#romynation

               Only then did the barely-there smile fade from his lips.  Whatever was in her eyes, he’d read it.  This wasn’t play.  She pulled his head down towards hers and tilted her face into his kiss.  Their mouths moved together, slowly at first, then with growing passion.  The equation of their lust was so obvious, so simple, that it amazed her that it had taken this long for them to get here, that the distractions outside of it had seemed so important.  It impressed upon her a sense of wasted time and she dropped her hand to his stomach, then lower.

               He was naked under the sweatpants, already – already – half hard, and she stroked him through the soft fabric, aroused by the memory of him inside her, by the unashamed need for it again.

               He made a sound in the back of his throat without breaking their kiss, one that simultaneously said stop and more, please.  It was the first real signal of submission he’d given her, the first sign that she was the one in control.  She broke their kiss and watched his face as she stroked him, watched what she did to him – an incredible turn-on in and of itself.

               “I want you inside me,” she whispered – an honest tease.  She gave him an enigmatic little smile and released him, a temporary mercy that he probably didn’t want at all. She gripped the hem of his tee and slowly tugged it up his torso.  She pulled the thing off of him and tossed it aside.

               The breaths were surging through his body like the rhythm of the tides; she leaned in and kissed his collarbone, a tiny concession that for some reason she felt compelled to give him.  Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants and she teased the things down over his hips, his thighs… and when they’d finally hit the ground he was back in her hand and she was pleasuring him relentlessly.

               The back of his head hit the door, but he didn’t make a sound, just let out this long, shallow, wavering breath.  For several moments he was off in some other place, and she bit her lip against a wicked little smile, at what she knew she must be doing to him – until he lowered his head again and fixed her a glare that was one part smouldering and one part you dirty bitch, which immediately wiped the smile from her face.  His fist clamped onto her wrist roughly, halting her mid-action.

               “I will come in your hand if you don’t stop that right now, chere,” he told her in a voice that almost made it sound like a threat.

               She resisted the urge to tell him that was probably the idea, that there was worse she could inflict on him.  She had the stark impulsion to get on her knees and taste him, suck him, make him beg for her in ways he’d never begged a woman before.  But she wanted the violent intimacy of him inside her more, and so she released him.  His breaths lengthened, steadied.  He lifted her arm and slowly backed her away from him, manoeuvring her round so that they’d switched positions.  He pressed her arm up against the wall and then his body against hers; his erection was hot and hard against her stomach and it took her breath away.  Up till this moment he’d been passive, letting her figure out whatever pace she wanted to set, and it was only now, when he had her where he had her now, that she realised just how much he’d been holding back.

               He smiled and leaned in, his mouth capturing hers in a passionate yet brief kiss that left her wanting more as soon as he’d taken it away.  Slowly, inch by painful inch, he began to roll the vest up past her ribcage, her breasts, over her head, flinging it aside.  Almost immediately his hands were gliding over her body as if to reacquaint themselves with something too long denied.

               They kissed again, soft, fleeting nips that paused only when he began to push her shorts and underwear down over her hips and thighs.  She watched on as he got to his knees in front of her – a pose of almost blatant supplication – and peeled the rest of her clothing down her legs, without once breaking eye contact with her.  His palms ran up her calves to the backs of her knees, caressing her there in light circles before hooking her left leg and raising it slightly.  Instinctively her hands slid through his hair, and he shifted slightly, taking a little of her weight against his shoulder.

               He kissed the junction of her thigh, and then the hot, wet centre of her.

               For a few seconds everything tunnelled, her senses exploding in a blazing white heat of pleasure.

               A long, inarticulate moan left her mouth, and oh Lord she was ready to do anything he wanted, he could tempt her to any madness possible and she would say yes… …

               No sooner had the thought entered her mind than he had backed away from her – she heard him laugh, soft and playful, a sure sign that this was his way of levelling the playing field between them, of getting back at her.  He kissed his way leisurely back up her body, evidently in no hurry to appease either her desire or his own.  Suddenly his lips were there, on her throat, her neck, her chin, her ear – she swivelled her face so that she could finally taste him, and this time their kiss was long and deep and greedy.  When they pulled apart there was this look on his face – serious, no smiles – that was both pleasurable and deeply unsettling to her.  She didn’t have the inclination to analyse it – the hot weight of her lust was like an addiction in itself, demanding the transitory bliss of release at any cost. Her hand grasped his and she led him over to the bed with a barely veiled impatience.  The mattress creaked as she knelt on it; she looked back over her shoulder at him, her gaze sweeping over his body, wondering, momentarily, at the fact that such a beautiful, clever, glorious man as him could want a broken thing like her.

               His palm touched the small of her back, smoothing down over her buttock, like she was a statue, a work of art, not a broken thing at all.  What he made her feel was unspoiled.  Whole.

               “Come here,” she murmured.

               He joined her on the bed, and she put her hands on his shoulders, pushing gently.  He read the cue effortlessly, lying back against the pillows and looking up at her, his fingers running the length of her lower arm, down, up, down again.

               Somehow she reminded herself to breathe, and she straddled his long, lean body, the press of her knees sinking into the mattress, her heart beating so damn fast she felt sure he could hear it.  She reached back with her right hand, found him, guided him gently into her…  And when he was in as far as he could go she blinked and set her teeth firmly into her bottom lip, holding back a strangled moan of pleasure.

               She looked down at him.

               He was looking up at her like this was the first time they’d had sex.

               He reached up and ran his thumb against her bottom lip, making her release it from the clench of her teeth and that was when the moan she’d been trying to hold back came out.

               There was this smile on his face that almost made her wonder who was really in control… until she realised that both and neither of them were, and that was okay.

               She moved against him slowly, rolling her hips into a cadence that she at first thought too slow but that seemed right.  His hands slid up her thighs to her hips and round her backside… and then he was moving with her, matching her effortlessly.  There was a simplicity to the moment, an artless spontaneity – neither one had to guess the other.  They were in perfect concert without having to share a word or a look.  His right hand came up, his fist curling into her hair, gently pulling her down towards him and into his kiss.  Almost simultaneously their pace began to quicken, the long-denied demands of their desire driving their selfish quest for satisfaction as they ground and thrust greedily against one another.

               It seemed that hardly a few seconds had passed before her orgasm hit her, an angry, juddering starburst that left her reeling and breathless.  Time tunnelled and when she came out the other side her forehead was pressed against his, her heartbeat slamming through her entire body, the echoing drumbeat of her pleasure.  She didn’t even realise she was breathing until his hand curled around her neck and he recaptured her mouth like he could gobble up every last breath she possessed.

               For a few blissful moments there was nothing but their meandering touches and their sugar sweet kiss.  When they surfaced it was at the exact same second – she’d given up wondering at how completely in sync they were.  He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t understand, something impatient, almost fierce.  Without warning he’d flipped her over onto her back, all but taking the wind out of her.  His gaze was feral, an expression she’d never seen in him before, and for the first time she felt truly intimidated by him.  He stared her down like a wild thing, and almost at once his body was surging up into her with an urgency that was almost brutal, that made her cry out loud.  With every stroke he impelled her submission in a way she’d never experienced or realised she wanted before.  Her nails gripped his back as she tried to anchor herself against his onslaught, this unexpected display of power, one that she couldn’t help but marvel at.  Here was something she’d never seen before – a man chasing down his own pleasure, teeth grit, eyes unfocused, almost as if she wasn’t even there at all.

               It was only when her palm slipped round the nape of his neck that he seemed to surface; his eyes snapped to hers and he licked his lips, gave her a wolfish smile, a brief ‘hello’ tucked somewhere in there.  He shifted up her slightly, his left arm circling her shoulders – he slowed his pace, his rhythm changing completely.  Pleasure rippled through her again, coaxing an involuntary moan from her mouth; she wrapped her legs around his, pressing her lips against his shoulder as she rocked back against him instinctively.  It was only when she came a second time that he switched back up to deep, hard thrusts; he gave a breathless moan, a sound of pure, animal abandon – and suddenly there was the warm, liquid pulse of his orgasm, deep inside of her. 

               When his eyes finally focused on her again it was like he was seeing stars.

               “Jesus, chere,” he muttered.

               She laughed lightly and pulled him down so that his forehead was resting lightly against hers, the two of them breathing together in wonderful tandem. 

               “Like I said,” she murmured back playfully, “we make a good team.  Huh, sugah?”

               The clichéd Southern term of endearment, and the unexpectedly pitch perfect accent with which it was delivered, brought first a smile to his lips, then a laugh.

               “I swear you hide that accent so fuckin’ good every time I hear it it’s almost like I’m back home.”

               He said it all in a single, heartfelt breath, and there was a sadness there that touched her.  She slid her palms up over the familiar rasp of his stubble and drew him down into a slow, sensuous kiss.  It was a wonderful moment of tender passion that brought home to her just how far uncoupled sex and passion had become for her over the years.  The thought was frightening but not unpleasant.  If anything it made her all the more impatient to recover what suddenly seemed like lost ground to her.  There were so many things she wanted to do with him and yet there was so little time.

               “What?” he asked her when they’d broken apart and he could see the look in her eyes.

               “Nothing,” she murmured. “I’m just wondering what to do with you next…”

               He laughed softly, shifting slightly so that he could trail feather-light kisses down her neck to her collarbone to her breast.

               “Do whatever you want,” he murmured round her nipple, “I’m all yours for tonight.”

               The words were sweet and sexy and made her heart ache.  Tonight didn’t seem long enough.  It wasn’t long enough to stave off all the silly, unimportant things that existed outside this room.  For so long now she’d plotted this lonely course, year after year of exile, of other peoples’ lives.  And now she was close, so painfully close, to finding all the missing pieces that made up her.  There was so much she’d sacrificed for it.  So much she’d lost.  This would just be another thing.

               In a day or two he would be gone, and once again she’d be what she’d always been – alone.