86.2 Overwhelm
She made up her mind that night in the pool.
It was a decision mostly based on her own desires and not really being able to stand the uncertainty anymore, and their relationship, romantic or otherwise, having reached a standstill of progress. Which was not a bad thing. She just didn't think it would progress through any more stages than it already had.
Technically, it started in the pool, when he kissed her after a particularly emphatic bout of teasing. He was a good kisser. Firm but not pushy, curious. He kissed like he took on the world, straight-forward and attentive. His hands were cool on her back, if warmer than the water.
She didn't bother to get dressed when they went in, still kissing. Bright light compared to the night outside, her closed eyes now red instead of black. His clothes dripped more than her naked body, but his hair was short and slick and she ended up cupping the back of his neck there, just there, feeling how thin he was. Whipcord and bone.
He had that smile as they peeled layers of wet cotton and linen off of him, that smile that was at the same time predatory and kind, and very far away. As though he was here and not here, even though when he kissed her again he was very much in the moment. Aware of the transitory nature of moments, she thought. It made her sad. She was not special, although it bothered her a little that she wanted to be; she was not different. She was a moment passing through time.
He was warmer with the clothes off than on. Slick and wet and solid like a living statue in the rain. They kissed until they were both panting with it, moving along the floor and by the kitchen island until her hand snagged on a bowl of fruit. Of course there was. She had started seducing him with an apple, juice running down her chin, expressions of pervasive and all-encompassing ecstasy, biblical imagery abounding. She would continue, evidently, with grapes. Her fingers plucked a few from the bunch as she pulled back far enough that he could see what she was doing, not far enough to be a rejection.
His eyes, blue, sapphire blue, pale ocean on a clear day blue. They asked the question her smile answered.
She ate the grapes slowly. Lips caressing the skin and pulling it taut on the grapes that were less than firm, showing him what she did. Rolling her tongue around the grape before pulling it into her mouth and almost sucking it crushed. Not quite, but almost. Then she did it again. And again, slightly different every time.
On the fourth grape he pulled her sharply against him and they crushed the remaining against her, grape juice smearing over her chest. "Now look what you did," she murmured. "You've gone and made me all sticky."
"I'll clean it up." And he did.
His mouth took exquisite care over her flesh. Lapping up the pieces of grape, tongue curling over her skin and removing the pulpy bits into his mouth. When he caught a nipple by supposed accident he rolled the flesh of the grape over her flesh until the mix of sensations tickled her nerves and made her sigh audibly. He took a step back, and she took a step forward to meet him, and back again, and forward again, that same teasing distant smile on his face until they were at the stairs. And up towards the bed.
He laid her down gently and she let him take control, let him show her all the things he'd wanted to do to her since she didn't know how long. Mouths ignited mouths and then his mouth traveled lower, leaving a trail of sensation electric along her skin. Whisking her nipples taut and peaked, bringing her to arch from her abdomen and then sending her into a pile of giggles when he tickled her belly-button. He laughed, too, if softly.
When he moved lower she did gasp a little in anticipation, which became a further harmony of gasps and panting breaths, and whimpers and moans. If she could speak she might have begged him to stop, or go on, but he was peeling her out of her sense of restraint with his tongue between her legs and she was gone. She floated back to the bed anchored by his tiny kisses along her thighs and hips.
He was so thin she could put her legs around him, cross her ankles. And she did, undulating against him as he moved into her with slowly increasing urgency. Not once did he stop touching her. His hands fluttered over her shoulders, over her breasts, his legs pressed against hers. He kissed her sweetly, as though they were courting. He made very little sound except towards the end, when it was swallowed up between their mouths.
She knew she should go, after. They shifted until they were comfortable for the long-term, her curled up against him, cheek pressed against his chest. He smelled like grapes and chlorine and sweat; she could taste it in the air above them. She knew she should go. But she'd just stay a little while longer.Just enough to regain her ability to think.
Astrid Kessler
Black Stone Rising
Partner: Charlie Crews (12yrs_life)
892 words