, and pushes her body forward, so I lift her up off the desk, kissing her, my cock deep inside her, carrying her to the bed where I drop her down and fuck her as though this is my purpose on earth.
I hold her as she comes, crying my name at the top of her lungs, and I laugh even when I’m burning up with pleasure, I laugh because her passion is unbelievable, and because it reminds me of the first night we were together when we both lost our heads completely.
That night—when I thought I’d never see her again. The way I woke up and reached for her and felt a kind of murderous rage at her desertion.
My smile spreads as finally I give in to my body’s needs and push into her and hold myself there, riding the wave, coming hard. I had no idea it wasn’t the last time we’d be together. I had no idea I’d have three more nights of her, of this.
And this, our last night, is one I’m going to make count. Day will break and this will end, but until then there’s me, her and the perfection of this kind of arrangement. No strings, no promises, no future, no hurt.
* * *
It’s late. Or early. Some time near three. I’m exhausted. So tired I might almost be delirious, and yet I can’t sleep. My eyes are heavy...my mind is overactive. Jagger, beside me, is silent, his body still, save for the regular rise and fall of his chest.
Am I stupid to still be lying here?
Should I go back to my room?
Maybe.
But hours remain, and I don’t want to squander them when I’m not absolutely certain what I need to be doing.
I push up quietly, sliding out of
bed, moving to the kitchenette near the front door. Gently, I lift the kettle off its base, shaking it for water. There’s enough. I replace it and flick the button.
‘Can’t sleep?’ His voice rumbles towards me, so sexy, breathing through my bones and body into my cells and blood, my DNA.
‘Nope.’ I turn around, a smile on my lips, but it’s a smile that feels heavy and somehow sad. ‘I guess I had all the sleep I need.’
A muscle jerks in his jaw, like he’s grinding his teeth, and the silence that falls isn’t companionable so much as it throbs with awareness. Maybe it’s the direction of my thoughts, perhaps it conveys itself in my body, because there’s an awkwardness that only the uncertainty of the morning can explain.
Is it uncertainty, though? When we both know ‘goodbye’ is on the horizon?
I’ve been in relationships before that I know are going nowhere. I’ve been with men that I either like or desire but don’t want more with than a casual fling. And I’ve never felt this sense of drowning, of suffocation, of being caught in the folds of time.
‘Would you like a tea?’