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He caught my wrist before I had what I wanted, earning him a mewl of frustration as he set my hand at my side, effectively putting me on my back. He shifted to kiss down my body, putting anything but his broad shoulders and dark hair out of reach. His first pause was to trace the curve of my breast, to fill his palm with my flesh, to taste my peaked nipple with an eager tongue until my hips shifted against his torso and my thighs spread wider in invitation. An invitation he took, though too slowly for my liking. His breath teased the flushed skin low on my belly, then my thighs as he maneuvered them to part wide, fitting his shoulders beneath them. The feather brush of his tongue was torture, the stroke of his finger parting my rippling flesh. Impatient, I slid my fingers into his hair and squeezed, only needing to tug to put myself into his hot, waiting mouth.
The sigh was long, as was the roll of my hips, taking him along by way of lips latched to that sacred place, caught in a twist of his tongue. It was all I could think of, the vision of his broad shoulders hooked under my legs, his denim-clad ass in the distance, one thigh hitched in my direction. His hands, big and tan, curling around my legs, his face buried between them. That face, all strong angles and shadows, his black lashes brushing his cheeks as he took my pleasure for his.
Then, all I could think about was how terribly empty I was of him and how desperately I wanted him inside me.
When I rose so I could reach him better, his heavy lids opened, his eyes meeting mine and holding them for just a moment longer. A breath later, his lips were against mine, the taste of my body mingling with his. But he broke the kiss, laying me down without joining me. Instead, he rid himself of his jeans, rising to his knees between my legs, spreading them wider. His face was shadowed by his hair, the moonlight kissing every blessed curve of his body, every plane, all the way down to the V between his hips and the shaft of his cock, where my eyes stopped. My heart fluttered in my chest painfully as I watched his fist close around himself and pump until his head disappeared. On reappearing, my body flexed, squeezing nothing, imagining him.
On earning my moan, he descended, one hand on his base and the other planted in the bed next to me. His head tilted, lips parted until his crown found the heat he sought, stroking the line, slicking my tip. And when it reached the dip again, it was to slide into me in a long, breathless thrust that he held, trembling, when he’d filled me to the hilt.
When his lips found mine again, our bodies rolled, meeting in flashes of desire that lasted too long and were never enough. Through an eternity and a heartbeat. Time was a construct decided by the heat of our bodies as they drew closer. As breaths shallowed, hearts racing. As the advance and retreat of his body struck a flame in mine, stoking it to a wildfire. He swelled inside me or I tightened, drawing him closer, begging him deeper until I came around him in a rush of delirium. I was still pulsing when he sped, rising, hips pumping, jaw clenching, and when he came, my own release came to second life at the sight of his.
Spent, he sagged, his weight crushing what little breath I still had out of me. I barely noticed it, wrapping my heavy arms around him, holding him to me in the hopes he’d stay there with me, forever sated in each other’s arms where we were safe.
21
SINCERELY
KEATON
The entirety of Tilly’s bar was singing along with Uber Stan as he sang “Friends In Low Places,” half-drunk and wholly off-key. And by everyone, I meant everyone but me. But I had on a smile that couldn’t be stopped, which was enough for a participation prize from Daisy in the form of a kiss.
Old Stan went on, hamming it up for the crowd, strutting around the stage like a peacock. Our town didn’t actually have an Uber driver, just Stan, his flip phone, and an old Suburban with a makeshift Uber sign stuck in the window.
Nobody had the heart to tell him that wasn’t how it worked.
When his song ended, he bowed to the whoops and hollers from the crowd before shuffling off the stage, waving. Tilly took his mic.
“Thank ‘ya, Stan. And somebody volunteer to Stan home, would you?” When somebody yelled, I got him! She answered, “Thanks, Eugene. And for the rest of you, y’all are gonna have to find your own way home tonight.”
