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Home for the Summer
Chapter 2
I come awake slowly, easily; content for the moment to
nestle in his arms, his warm stomach pressed into my back and his leg tucked
between mine. I open my eyes and watch through the bedroom window the first,
weak rays of sun scare away the last edges of night. It is the cool sea breeze
that woke me, and I smile as the gauzy curtains flutter like delicate fingers
waggling hello.
In the diluted light my eyes wander, touching on the big and
small pieces we brought with us - my great, great grandmother’s cedar chest,
his grandfather’s mantle clock. The
warm patina of old wood glows softly as the pale, gold walls soak up the
morning light. The care and attention paid to this room shows in every curve
and corner. It’s a stark contrast to our London bedroom, with its cool colors
and clean lines.
Easing out of his arms, I roll towards him, tuck my hands
beneath my cheek and watch him sleep. I looked forward to this moment, to
waking up to the scent of the water instead of a blaring alarm clock, knowing I
won’t need to get out of bed the moment my eyes open. To do as I am doing now.
He has relaxed here; the tension lines around his mouth and between his eyes
have gentled. He is an intense man and able to shoulder responsibilities and
stress so well that I neglected to look, failed to pay attention to what was in
front of me. It wasn’t until we found this house, quite by accident, that I
understood what he needed - a retreat from the constant cacophony of noise and
people and distractions. When we toured the house, I instantly pictured a life
here, saw him puttering through the rooms, fixing things - hammering and
nailing and painting and getting in my way.
Just as he needs to take care of me, I need to do the same -
shelter, protect and care for him. He doesn’t make it easy, but then, I don’t,
either. We value and crave our independence, our autonomy, and yet we found our
missing pieces in each other, those, which make us whole, make us better
together than on our own.
I bite my lip as a wicked thought crosses my mind then
smile. Why not? It isn’t often we wake together, even less often I have
the opportunity to wake him. I shimmy
out of my cotton tee shirt and matching shorts, careful not to jostle the bed
and wake him. Cool air races across my torso, pebbling my nipples. I scoot down the thick mattress, taking the
sheet with me. Reaching out, I put my hand on his hip then stroke the outside
of his thigh and nudge him onto his back. With my body pressed against his, he
doesn’t wake but moves and settles, one arm over his head, the other falling
onto my pillow. My eyes rake over him - his body is perfect, used to movement
and work. He was once harder, leaner, with a personality to match. Years later,
he still fascinates me, captivates me.
My hands itch to feel him in my hand, to feel his cock grow
heavy in my mouth, on my tongue. I am eager to taste him, to take him - slowly,
druggingly, to have him wake, swollen and deep in my mouth, overwhelmed with no
opportunity to take over, take control.
Steady and smooth my palm runs over his abdomen, to his hip,
then down his thigh, up the inside. As he moves then settles, I glance up
before continuing, making sure I haven’t startled him awake.
I slowly lower my cheek to his skin to feel his warmth,
breathe him in. He rarely lets himself be pleasured before I receive mine, but
this morning, the choice isn’t his. The need to give to him, to make him mine
beats wildly under my breast. My mouth waters with anticipation. I press a
soft, open-mouthed kiss above the coarser hair on his lower abdomen before
moving lower.
The mushroom-shaped head is smooth and silky against my
lips. Opening my mouth as if receiving Communion, I lift him reverently with my
lips and tongue and draw him in. Slowly, gently, my mouth closes around him. My
body responds to his taste; my pussy feels wet, empty. I swirl my mouth and
lips over the ridges and silky soft skin then draw him deeper, until his cock
grows heavy. I need all of him and take him deeper still, relaxing my jaw and
throat as he lengthens and stiffens. I lift my body and move between his legs,
my shoulders nudging his legs apart.
His thighs and stomach tighten under my hands as he awakes.
He grows harder, thicker. His cock slips between my lips as I glide over him,
until just the head is snug in my mouth. I suck gently first, then stronger,
until my mouth surrounds him like a wet glove. He hisses sharply and buries his
hands in my hair. Worrying he’ll pull me up, lay me down and take over, I press
his hips down into the mattress then move faster - driving him on, giving no
reprieve, no chance to think, just feel. His hands tighten around my hair, then
gentle as he gathers my hair away from my face. I look up at him; his eyes are
hard and intense as he stares at his cock in my mouth. He cups my cheek and his
thumb traces my lips surrounding his cock, taking away the wetness dripping
down to my chin while fighting the urge to thrust further, deeper, harder.
He groans and throws his head back as my lips brush the base
of his cock, the hair tickling my nose. I inhale, his scent an aphrodisiac, and
begin moving faster, sucking harder. His winds his fist around my hair and
takes control of my mouth, pulling and tugging, guiding and demanding.
My eyes close as I fuck him, greedy to taste him, to have my
mouth full of his cock. He tugs sharply on my hair and huskily orders me to
lift; it’s then that I feel his leg pressing hard against my side. I raise
myself off the bed, and he pushes his leg under me until I am straddling it.
Immediately, I tilt my hips and position my clit against the top of his
knee. My body rides the edge of
pleasure and torment. The need to come, to take pleasure while fucking him,
claws at me. But the need to give pleasure, to make him weak with it,
defenseless against it, spurs me on.
His leg pushes against my pussy, sliding over my sensitive
flesh, and the hard bone rubbing my clit distracts me for a moment. I squeeze
my eyes tight until I regain control. My hand moves in tandem with my mouth,
stroking and sucking, bathing him with my tongue and lips, drawing him in deep,
while my clit rubs deliciously against him.
He finally loses control and fists my hair, pushing my head
down hard and burying himself deep in. I gag slightly as again and again his
cock bumps the back of my throat. His voice is thick and raspy, praising my
lovely mouth, my slippery tongue, my soft lips. He is going to come, and I need to taste him, to swallow every
drop, to feel him pulse as he gives me what I need. He does then, in a heavy
spurts, filling me. His accent is thick, heavy with satisfaction and praise.
He pulls me from him, and swiftly sitting up, he reaches for
me. Sitting me on his lap, my legs straddling his thighs, he reaches between my
legs and cups me while his other hand wraps around my neck and pulls. His mouth
drags over mine; thrusting his tongue past my lips to mate. He shoves two
fingers inside me, and his mouth muffles my scream as he plunges mercilessly,
as relentless as my mouth a few moments before. His thumb rubs and presses into
my clit, and I orgasm swiftly, brutally, my entire body quivering, shaking.
Endless heartbeats
later, he lies back, taking me with him, until I am splayed over his body, my
cheek covering his heart. Reaching low, he pulls the sheet up and covers
us. He cups my chin and lifts my face
to his mouth, his kiss gentle, thankful, then grins and falls back onto the
pillow. Hearing his heartbeat still racing, I’m content once more to be held.
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