Will gripped his shirt at the back of his neck and pulled it off, tossing it absently to the couch. “Turn around then,” he said, motioning with his finger.
I did what he asked, turning to see his worn leather chair just behind me. I loved that chair, and so did Will. Loved to curl up in it while I worked, my legs tucked underneath me and my laptop balanced on the arm. I loved when Will sat in this chair and I sat in the other and we were both quiet, no words needed as we read or watched TV. And I especially loved when he would let me climb into his lap, burrow my way into whatever blanket he was using, and watch a movie. And despite having had sex on almost every piece of furniture we owned, we’d never done it there, on one of his favorite possessions—the chair he’d taken with him from home to home throughout his adult years.
I took a step forward. “Like this?” I asked, sinking into the seat, knees pressed to the cushion and facing away from him.
“Just like that.” Warm hands unclasped my bra and pulled it from my body. Will’s fingers tickled over my ribs before moving to the waistband of my pants, toying with them for a moment before pushing both them and my underwear down my thighs to stop at my knees.
Cool air moved over my skin and I felt bare for him, exposed. I closed my eyes as his fingers tiptoed back up my spine, counting every vertebra, registering every shiver. When he reached my neck, he slipped his hand into my hair, twisting where it was still loosely knotted on top, gripping it, holding it tight and using it for leverage to push me forward, my torso, my stomach, my breasts curved over the cold leather.
“Good,” he murmured, and I was aware of him moving away, of the rustle of fabric as he undressed behind me. I wanted to turn and look, but by the time I’d worked up the courage to do so, the cushion dipped again and he was there, warm along the back of my body. His lips found my shoulder, my cheek. I felt him suck against the skin of my neck, surely leaving a mark. “Love you.”
I turned into his kiss and gasped at the juxtaposition of the cool leather on my stomach and breasts and the fiery heat of his body against my back.
Will reached between us and took hold of himself, dragging the head of his cock—warm and slightly wet at the tip—between my legs to brush over my clit. Back and forth, back and forth.
“Want you to open your legs,” he said, and I did as instructed. “A little more.”
I pushed my knees as far as they would go, flush against the arms of the chair. Satisfied, he placed a soft kiss on my nose.
“You want this?” he asked, stilling just where I needed him, just the head slipping inside before pulling out again. “Want me to play, or just fuck you?”
“Fuck me,” I said, rocking my hips to chase the feeling, to get him to move. “Will.”
“Shhh,” he said. “I have you.”
He teased me anyway, coating himself in the slickness there before pushing forward.
Will had a tendency to lose himself for a few moments when he got inside me, to swear or say my name, to whisper incoherencies into my skin, as if he was so overcome to just be there that he might come at any second. Today was no exception, and he groaned against my hair, breath coming out in short, hot bursts as he moved slowly, inch by inch until his pelvis was flush against my ass, his flat stomach pressed to the curve of my spine.
“It’s so good,” he said, teeth nipping at my shoulder, hips moving in slow, grinding circles. “So fucking warm around me.” He sucked at my skin and took my breasts in both of his hands, squeezing them, pinching my nipples before sliding one hand down between my legs.
I was wet and slippery and his fingers migrated down, right where I wanted them. “There.”
“Yeah?” Will asked, and I nodded, whimpering as I felt my body clutch him. I tried to push back, tried to hold him inside me before he pulled out again. We moved together like that, the sound of sex filtering through the room, broken up only by the occasional thump or voices from the people in the neighboring apartments.
He sped up, relentless, and I searched for something to hold on to, some way to anchor myself. I reached behind me, gripping his hip with one hand and draping the other over the back of the chair, my cheek turned to the cool leather. His skin was slick with sweat and I dug my nails in, knowing that would only make it better for him.
Will swore, his breath ragged and hot against my back, and I begged, not caring if the people upstairs could hear me, the people on the other side of the walls. “Harder. Harder, Will. Please.”
“Fuck, Plum.” He sped up, frantic, and I could hear the slap of his skin against mine, the sound of the chair as the back legs cleared the edge of the carpet and scraped along the wooden floor.