Page 49 of Silver Brewer

“It’s Saturday, so it has to be college tonight.”

I toss myself on her couch and kick my feet up on her coffee table. “Game on.”

She curls up next to me while we mindlessly watch Georgia play Alabama. It’s comfortable like this and reminds me of similar moments with Clara when we were young. Of course, I spent months away from her, and once I permanently returned, we didn’t cuddle anymore. I had my chair. She had her corner of the couch. For a moment, I’m saddened by the memory.

Letty is so different from Clara. Her laughter. Her smile. The things she lets me do to her. The things she does to me, like absentmindedly stroking down my chest with the game on the TV. I can hardly concentrate as another part of me is turned on.

The food arrives, and my arousal needs to be put on hold. Letty drinks wine while she offers me more locally brewed beer.

“This is nice,” I finally say as we lounge on her couch with full bellies. We’re both drowsy from a day of cool, fresh air and alcohol. She leans up and presses her lips to my neck. “That feels nice, too.”

I chuckle until her tongue licks at the skin just under my beard, and then her mouth sucks on the section. She lies on her side, her back to the couch cushions while I lie on my back. Her leg hitches over my lap as she continues her sipping kisses. I cup the back of her thigh and close my eyes, mellowing under her attention. A sigh escapes, letting her know one more time how nice she feels. I like her mouth on me. I like how she looks at me. I even like how much she can chatter.

She continues to kiss me, moving her body over my legs and sucking at my skin. Her fingers begin unbuttoning my shirt. Last night, we made love—slow and soft—and I enjoyed every second of it, but I want her a little wild again. The tender moments are almost too much. Too close. Too intense. I don’t think we should go there with the distance between us. I came here to give her an apology. I think I’m going to leave here without my heart.

She tugs at my shirt, loosening it from my pants. I quickly sit up and remove both my flannel and my T-shirt with one tug. Then she presses me back to the sofa, returning to cover me with the tip of her tongue and openmouthed kisses.

“Whatcha doing, Cricket?” She doesn’t answer me, but hums against the dusting of hair at my waistline. She works at unbuckling my belt and unzipping my zipper. Within seconds, she has my briefs and pants off, and she stares down at me from where she stands next to the couch. The only light in the room is the glow of the television, and she mutes the sound. Then she tugs her sweater over her head. Jeans lower next. Slowly, she removes her bra, watching me as I watch her. I’m enjoying the strip tease act as she wiggles her hips to remove her undies.

Finally, she straddles me, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

“Cricket?” I question as she remains silent. I have no doubt about what she’s doing, but there’s an intensity to her gaze. The way she’s soaking in my body with her eyes. I twitch between her thighs. My hand palms up her side, reaching for a breast and squeezing her nipple. My other hand remains behind my head, casual and calm, which isn’t what I feel. My heart races. My dick strains. Just looking at her makes me hard, and then she settles on my length, coating me with the wetness soaking her.

“You drunk, sweetheart?” I chuckle under her as she rides my length, not yet inside her, but slicking over me all the same.

“Just feels good,” she hums, her eyes closing, and I kind of like that she’s getting off by being on me.

“Whatcha need, honey?”

“I want to ride you.”

Jesus. “Yes, please.”

She lifts a little to set my tip at her entrance. Her hands brace on my chest. “Ready?” she exhales, and before I can answer, she slams down on me.

I grunt and buck upward. She groans in response. We fall together, and then I lift my hips. She yelps, sitting upright. Her hands go behind her head, and she raises her hair. She presses up on her knees and then drops down on me again. My eyes roll back until I see her hands slipping down to tease her own breasts. She’s putting on a little show for me, and I grip her hips, forcing her up and down, listening to the slick sound of her swallowing me while she teases her nipples. Her fingers eventually lower, and I watch as she touches herself while I disappear inside her. Her movements are wild. She’s riding me as requested. Hips roll. Tits bounce. Her hair falls over her shoulders. I love how she’s taking what she wants. She’s giving me everything I need.

I love her.

The thought hits me hard, and I thrust upward, determined to fill her with all of me. She hums louder, and I want to bottle that sound and take it with me to listen to on repeat. Then she settles, slowing her ride as she clenches around me. Her lids lower as she rocks over me, her orgasm lingering. My fingertips press into her skin.

“I’m comin’, sweetheart,” I warn before I jet off deep within her. I’d love to give her the baby she wants. The baby she so lovingly deserves. But I can’t.

If only we’d met earlier in life...

The ridiculous thought escapes me as she falls over my chest, spent and breathing heavily into my neck. I wrap my arms around her, holding her to me while she holds me inside her.

I don’t want to let her go. Not yet.

+ + +

Sunday, we head to brunch. It’s what she does with friends, she says, only today she wants me to herself. We window-shop as we walk back to her place. The temperature has dropped.

“Hang around for a bit, it will change again.” She laughs about the Midwest weather, but there’s something deeper in her comment.

Could I stay here?

I can’t. I have too many responsibilities back in Georgia.