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She pauses and stares at me. Then she holds her hands horizontally, as if to frame the top and bottom of my face.
“It’s too weird. The hair, the beard. Can you take them off?” she asks.
I shake my head. “The hair requires some magic superpowerunglue. And the beard? It’s actually mine. But I am not willing to shave right now because my beard has a deep desire to rub itself againstyour inner thighs and it will not hear of missing that opportunity.”
I lift the foot of the duvet and tug Virginia’s legs. She slides toward me and I drop to the floor, putting the crooks of her knees over my shoulders. With her calves on my back, she pulls us closer, so the heat of my breath pushes back to me from the warmth of her sex.
I press the tip of my nose just above her clit and my lips against her soft skin. Her hips arch forward in invitation. But I want to spend as much time here as she’ll allow, which means taking it slowly, not getting greedy. I tilt my head so my chin touches her inner thigh. She squirms and squeals.
“It’s ticklish!”
I press my mouth hard against her and growl while my tongue starts to explore her soft curves and sexy crevices. When I lick her opening, she responds with a moan followed by a flow of fluid that tells me, weird, ticklish beard or not, Virginia is present. She is comfortable and feeling safe, and that is all I need to stop holding back.
I spread her wide with my fingers and lap in long, flat-tongued strokes. I can feel the shape of her change and her lips get fuller as her blood seeks my attention.
“Will,” she stutters.
I look up her body. She’s squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open.
“Fu-uck.” I had planned to spend an hour here, between her legs, but this is an invitation I can’t turn down. First, I have to make her come.
I insert two fingers and pulse them the way I’ve learned drives her wild while my tongue vibrates on her clit. Her contracting inner muscles and how she’s pressing her hips as close to my face as she possibly can tell me she’s silently pleading for me to finish the job.
Within a second of feeling her lose all control, Virginia rolls away, pulling my fingers out and my tongue off of her shaking body.
I feel like we’re good.
I hope we’re good.
I need to know we’re good.
“Virginia …” I slide into the bed beside her.
She presses herself to me, so our hearts are touching.
“You came back. For me.”
“I came back. For us.”
40. Will
A FAKE FLOWER IN FULL BLOOM
The next day, I negotiate renewing the rental with the owner and also pick up the cost to upgrade a VRBO for the people that Virginia and I displace by staying in this house that she loves and where I feel comfortable enough to relax. We lie low, out of the public eye, for weeks.
Derek, the chef, agrees to stay as long as his partner can join us. Aziz asks to be assigned to day coverage in Lily Valley, which I’m thrilled about since I can’t spend as much time on the hiking trails as Virginia would like, being in the midst of reworking the Power Industries business plan.
Everyone is happy, but no one is as happy as I am.
Virginia and I establish a routine that fuels and fulfills both our needs. We let the sunlight wake us, which means we’re sleeping until eight a.m., unheard of for me. It feels decadent but also sensible, since Virginia has helped me understand seasonal energy cycles. As the days shorten, so does my workday, but my productivity has remained equal, if not better.
“It’s because you’ve stopped fighting nature,” she says.
That may be, but I’m also sleeping a solid seven hours without waking. The threat of nightmares is a distant memory.
We wake, spend thirty minutes fueling our physical touch tanks—otherwise known as having full-contact sex—eat a healthy, gourmet breakfast, and then work for a few hours until lunch is served at one.
We all have dinner together—James, Aziz, Derek and his partner, Jim, join us like some modern upstairs/downstairs amalgamation.
