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I run my gaze over his face and find his eyes are sporting tired smudges below. A glance about him reveals an empty mug at his feet. That’s my recent gauge of his anxiety.
“You didn’t sleep well?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry.”
I pull a blanket over myself and curl up against his side. I’m relieved when he sets the knitting aside and hooks one of his long, strong legs around me. He pulls me so I’m lying with my cheek against his chest and wraps his arms around me.
“You’re so warm,” I murmur.
“You are.” Now his legs are locked around me. I giggle. We do love a leg hug. Then he shifts a bit, and I feel his sex pressed against my thigh. It’s so long. So thick and hard. I feel a clenching sensation between my legs as I reach down and wrap my hand around him.
His hips shift. I giggle wickedly.
In times past, we would make love here on the couch. He would cup my backside, keeping me from sinking into the cushions. This time, when we’ve worked each other to a fervor, he carries me back to the bedroom, where he positions me the way he likes me.
This time, he crawls between my legs, licking me until I sag over his face. I find my release screaming his name. Then when I think my legs can hold my weight, I get on all fours and wiggle my rear for him.
It does feel good this way. I don’t mind the oddness of it. I don’t want to ask him why the change. If this is what he likes, and I enjoy it, too, what does it matter? Perhaps the bit I don’t know is this is the best position once you’re stretched and flexible enough to try it.
This time, when he grabs my hair, it’s pulled into a ponytail. When he yanks, it doesn’t hurt quite as acutely. After a moment, I find I’m not throbbing at my scalp, but in between my legs.
Afterward, as he presses a towel over me, I whisper, “That was excellent.”
He grins. “Good.”
He showers shortly after that, not telling me until he emerges with a towel tucked about his waist that there’s a men’s baseball social this morning.
“I didn’t know.”
“I should have mentioned it,” he says. “I just figured you’d heard.”
“It’s true it often works that way.” I grab a shirt and pull it over my head. “That sounds reasonably bearable.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “What an introvert.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’ll be glad to frolic about in the field with Baby. I’ve got an old kite I’d like to try.”
He laughs at that. “Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
He steps closer after pulling on his boxer briefs. He runs his finger over my breast, tweaking my nipple. “You look like I want to get back in bed.”
I wave my hand. “Go pursue your sport.” I scoff teasingly at the last word, prompting his dimpled smile. “And don’t speak of me. Remember we’re the Catholic sort, despite some of the men’s foul mouths. And although you’re a gorgeous, charming sports star, you’re an outsider. What we’re doing would be beyond frowned upon. I could suffer for it.”
His face tenses, and he runs a hand back through his hair.
“It’s not hand-worthy.”
“What?” He smiles a little, bringing out a dimple again.
“Don’t go grabbing at your hair, Carnegie. Just don’t speak of me. And hurry back.”
As it happens, he’s gone until near four o’clock. He returns with a nice, sloppy grin and heavy eyelids, reeking of liquor and cigarettes, craving my body. He throws two blankets on the living room floor and urges me onto my hands and knees. Then he lies on his back below me, suckling my breasts until I’m so wet between my legs, I’ve started trembling with the need for release.
“I can’t take it…” I laugh, a soft quaver.
