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He pushes me down on the couch and pauses to take in the sight of my bare breasts, and even though I’m still wet from the rain and naked under the AC my body is burning from the heat of his gaze.
“What is it?”
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” He blinks out of his fixation. “I never thought you’d let me touch you again.”
“Well, I’m here. And you better touch me soon.”
He smiles crookedly and reaches down, brushing his hand back and forth over one nipple then the other, tracing circles around the peaks and tugging on them, marking a winding path that moves lower and lower.
“I’m on the pill. How ’bout you?”
“No,” the moron answers. I punch his shoulder and his face breaks into a big white grin, beaming unadulterated joy.
“Are you clean?”
His smile drops. I watch his throat work. There goes the joy, all of it sucked right out of the room. The air between us chills, suddenly making me feel self-conscious.
“Yes.”
The strange look on his face has me second-guessing him. “You’re sure? You’ve been tested?”
“I haven’t been with anyone.” Gaze unblinking, he looks me dead in the eyes and any doubt I may have had vanishes.
“Since when?”
“Since I stopped getting wasted.”
As evasive an answer as I’ve ever heard so I press on. “How long, Noah?”
He sighs deeply. “’Bout seven years.”
“You haven’t been with a woman in seven years…in any way?” I repeat out loud, more for my sake, to confirm I’m not hearing things because…seven years…come on, let’s be honest, for a guy it might as well equal a century. “That’s like…a lot of days.”
Tipping his head back, he aims a burst of sad laughter at the ceiling. “I know. I tried to move on after you left. I won’t lie…I tried.”
“Crystal?” I croak. I’m dangling on a high wire with no parachute, my heart racing.
Don’tsayyesdon’tsayyesdon’tsayyes.
“No,” he replies, the word sharp and decisive. “Nobody you know.”
The tension in my chest dissolves and I take a much-needed deep breath. My gaze drops to the ink over his heart, the ink that spells my name. It’s still a shock to see it there. In the privacy of my mind I go cavewoman, beating my chest and roaring at the sky.
I know it shouldn’t matter. I’ve been in a relationship for most of the time he’s been celibate. And yet, had it been Crystal I am not too proud to admit that it would have driven a stake through my heart.
“And?”
“It felt wrong.”
My throat gets strangely warm. The feeling spreads to my chest. It bleeds into a double dose of satisfaction, which slowly morphs into elation. I grin so broadly it almost breaks my face in two.
The brush of my hand up and down his abs makes them contract. He shivers. “Let’s stop wasting time then.”
He watches me grab his shaft, stroke the head with my thumb, and lead him between my legs. Exhaling harshly, he flexes his hips while I hook one, then the other leg around his waist. And as he sinks into me, taking his time with sweet tenderness, it drives tears from my eyes.
Awe and wonder stare down at me as he moves in and out in slow, deep pumps. Noah has always been a physical person, in command of his body down to the smallest movements. It’s no wonder he was such an amazing athlete. Except now there’s something more in the way he touches me, makes love. Every movement is suffused with understanding, with the knowledge of how precious this is.
This being us––the unspoken understanding between our bodies, moving with unpracticed perfection, both of us so present in the moment that nothing else exists. This, I remember.
It’s so good with him. It always was.
He grips the armrest above my head for leverage, his hips thrusting with enough force to move the couch across the oak floor. His lips move, speaking quiet words, barely audible. They get under my skin and curl around my black and blue heart.
“Are you with me?”
“Yes,” I whisper back, meaning it in more ways than one.
He grinds the base of his dick against me and a beat later I’m coming, shuddering, pleasure zipping along my muscles. His name torn from my throat, my short nails digging into the divots of his gorgeous ass. My body contracts around his and with a hoarse shout, he comes too.
Breathing harshly, he collapses back into my arms. I kiss his sweaty neck, the side of his head. Anything my lips can reach while I’m pinned beneath his dead weight gets kissed.
“How do you feel?” I whisper a time later.
“Like I just popped my cherry.”
He laughs again. Not so rusty this time. Still the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
* * *
After we christened the couch, we decided to do a fuck tour of the rest of the house. The kitchen counters were blessed after making turkey sandwiches because as Noah wisely pointed out, “If you’re not starvin’ after sex, you ain’t doin’ it right.”
