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“Yeah, I can tell.”
“I’m fine.”
*****
“What are all the little yellow flowers near the stream?” I ask as the hay wagon passes a small creek on its way back from the Sugar Shack to the festival grounds.
“Marsh marigolds,” Cherry says immediately. “They’re so pretty, but they don’t last long. They’ll be gone in a week.”
“So smart.” I tighten my arm around her shoulders and press my lips against her temple. I look into her eyes and then bring her hand up to kiss the back of her knuckles.
Little gestures seem to be working, which is good. I’m afraid of what will come out of my mouth if I open it too much. After my little heart-to-heart with Nora after that first family dinner, I’ve gone from feeling completely confident to completely terrified. Over the weeks, Cherry keeps asking questions—questions I deflect—and I know I’m going to have to start answering some of them.
Before, it was a calculated move. Now, I avoid answering because I’m afraid it will send her running, and she’ll never speak to me again.
When the wagon stops, I take Cherry around the festival booths, play some games, and then we watch the fireworks while sitting on a blanket. I constantly look over at Cherry, wondering what she’s thinking and trying not to be completely paranoid that I’m going to do something to fuck it all up.
As the last of the fireworks fade away, I pull Cherry to her feet and then tighten my grip on her hand as we walk back to the car. We drive to her apartment, open a bottle of wine, and then everything begins to spiral out of control.
I’m not even sure how it happens.
One minute, we’re on the couch, and I’m prepared to push her away, make my excuses, and get out of there. The next, I’m carrying her to the bedroom with my dick threatening to tear right through my zipper.
My head is filled with her astonishing beauty, the smell of her hair, and how amazing it feels to be with her. Nothing exists but the soft touch of her skin as I caress her breasts and taste the hint of wine and maple syrup on her lips.
The scent of her sex is intoxicating. I’m tempted to go down on her, but I’m also sure that if I do, I’ll come on the floor. I don’t want to do that. I need to be inside of her.
Maybe for round two.
She reaches down and strokes my dick while I watch her expression. My ass clenches as she pulls back the foreskin, and I wonder how much experience she’s really had. I’m likely the first uncircumcised man she’s encountered, and she seems fascinated. When her tongue runs over her lips, I get a mental image of her taking me in her mouth, and my cock jumps.
“Don’t look at him like he’s ice cream on a hot summer day,” I warn her. She stammers a bit but doesn’t have a witty retort for that one.
I don’t take the chance, opting instead to take control of the situation, get on top of her, and press her to the mattress. I take my dick in my hand, running it over her flesh for a moment before I enter her.
The feelings that sweep through me are positively overwhelming.
For a moment, I can’t breathe or think. I’m pretty sure my heart stops beating altogether, and the world around me disintegrates, leaving nothing but the connection of our bodies behind. My head spins, and my muscle tense as pressure builds in my center.
I hold myself there, dick throbbing, unable to move for fear I’ll come on the spot. The sensations rushing through my skin are incredibly strong, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to be hit by a tidal wave.
Finally, I move. Ever so slowly, I pull back and then move forward again, filling her completely. Cherry moans, wrapping her legs around my hips, and I almost lose it again.
She begs for more. She actually begs for me to fuck her harder. I answer her, spurring her on, but I don’t even know what I’m saying. I can’t comprehend what’s happening and have to act totally on instinct—the instinct to give her whatever she wants. I grip her shoulders and thrust hard. I move rhythmically, still dizzy from the sensations running through my body and the emotions running through my mind. I feel her clench down on me as she cries out my name, and I couldn’t feel any more elated if God himself opened the heavens above us.
I belong here.
Eyes closed, heart pounding—I can barely breathe as I move against her, feeling the pressure building deep inside me. It cascades through my abdominal muscles and drops lower, rushing through me like a tsunami, like a tornado, like an answered prayer.
I collapse on top of her, panting and unable to move. I’ve never felt like this, not ever. I don’t want to pull out of her at all. In fact, I’d love to just stay right here until I get hard again so I can start all over.
Why did I wait this long? Why? Strategy? Fuck strategy. I don’t care about any of that shit any more. I just want her. I want to be with her. I want to be inside her. I want her to stay with me forever.
I barely manage to stop myself from telling her I love her right then and there.
Why not? Why not just tell her right now? Yeah, sure—it’s considered bad form to tell someone you love them right after sex, but dammit, I just don’t care.
I make stupid, post-coital small talk about the quilt on her bed, but it’s a stall tactic. I just want to find the right words. I should tell her how I’m feeling, shouldn’t I? I’m about to open my mouth and spill it all when I hear my phone go off.
