Chapter 8 Tessa #2
He reached for the waist of my pants and I lifted my hips so he could drag them down, along with the plain underwear I had put on that morning without any thought of this.
The air was cool against the bare skin of my legs and the wet heat between them. He got his own jeans open and kicked them away, then the boxer briefs, and then there was nothing left between us but the rough texture of the blankets and the sound of our breathing.
He kissed me again, harder this time, tongue sliding against mine, the taste of him still the same as it had been years ago and yet heavier, older. His mouth left mine and traveled down the side of my throat, open and wet, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch.
He kissed across my collarbone, then lower, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking slowly, tongue circling, while his hand covered the other breast and squeezed. I felt the pull of it all the way down into my belly.
He switched sides, gave the same attention to the other nipple, then kept going, mouth moving over the soft skin of my stomach, the faint stretch marks that had not been there the last time he saw me naked. He simply mapped them with his lips as if they belonged to the territory he already knew.
When he reached the place between my legs he settled his shoulders between my thighs and looked up once, just long enough for me to see his face in the dim light. Then he lowered his head. The first stroke of his tongue was flat and slow, from the bottom of my slit all the way up over my clit.
I made a sound that was half gasp and half sob.
He did it again, slower, tasting me thoroughly, the wetness already coating his mouth.
He spread me open with his thumbs and licked deeper, tongue pushing inside me in shallow thrusts while his nose pressed against my clit.
The sensation was so sharp and so familiar that my hips lifted off the blankets without my permission.
He held me down with one forearm across my lower belly and kept eating my pussy, long, deliberate strokes that grew wetter and more focused. He sucked my clit between his lips and flicked it with the tip of his tongue until my thighs started to shake.
I could hear how wet I was, the soft slick sounds of his mouth working me. He pushed two fingers into me while he licked, curling them upward, finding the spot that made my vision white out at the edges.
I came the first time like that, grinding against his face, one hand fisted in his hair, the other pressed hard against my own mouth. He stayed with me through it, tongue gentling but never leaving, fingers still moving inside me until the last tremor passed.
He kissed the inside of my thigh, then the other, and finally climbed back up my body. I pushed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back, and then I was the one moving down.
His cock was thick and hard against his stomach, the head already wet.
I wrapped my hand around the base and felt the heat of him, the way the skin slid under my palm.
I licked a stripe up the underside, from root to tip, and watched his stomach tighten.
Then I took the head into my mouth and sucked, slow and deep, letting saliva run down the shaft so my hand could stroke what I could not yet fit.
He made a low sound. I took more of him, relaxing my throat, bobbing my head until my lips met my fist. The weight of him on my tongue, the salty taste, the way his hips twitched when I hollowed my cheeks, all of it flooded back as if no time had passed.
I worked him with my mouth and hand in the same rhythm we used to have, the one that had once made him swear under his breath.
Tonight he stayed almost silent, only the occasional sharp inhale giving him away.
I could feel him getting closer, the muscles in his thighs locking, so I pulled off and kissed the wet head, then moved back up his body before he could finish.
He guided me onto my back again and settled between my legs.
The blunt head of his cock nudged against my pussy.
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me open.
The fullness was almost too much at first. I breathed through it, nails digging into his shoulders, and he waited, forehead against mine, until my body eased around him.
He began to move. It was slow. That surprised me.
I would not have expected ten years to be slow.
Each thrust was deep and measured, the drag of him inside me lighting every nerve.
He pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in, hips rolling in a steady rhythm that let me feel every ridge and vein.
The blankets shifted under us. The fleece was soft against my back and rough under my heels where I braced them.
He kept stopping. He would drive in to the root, hold there, and put his forehead against my temple while he breathed hard through his nose. The first time I thought he was being careful, worried about hurting me or rushing something that had waited so long.
The second time I understood he was trying to make it last, holding himself back from the edge with pure stubborn will. His body was trembling with the effort. I could feel the pulse of him inside me, the way his cock twitched when he forced himself still.
The third time I got my hand around the back of his neck and said, "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere tonight. You can stop checking."