Sinful Longing

“I want to know how it feels without any barriers,” she said, wrapping both hands around him now, leading him closer to the promised land.

The prospect of flesh against flesh, skin on skin, electrified him. But a kernel of worry set up camp, too, and he remained stock still as he asked, “Are you sure? I mean, should we?”

“I’m on the pill.”

“But…”

“I wasn’t when I was younger. The condom broke. The pill has been fantastic. But we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, I want to. I just want to make sure it makes sense.”

She nodded. “It does. It works.”

He positioned his cock between her legs and rubbed the head against her wetness. Roping her arms around his neck, she drew him closer. She spread her legs, wrapping them around his hips as he sank into her. He trembled from the absolutely exquisite feel of her hot * gripping his dick. “You’re so fucking wet,” he said as he hitched her leg up higher, giving himself a better angle.

“I always am with you,” she said, then raised her face to his and claimed his lips. She kissed him, and he fucked her, and soon that was all he knew. The deep and primal drive to fill her. The heat flooding his body. Her fingernails running the length of his spine. And her mouth, her decadent, sinful lips fused to his, kissing him greedily as he took her.

Hard.

Deep.

Rough.

She let go of his mouth and yanked him closer, kissing his neck, his face, moving her lips to his ear. “I love the way you fuck me,” she whispered, her voice fevered.

So fiery. She was so damn fiery and passionate. It drove him wild. “Fucking you is amazing. Do you have any idea why it’s so good?” he said in a heated voice as he stroked.

“Tell me.”

“Because it’s more than fucking.” The words tumbled from his lips. He hadn’t planned to tell her now, but he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t pretend. She was more than this. She was so much more than the physical. He pulled back to look at her. Maybe he’d scared her. Maybe she’d freeze up again. But her lips were parted, her eyes were wide open, and she gazed back at him, not letting go.

“I know it is,” she whispered, the words like poetry to his ears. Sweet, gorgeous music.

“It’s more than what it used to be.”

“So much more,” she murmured as she moved with him. They were finishing each other’s sentences, filling in what the other was saying. They both felt it. There was no other way.

Their bodies coiled together. She was slick and hot, and so was he, and he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of her, couldn’t imagine this stopping at just sex. No, this was way more than fucking. It was fucking and falling at the same damn time, and nothing—no drug, no drink, no high-flying parachute dive—had ever felt as good as coming together with the woman he desired madly.

Coming together…and falling apart.

*

She shivered as he ran his fingertips over her sparrows. “These are my favorite,” he said, kissing them.

She trembled in his arms, her back to him as he held her. She barely felt like herself. She was some other version of Elle Mariano in these stolen moments with Colin. And she loved this version. She savored being this woman. Not a mom. Not a social worker. Not a woman with secrets that couldn’t be shared. She wore only her bra and panties, and he was clad in his briefs. They’d eaten Thai while watching the final ten minutes of Goodfellas, reciting the closing lines together. Then they’d managed one more quick round, and now the clock was racing closer to the end of the night. She had to leave in thirty minutes.

“Why do you like them?”

“Because I love your neck, and these birds are like a homing beacon to me.”

“That’s why I got them.”

“To draw me to your neck?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. Because in olden days, sailors would follow birds to land. That’s how they knew when they were coming close to shore. There’s a legend about a sailor who found his way home by spotting sparrows. I just love the idea of finding your way home.”

“When did you get this one?”

“Five years ago. Things were really rough with Sam then. It was his third or fourth rehab stint. I lost count. But I needed the reminder that I could find my own way home,” she said, glad it was a topic she could freely discuss. Though they’d talked about their ink before, they’d never delved into it in great detail.

“I like that idea. I believe that’s true. You can find your way home,” he said softly, and she craned her neck to look at him. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and night had fallen. Dark shadows lined his face from the waning light in the windows; he’d only turned on one lamp.

“I believe it, too. And sometimes you have to rely on something outside of yourself to do that.”

“Who or what did you rely on?”

“My mom, my sister, my son. Basically, my family,” she said.