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“I would for you, too,” I said. “I would do anything.”
“Would you let me kiss you?”
I was looking into his eyes and thinking that this was the person I trusted the most, the person I liked the most, the person I wanted to be with. Out of everyone in my entire life experience, he was it. I loved him so much.
“Yes,” I answered.
He leaned forward slowly, like he was afraid he would startle me. At first, the kiss was just like the one at our wedding: long and close, and sweet. The sweetness changed into something else when his tongue swept against my mouth and I parted my lips. It changed into desire. Bowie and I kissed deeply and then it started to get frantic, at least on my side. I grasped his shirt and when he pulled it off and over his head, I ran my hands over the muscles in his back, arms, and shoulders, trying to hold him closer.
He looked down at me. “Are you ok?”
I nodded, not able to say what I was feeling. It was like I needed him so much that I was crazy with it—not just that I needed his body, although I wanted that, too. I needed all of him.
Bowie pulled away from me and stood, but then he bent and picked me up, too, to take me with him. “I’ve been thinking for a while that the couch is too small for both of us,” he said.
“We should go to bed.”
“That sounded almost dirty, Mrs. Bowman,” he told me.
“That was exactly how I meant it to sound,” I answered, and he grinned. We did go there, and he placed me on it and lay next to me to kiss me again, except that then we were rolling, our limbs entwined, me wiggling on top of him to get closer, him pulling at my clothes and getting caught in his own pants.
“We need a bigger bed, too,” he told me, and I gasped a “yes” back to him. I was involved in helping him to remove those stupid pants and then his hands slid up my legs to remove mine, and then higher, caressing over my ribs and arms as my shirt went over my head.
“Oh, damn.” Bowie was looking down at me and his eyes were big. “Lissa.”
“You’ve seen me in the Wonderwomen uniform.”
“But now I’m seeing you in my bed,” he said. “And I’m touching you.”
He did, cupping my breasts and sliding his palms over my nipples. I reached behind myself to unhook my bra so I could feel his touch against my skin.
“Oh, damn,” he said again, and dipped his head to my chest. His mouth was so warm and it felt even better than his hands, even better than his fingers on my other breast. He let go and put mouth everywhere else. He kissed my shoulder and the dip between my collarbone and my neck, he kissed my breastbone, he kissed my bellybutton. He kissed the elastic at the top of my underwear and then traced underneath that with his tongue.
“Please take those off,” I asked him, and then added, “I don’t need them very much.”
“No, I don’t think you do. Me, neither.”
When we were both naked, he resumed the kissing, starting at the toes of my injured foot and then my ankle as he massaged his hands up my calf. He kissed my other arch, then behind my knee, and then he slid his hands beneath me to hold my legs and part them.
He kissed up my thighs, one side, then the other. He kissed my clitoris and he used his tongue to tease there, and he used his lips to suckle. His hands now gripped my butt and lifted me toward that suction and I pressed my body to him, because this feeling was so overwhelming, was so glorious, was so orgasmic. I held my own breasts and told him that I was going to come.
“Bowie!” I called, and I did. It went in waves, from the toes he’d kissed and ending in a cry from my mouth, and then clenching and rolling through me again, and again.
His hips moved against me in waves of their own, and I knew he’d be so, so good at any dance that required him to loosen them. “You’re a natural,” I said, but my words were slurred with pleasure.
“What’s that, honey? That was all right?”
I nodded and traced my fingers slowly around his body. I drew across the tattoos, and around indentations of muscle, the blonde hair on his chest, his nipples. I let my fingers skate down to where his erection rested heavily against my hip.
“Oh, damn,” he breathed again, and closed his eyes. Pleasure washed over his face.
It was all so electrifying, and by that I meant that it felt like electric currents were darting through my body. I pulsed as I continued to stroke him. I kissed where my fingers had been, down the taut cords of his neck and around his clenched jaw, across his chest where I bit his nipples, over the tattoos and the muscle. Bowie turned onto his back and I rested my cheek on his hip as I stroked him gently.
He folded his fingers around mine and moved my hand faster, and then I leaned and licked the tip, rolling my tongue across it.
“Lissa!”
He picked me up, moving me to straddle his hips and he watched where our bodies joined as I slowly sank down, taking him inside, deeper, and deeper, and deeper. I closed my eyes as he filled me and when I opened them, his gaze was on my face.
