Chapter Seventeen #2
“Fuck, yes,” I say, and together that's what we do, me pulling up my dress and him ripping my sodden knickers down my thighs and calves. He's crouching down to do it and while I expect him to come straight back up, he stays there and kisses both of my legs just above the knee. I watch him lace kisses up my inner thighs, a little stunned. It’s been so long since someone touched me in this way and it’s abruptly overwhelming, too tender and too much.
I move one of my hands to cup his chin and bring him back up to standing.
But he grips the backs of my thighs with his hands and applies more pressure with his lips as his mouth climbs higher.
“You didn’t think I was all talk, did you?” He leans back out of the spray and looks up at me.
“What?” My brain is dizzy with lust. I have no clue what he’s talking about.
“The way I flirted with you the last few days,” he says. “I am going to show you I’m not all talk.”
Stunned and impossibly even more turned on, I don’t have words to offer him in return.
Instead, I take a deep breath and lose my fingers in his hair.
With my other hand, I keep my dress held up around my waist but rearrange it so I can see more, so I can watch him as his tongue darts out and licks the full length of my pussy.
I lean back to find the wall of the shower, convinced if he does anything else my legs really will give way.
But they don’t. As he kisses my outer labia, tongues me open and then finds my clit, swirling the tip of his tongue around its peak, I close my eyes and concentrate only on the sensation and the building of heat and pressure.
I focus on the lush roughness of his tongue, the tenderness of his kisses, and the power I feel having a man on his knees in front of me.
Rocking my pelvis into his mouth, I am alarmed but not surprised when I feel the tell-tale squeeze that means I’m close.
“Stop!” I say and pull at his hair. He leans back and looks up at me. Beneath his dark eyes and now red, wet lips, I can see his dick is as hard as ever, the head almost purple in colour now. It’s the most erotic sight.
“Are you okay?” he asks, running a hand down his face to wipe away the water that was falling on him.
“Yes, I just...” I stop, take a breath. “I just need you inside me. Right now.”
“We should get dry and go to bed,” he's saying and reaching up to turn the shower off, but I stop him.
“No, now. I need this now. I need you now,” I say with little grace.
He's up on his feet in less than a second and he's pressing me against the wall, and we're kissing with all that hunger again, but this time I can taste myself and that just adds an extra layer of excitement to it all.
His hands are inside my bra, pulling and stroking and gently twisting my nipples.
My hand goes back to his dick, stroking, but with less control than earlier.
I’m breathless with how much I want him inside me, so I push him off so that he gets the message.
I pull his hand and I shuffle the few steps to the seat I was sitting on and I put my right foot up on it.
Feeling a little daring, I make sure his eyes are on my hands as I pull my heavy wet dress up my thighs.
Then I glide my hands up and pull the shoulder straps down before reaching back and taking my bra off, dropping it to the floor.
I must look a sodden mess. My mascara must be all over my cheeks, my hair is stuck in clumps to my face and neck, and my dress looks like a soaked bedsheet wrapped around the middle of my body, but I don't care.
I've not felt this sexy or alive in years.
“Jenna,” he says again, and he steps in front of me, looking down at my body. I close my eyes treasuring how he says my name in that low sexy voice.
“Marty, please,” I say, an unapologetic beg. “Please fuck me.”
“I will,” he says, his hand combing hair off my face. “But first...”
“Now, Marty, I need you now.” I sound like I'm crying, and I'm starting to scare myself.
He laughs a little, but his eyes are serious, bearing down into mine. “Jenna, I can't.”
“What?” I would be less surprised if the ceiling came crashing down, yet his face is a picture of calm.
“I need a condom,” he says simply.
“Fuck!” I yell out. I'm soaked and although I know I have some by the sink – a handful I packed in an act that felt fun but almost pointless at the time - I'm a dripping mess and I really don't want to have to walk across the room in a state of undress after I've put myself in this position that is now starting to feel anything but sexy.
“Do you not have any?” he asks, now looking more concerned.
“You don't?” I ask.
“I wasn't planning on this,” he says.
What the hell does that mean? He didn't want to sleep with me?
I shake away these thoughts with a flick of my head. “I have some, over there.” I point to the vanity case on the shelf under the sink. “In that bag.”
“Stay right there,” he says giving me a brief kiss.
I feel the warmth of his body leave mine and the urge to cry suddenly crashes into me.
I close my eyes again - this time out of embarrassment - and wait.
I feel foolish for forgetting about condoms. I feel foolish for being so needy.
I almost feel foolish for being so incredibly turned on, but then the woman in me that I've been nurturing and healing since my divorce starts to speak to me.
I know if I have anything to feel embarrassed about it's not being turned on.
My sexuality is never something to apologise for.
If only feeling these things was as easy as knowing them.
“Are you okay?” he asks when he's back in front of me, opening my eyes with another kiss.
“I feel like a bit of an idiot not thinking about protection.”
“Well, it's more for me to think about, isn’t it?” he says.
I nod, again wondering why he then didn't bring any.
“You want to pick up where we left off?” He nuzzles my neck.
I look down and see the condom is already on him and the site of the latex and the squeeze it has on his dick is still a bit of shock.
For over twelve years, I haven’t had sex with condoms and so this will take a bit of getting used to.
Fear rises in me; fear that this isn’t going to be the spectacular sex I expected.
I want to face-palm myself for not having more realistic expectations.
But then his tongue is licking along my collarbone and one of his hands is on my breast. His mouth dips to my other nipple and he kisses, sucks and nibbles.
It sends bolts of heat and tension between my legs and I'm rubbing my thighs together, almost as turned on as I was when I was begging him to fuck me.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please.”
He smiles against my breast, and I feel his hand tap my right leg. “Go on, back in that sexy as fuck position.”
I try to contain my grin, as I lean back against the wall, prop my leg up and lift my foot. Then I pull my dress up again and show him where I want him.
“Say it again,” he says, looking right into my eyes.
“Say what?” I ask, confused.
“Say you need me. Ask me to fuck you. And say my name.” His voice is so sincere and sexy, I wish I could record it.
“I need you, Marty. Fuck me,” I say, and I bring my fingers between my legs, feeling how swollen my clit is. “Please fuck me, now.”
His smile shines out of every one of his features; his eyes sparkling, his cheeks high, his dimples deep, and his mouth stretched so very wide.
In one single movement, he puts his left hand under my right leg, and lifts me up and against the wall.
I look down and see his other hand guide his dick against my pussy.
The slide of him, the slick latex and the heat of his cock as it rubs back and forth over my clit has me gasping in a rough but deep breath.
“Please,” I say again, worried he's going to make me wait.
“Jenna,” he says again, and I say his name back to him, repeating it, mumbling it, swallowing it until I feel the head of him find my entrance and in one swift, firm motion, he's inside me.
And I come.
I come so suddenly and so hard I dig my nails into his back and gasp out a loud, high-pitched “Oh!” that echoes in my ears. I come as he stays still, pushing me against the wall, holding my leg up and whispering my name in my ear.