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I am so desperate for him, I ache to feel him between my legs, hot and strong inside me. He’s disposed of my underwear and I hover over him, my fingers finding his cock and circling it tentatively at first and then more confidently as he groans. ‘Fuuuuck...’ The word is long and slow, the vowel extended, the tone dark.
‘That’s my plan.’ I grin, lifting up and taking him inside me. Just his tip at first, and then he thrusts into me. It’s been so long and he’s so big that I feel almost as though it’s my first time. I have forgotten how it feels to be so completely joined with someone. Have I ever felt this?
He holds my hips and anchors me so that I am on top while he is still somehow in control. He draws me down his length, my wetness slicking him, and then he holds me still while he thrusts into me, powerful and perfect. I am a bundle of feelings.
I tilt my head back, cresting along the wave of pleasure that his body offers, and when his hands run over my stomach, towards my breasts, his fingertips finding my nipples, I cry out—it’s more pleasure than I have ever known. I am frightened and empowered all at once.
‘It’s so good,’ I moan, lifting my hips now and trying to make him feel what I am, but he grips my hips tight and tumbles me back onto the bed, his eyes clashing with mine, daring me to argue.
His removal is an agony of extreme proportions. He pulls away from me and I push up onto my elbows, prepared to chase him—prepared to chase him to the ends of the earth if necessary.
He strides to his bedside table and pulls something small and metallic out and it is the first time I recognise that I haven’t even thought of a condom. I would have had sex with him; I would have welcomed his release if he had offered it, without hesitation.
It is frightening enough to draw me out of the moment. ‘Oh, my God.’
‘What?’ He’s worried for me. It colours his expression and a drum bangs somewhere near my heart. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No, I just can’t believe I didn’t think of protection.’
His smile is my crack cocaine. ‘I guess you really wanted this.’ And he pushes back inside me, now with him on top, and it feels new and different all over again. Doubts have no space in the field of pleasure; I am simply a ball of nerve endings and they are delighting in his nearness.
I realise that he was holding back before; perhaps worried about the complications of being in me without a barrier. Now he thrusts hard, possessing me as though it is his path to happiness and joy, as though I am his anchor point.
The wave collects me and every thrust brings me higher upon it, taking me to its peak, rolling me in its crest and dumping me onto the next wave, dragging me higher and higher until I am so close to the stars I swear I could reach out and touch them. My fingers drag over the sheets, but I feel celestial magic within my grasp and then I hear a noise, a sharp, loud, agonised cry—it takes me a moment to realise it is the sound of my own ecstasy, wrapping around us both. It takes me a moment to realise that an orgasm is wrenching me apart, one delightful sob at a time.
And then he is with me, his fingers laced through mine, his body racked with the same grip of release, our cries combined, our breath fast, our bodies coated in sweat despite the coolness of the morning. He drops on top of me afterwards and I wrap my arms around him instinctively; my legs too. As though I am afraid he will withdraw and I will lose him—and this—even when I know that I must. That it is the natural conclusion to what we are and what we’ve done.
I can’t think about that yet.
His breath is heavy and his body heavier still. I stay there, my arms wrapped around him, until he is unbearably heavy and then I shift a little, sliding sideways at the same moment I realise that he has fallen asleep. I wriggle out completely, my eyes searching his face, seeing the beauty in his sleep and recognising that it is, nonetheless, a tortured, unsettled repose. No rest for Noah. Not really.
What demons drive his tormented nights? What devils demand this fractured sleep of him? I want to know—not only because I want to help but because I need to understand. He is a puzzle that I suddenly, desperately ache to complete. He is an answer to a question I don’t know how to pose.
I watch him sleep for a long time. At least ten minutes. I wait for him to wake, as he says he does, but his eyelids are flickering like moths near a flame and I suppose then that he is fast asleep. Knowing what a rare commodity this is for him, I dismiss the very idea of waking him.
Besides, I need space and time to process what I’ve done. To acknowledge this development and allow it into my being—to allow this to make up a part of my truth now.
I step out of the bed silently. There is nothing to remove from the mezzanine but myself. All my clothes and personal items remain where I left them, or where he left them—I’m still so foggy on the details of last night.
I creep down the stairs like a burglar post-heist, and it is only once I discover my shirt and trousers, neatly folded on the kitchen bench, that I realise I’ve left my underpants in his bed somewhere.
I look guiltily towards the mezzanine but think better of retrieving them. I plan to take a cab straight home—better that I don’t wake him for a pair of briefs.
I dress quickly and, at the door, take one last look in the direction of where he’s sleeping. I can hear his breathing, steady and rhythmic. I close my eyes, inhale and allow myself to imagine that I am still there with him, his arm perhaps casually thrown over my body, his hair flopping onto the pillow.
With a shake of my head to clear the seductive image, I take the irreversible step of leaving his home, of pulling the door shut firmly behind me. I am now on this side of Noah’s world and he on the other.
We are worlds apart.
* * *
I wake as the door clicks shut, but I don’t move. I know instinctively what the door signals and I fight every residual sensation of having been left. I feel every single closed door. And Holly is now a part of that.
I stretch my arms and roll over, keeping my eyes shut. Not in the futile pursuit of sleep so much as an attempt to replay what we’ve just shared. I can smell her in my bed; I can hear her in my bed. Her fervent, vocal pleasure. Her surprise at the orgasm.
It was painfully obvious that s
he hadn’t felt like that before and I am glad for my sake, and sorry for hers.
