This is how to fit months of sexual tension into three days:
My stilettos threaten to slip between cracks on the deck. I have to stop kissing him to take them off. I have to stop kissing him and his hand draws back from under my skirt and I can’t stand it, not even for a second. I’ve been too long without kissing. I need more.
I’d forgotten how messy sex without condoms can be. I’d forgotten how much I love it. I’m forgetting words other than “yes” and “more” and “please.” He’s still looking at me like I’m performing miracles every time I come. I don’t know why. I don’t want it to stop.
He says “I need to fuck you” but it only makes me moan. I have his cock in my mouth. His hand is trembling in my hair. It almost feels like hes pushing me away, apologizing as he thrusts into my throat. I’m struggling not to gag, but the struggle makes me want this more. This is what I’m greedy for: feeling him tremble, hearing him gasp. I want to be solid while he quakes. I don’t want to stop.
He stops me. I’m pulled up his body into kisses that are all hunger and teeth. He says “I need to fuck you.”
I tell him “no.” Our bodies are pressed together. I writhe. He shakes.
“I need to fuck you.”
He’s pleading, between kisses, for anything more than kissing. I tell him “no” as I slide two fingers into my cunt. I try to keep kissing him though I’m struggling for balance and for breath. He’s making a face like he’s in pain. I want to draw this out, seeing him this desperate, but it’s too much. I make myself come, far too quickly.
He insists it went on for hours.
Kissing, every moment I can steal one. In my hammock. Through the walls of a grave. In the passenger seat of my car, my knees around his hips, hoping my skirt drapes over his hands. I can’t get enough. He doesn’t try to stop me.
I fall asleep, or into something spinning and dark that might be sleep. He wakes up to ask if I’m okay, more than once. I’m okay, nervous about being not-okay but not uncomfortable being touched. We don’t sleep late, up near sunrise and unable to keep our hands off of each other.
I’m half-growling at him to fuck me. He knows I’m sore already. I know neither of us really cares. He pauses anyway. Asks if I’m sure. I’m more than sure. Demanding. He says “yes, ma’am,” and I don’t know whether it’s the words or finally feeling him inside me that makes me moan. His mouth is everywhere. On my mouth, holding me quiet. Teeth on my breast, making my body arch up into his. I keep asking for more. He keeps giving it to me.
We need to leave for the airport. He’s complaining that my underwear’s teasing, that he can see too much through the mesh, so I take it off. He reaches under my dress as we kiss goodbye, briefly slips his fingers into me before getting out of the car.