Page 12 of Dearly Departed

“Okay.” Catherine’s voice wavers, but then she repositions herself ever so slightly and bears down.

“Oh, kitten, fuck, that feels so good.” It feels so good that my chest aches. My thighs engage, wanting to pin her to the covers and fuck her, but no, no, I’m not an animal. I’m a bastard and a fool who fell in love when I shouldn’t have and I am a fucking gentleman.

Catherine reaches for my hand, and I get the hint immediately and find her clit.

Then it’s a dream. Then there’s no plane at all, just me buried balls-deep in her ass while she fucks herself on my cock. I have to close my eyes to hold myself back from an orgasm. Can’t keep them closed, though—I can’t shut out the sight of her body moving in slow, sensual curves that get faster as I give her clit more attention. My fingers are soaked with her. My head is nothing but Catherine—her sounds, her hair, her body, her sweetness all over my fingers, her thighs trembling⁠—

Her rhythm falters. Catherine’s making breathless mmm mmm mmm sounds that I’m almost certain she’s not aware of. They mean she needs to come. She made the same sounds in the forest after we fell off the horse, and then she rode my thigh until she pushed herself over the peak.

I wanted to fuck her that day. I distinctly recall having a lot of thoughts about lines being crossed and how terrible those things made me and how desperately I wanted more of her, monstrous as it was.

And then, naturally, I came in my pants, standing in the snow, bowled over by the beauty of Catherine’s pleasure. I’m far more desperate than I was that day.

“You’re going to come on my cock,” I say into her ear, my fingertips working and working and working at her clit. “You can do it, kitten.”

Catherine’s hands turn to fists in the blankets. She’s such a pretty, trembling thing, her knees barely holding her up.

“It’ll feel—” A pleading noise interrupts her. “Like so much.”

“You can take it. But you don’t have to. I’ll pull out right now.”

“No. Mmm—stay. Stay.”

“I’m staying. Yes, you gorgeous thing. Let it happen. Oh, I can feel how close you are. All over my fingers. All over my cock⁠—”

A gasp that sounds very much like my name comes out on a high, shaky breath, and then Catherine comes.

It’s an obliterating pleasure, so strong that my own orgasm takes me by surprise.

“Oh, God,” Catherine says, sounding far away. “Oh, Jacob, that’s hot. It’s so hot.”

I can’t think. I can only ride it out, then collapse to the covers and find a pillow for our heads.

“I felt that down to my toes,” I tell Catherine, sounding like a shocked virgin.

“I didn’t feel it in my toes,” she laughs. “But everywhere else.”

We kiss, after that, both of us covered in a thin sheen of sweat. My vision comes back in stages. My heart doesn’t know what to make of the fear-pleasure roller coaster and switches between pounding and beating so slowly I wonder if I’ve already died.

Nothing seems real but Catherine.

We shower. Dry off. Put our arms around each other on the bed and have slow, soft sex. Catherine ignores the tears that sneak into my eyes every so often. I ignore the way her voice gets thick and her words break in the middle.

We shower again like two newlyweds with nothing but time. I don’t know how much time passes.

We pull down the blankets on the bed and lie on the clean, dry sheets, pillows propping us up. Catherine finds glass jars of nuts and dried fruits in one of the drawers, and we mutually decide that we should eat. The plastic crinkles in her hands as she opens one of the packets.

She eats a cashew, then looks into the jar, thoughtful.

“Do you think we’d be doing the same thing if this was really our honeymoon?”

“I wouldn’t have left it at baked truffle nuts.”

Catherine huffs. “I think they’re pretty good.”

“They are good, but I’d choose a full provisions box.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” She nudges me with her elbow, fond and familiar, and for a moment it is real. This is our honeymoon. Catherine is my wife because that’s what we both wanted. We’re flying at night so we can land in paradise and watch the sun come up. There’s nothing wrong. There’s nothing wrong at all. “There’s granola, too, in the little basket. Do you think⁠—”