“I love your body, Porter,” I said against his mouth and I meant it. He’d always had a nice body, but I hadn’t found a lot of time lately to admire it. But now, with my hands running smoothly and bravely over the contours of his perfectly sculpted torso, I was free to admire how wonderfully built he was. “You’re perfect.”
He groaned, wrapping one strong arm around my middle and sweeping me off the washing machine, his other arm holding me behind my knees, he carried me from the laundry room. My arms wrapped themselves around the back of his neck and I continued kissing him, remembering that last time he carried me like this when we had come home from our honeymoon. Him always the traditionalist, carrying me over the threshold. I smiled against him, the memory having a serene effect on me.
He sat on the couch and we both landed with a thud, but it mattered not because his mouth was back on mine and he pulled me closer to him still. I sat on his lap but couldn’t get as close as I wanted, so I moved to straddle him, one knee on either side of his hips. It was only when I had pressed my center against him that I thought it might not have been a good idea. He must have sense my unease because he pulled back and his eyes found mine.
“Are you ok?” His voice was gravelly and raspy in a way that made every hair on my body stand at attention. “Ella?”
“Mmm hmm,” I mumbled, moving my lips to his neck. Hearing him gasp as my lips met the skin there, tasting him, thrilled me. Perhaps, even though I wasn’t as skinny as I used to be or as put together, maybe I could still get to him, still turn him on and affect him the way he affected me.
I tentatively and very slowly used my hips to grind into him. I could feel him beneath me, feel his arousal, and I desperately needed to feel him against me.
“Ella, no, stop.” My heart stopped, not accustomed to hearing him put things to a halt between us. He brought his lips back to mine and continued to kiss me, but my confusion was keeping me from enjoying his mouth at the moment. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said by way of explanation. He was worried about me.
I was acutely aware of my body, obsessively so, in fact. I had been ever since I’d given birth. At first, everything had hurt, with good reason; a baby will seriously mess everything up. It hurt to sit, it hurt to stand, it hurt—period. But as the days went by and things began to heal, I took note of what was still painful and what seemed to be comfortable again. It had been two weeks since the birth of Mattie and I felt almost normal again. I didn’t feel like running a marathon and I didn’t want anything coming even remotely close to the inside of my vagina, but being with him, like this, felt wonderful. Well, it had until he’d told me to stop.
“Porter, please, I need this. I miss you.”
“If I hurt you, Ella, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I whispered as I slowly rocked myself against him, watching his eyes roll to the back of his head, groaning. “It feels incredible.” I took his lower lip in between my teeth and pulled gently, trying to convince him to let me play, to trust me enough to give me this. “This is all I want. Nothing more.” My lips went back to blazing a trail along his throat, over his neck, behind his ear, and I felt the moment he gave in. He wrapped his hands around my hips, not stopping me but aiding me.
I moved my mouth to his, thanking him, cherishing him, and we kissed like teenagers under the bleachers. We kissed like we were afraid of getting caught. We kissed like two people desperately in love who hadn’t kissed in ages. We kissed like it was the only thing keeping us alive anymore.
His hands pulled my shirt up over my head and I had one tiny moment of fear that his seeing my bare stomach might end this, but then his mouth moved down my neck, his hands pulling down gently on my hips, and I forgot I was supposed to feel self-conscious. I forgot everything except the way he was making me feel—which was incredible. Loved. Wanted.
I was only wearing a pair of thin yoga pants—my new mommy wardrobe—and the elasticity of the fabric made it possible for me to feel every ridge of the bulge in Porter’s jeans. His hand slid around my waist then under the material of my pants as he grazed my ass. I felt a gentle yet firm grasp against my backside as he pulled me on to him further still. I gasped against his mouth, suddenly a little afraid of what might happen between us. I had not had an orgasm since before giving birth and I wasn’t sure what it would feel like now. Should I be expecting pain? Should I stop this before it went too far?
Porter pulled against me again and I felt nothing but unadulterated pleasure, which I showed with a guttural moan. His hands moved from my backside and roamed over my stomach, gliding up my torso and cupped my breasts. I nearly melted at the care and gentleness with which he treated me. He didn’t grab or squeeze; I felt the slightest feather of touches as his thumbs floated over my nipples, causing a whole new wave of arousal to flood through me.
“Porter,” I gasped, so close to the edge.