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I touch her face. I want her to turn so I can kiss her. I start thrusting into her, and I feel like I could just let go, but I don’t. I want this to be the greatest sex she’s ever have. I want this to be the sex she compares all other sexual acts with.
“Oh…oh…” I turn her over and place her feet over my shoulders, and I look down at myself slowly entering her tight pussy. I lean over and kiss her on the neck softly, then run my hands over her breasts. My cock slams into her and she groans again, her head tilting back as her eyes flutter closed.
“Oh…”
I scissor my fingers over her nipples and squeeze them. A little pain never hurt anyone. My princess lifts from the floor as I place my hands under her ass and thrust in deep. She moves against me in the best way. We’re in a great rhythm together, taking and giving, taking and giving, taking and giving.
I pull out of her and manage to hold back, but in my mind, I want to come all over her body and leave her in a web of stickiness.
“Oh, Nathan.” She squirms under me, my cock full and threatening to explode on her.
“Oh Nathan…” Her little fingers are lost in my thick dark hair as I kiss her neck. I glide inside of her and feel her precious body shutter against mine.
Her mouth is open and she looks at me as I near to kiss her; she wants it all night—I can tell—and I plan to give it to her. I want to explore her every part and just get lost in her. This is how I connect with women, through sex.
I want to be in her, and not just a physical way. I want to wander through her the way I used to wander through the woods as a boy; hoping to find all sorts of things, not just the relaxing shade from the sun, but snakes and butterflies and darkness and lightness that falls between the leaves and all that. Every person is made of such things, and I want to know all of Isadora’s fantastic forest things.
I sink into her and give her one more thrust, then I spill out in her. I hold her still, her body vibrating after mine lets go in one single pulsating thrust.
We lie on the floor for a while afterward, in silent comfort, and gaze up at the chandelier again. I stare for a long time at the pattern on the wall, my eyes just going over everything, all the immaculate detail. Maybe you see things differently after sex, maybe my head is all jumbled, but I look at all the colors and how everything makes sense in this nonsensical way. Is that how love is? One person meeting the other and there are all these feelings and experiences and fears and secrets, but somehow these two people with all this going on make it work. It just works, and it’s so beautiful and hypnotizing.
“Hey? You know those weird…what were they called? Those magic eye posters or whatever.”
She giggles. “In the 90s? Yes.”
“They were weird, right? The whole secret pattern? I feel like that’s how love is, like…I don’t know.”
She looks at me. “Sex has messed with your brain, Nathan,” she says. “At least the chandelier hasn’t fallen on us.”
“Nope. We’re still alive,” I say. I look over at her, her skin is glazed in a sex-dewy sweat. I turn on my side and kiss her arm, and she shuts her eyes.
I keep my eyes wide open however, because there is nothing—absolutely nothing—I want to miss as I lie in this room with her. I stare at every detail of her body, from her face to her neck to her chest, how perfectly round her nipples are, to her little hips and her nice long legs, and I realize how perfect she is. You must always, as a lover, admire the person you’re able to spend this time with.
I just want to study her so that when I go to bed tonight she is fresh in my mind. Every detail, the way she looks when I talk to her, the expression she makes. Everything. Her little ears and wide blue eyes. I want every detail of her plastered to my memory so I can have lovely fantasies about her before I drift off to sleep.
I trace my knuckles along her body, down her side, and over her stomach. She turns and looks at me, and I lean forward and give her a soft kiss.
“What we’ve shared in this room is something special, and I’m grateful,” I say.
Ugh. Is that something Vincent would say?
She smiles softly but doesn’t say what she’s thinking. This is what keeps me, and probably Vincent, too, on our toes. Isadora can be hard to read.
