And speaking of seeing God, Leo’s right hand slid up my thigh, slipped underneath, and pulled it around his hip. That rough, callused hand on my soft inner thigh made me want to weep, it was already so good. While I was still able to speak, I lifted his head from my shoulder looked him in the eye.
“If this happens—and I need this to happen . . .” I paused, because though his lips had stopped, his hips had not, and the slow grind was brain melting. My own hips circled, aching, needing.
“Need is a curious word,” he murmured with a slow circle of his hips. “You need food. You need water. You need shelter.”
“Sex. Sex is also a need,” I panted as his lips moved down to bite my neck. With one hand—one hand!—he tore my camisole from my body. I blinked. The poly/Lycra was now tatters and shreds. I blinked again. Holy shit.
“I was getting to the sex,” he replied, using the same hand to flick open the back of my bra and toss that over his shoulder as well. Eyes flaring as he took me in, he now spoke directly to my breasts. “I was thinking that the word need was curious because right now, I needed to see your tits more than almost anything else in the world. Not would have liked to, or gee that’d be great—I need to see your tits.”
Laughter bubbled up from inside me, spilling out over him, washing the sticky hot night with a tiny dose of silly, which was mirrored in his eyes as he raised them from my chest to my face, his mouth lifted slightly in the corner.
I settled into his good, strong hands, which were already so at home on my body. At home? Dangerous.
“I’m glad you’re as happy with our arrangement as I am,” I said, dodging his gaze. Why did using that term feel strange with Leo? Distant. Detached. Lonely?
I felt his gaze on me and forced mine up to meet it. He held it for a few seconds, looking carefully at me, and I could feel my resolve start to crumble. But then he nodded his head, his mouth returning to my skin, urgent, wanting, and needing. And I gave myself over to it all.
Suddenly we were lying on across the threshold, half inside the house and half out on the porch and where did my panties go? Everything was Leo, everything was his hands and his lips and his mouth and how perfectly my heel fit into that dip just above his ass and how insanely amazing his skin felt against mine and where did his shirt go? Everything was my back arching and his tongue moving and my hands grasping and his hands splaying and my hips lifting and his beard scratching and where did his jeans go?
It was an eon. It was five seconds. I have no idea how we came to be on the floor or to be naked, but all I know is he whispered, “I have a condom,” and I whispered, “You were awfully presumptuous,” and he whispered, “Was that wrong?” and I whispered, “Hell no, I’ve got one in my purse just in case you wanted to do exactly this,” and he whispered, “It’s been a long time for me,” and I whispered, “That’s okay,” and he whispered, “I don’t know how long I can last,” and I whispered, “Fuck me furious, then,” and he groaned and I moaned and. He. Pushed. Inside. He was thick and hard and I was wet and warm and he kept his eyes on mine the entire time, not letting me look away, not letting me shrink away from this intimate contact. For an age he pushed inside, as he panted and I gasped, and holy hell, it felt like the world slowed down and then stopped spinning altogether, becoming only the feel of him, pulsing low and deep and I could feel my heart literally beating around him.
Once he was inside, he didn’t move. He just rose over me, his strong arms on either side of my head, and gazed down at me, something like relief on his face, something almost sad. But then the corner of his mouth lifted, and lust crowded back into his eyes, and his hips thrust into mine. “Fucking hell, Roxie,” he groaned, and he laid back down on me, my legs wrapped firmly around his waist.
It was furious.
On the porch, in the middle of the night, under a cover of darkness and to the delightful sounds of mosquito zapping, I lay tangled in a heap of naked farmer. Limbs splayed, heads lolling, hands still roaming in that sweet lazy way after orgasms rocket through and turn everyone into goo. Happy goo. Intensely satisfied goo.