Chapter 23 Marsh
Marsh
I’m only human. When it comes down to it, Lucy Reid is standing in my living room in her oversize crewneck saying she doesn’t want anything serious, but she wants to keep sleeping together? You bet I’ll say yes now and figure the rest out later.
After our last conversation I felt heavy and stupid, wondering if I was the problem. Today I buried myself in work and it was helping. I could have kept doing that and eventually forgotten how the other night felt, holding her in my arms. I would have lived.
But Lucy showing up at my door, staring at me with those big brown eyes, made me realize we’re not that different.
I know being vulnerable isn’t easy for her, but she tried.
I can try too. We’re good together, and in some strange way, what we’re doing works.
Why would I deprive us of that? Because casual sex isn’t my strongest suit?
I’m not above casual sex. If it means spending another two weeks with Lucy and having her shove her tongue down my throat the way she is right now…
I’ll learn how to have casual sex if it kills me.
“Marsh,” Lucy mumbles against my mouth, “bedroom.”
I pick her up and her legs wrap around my waist. There’s something so hot about how she does that.
She’s light enough that I’m already wondering all the different ways we can fuck standing up.
When I kick my bedroom door open, I push her up against one of the walls and she lets out an intrigued grunt.
I hold her in place as she pulls off her sweater, revealing a black lace bra.
“You’re trying to kill me.” I study the thin material practically painted on her body.
“I’ve barely started.” She kisses me.
My plans for something against the wall are shot because I want to admire what’s in front of me. Carefully, I set her down and she goes straight for the hem of my shirt, taking it off. She bites her lip before sliding her jeans off.
“My god,” I breathe out as I eye her matching panties. I don’t know if she planned this or if this is what’s always underneath her clothes. I’m determined to do my research.
“I’m writing a piece on whether lingerie is overrated or not,” she says. “Thoughts?”
“I don’t have any thoughts other than how bad I need to be inside you right now.”
“I’ll take that as it still works.”
I take Lucy in my arms and place her on my bed, the smell of laundry still fresh. I mentally thank my past self for washing the sheets before our weekend trip.
Lucy rolls on top of me and places kisses all across my chest and my torso. The way she runs her fingers over my muscles is the only motivation I need if I’m ever not in the mood to work out. I reach for my glasses to take them off but she stops me.
“No,” she says, her eyes snapping to mine, “keep them on.”
“Why?”
She leans in and swipes her tongue over my ear. “They’re sexy.”
I sit up and adjust Lucy onto her stomach and then move myself lower, taking a bite of her ass. She squeals in delight, and that’s when I take her underwear and move it to the side, allowing me full access to her. Now that I’ve tasted Lucy, she’s become my favorite meal.
I place a kiss in between her legs, and the sound that comes out of her is the best thing I’ve ever heard.
I want to know what other sounds she makes because the other night was just the beginning.
Lucy feels like a crossword puzzle, and each time we touch, I’m uncovering only a single letter. I want to complete the entire book.
“So fucking wet.” I swipe a thumb across her.
“Marsh,” she begs.
I bury my face in between her ass cheeks, and she breathes out my name in a way I’ve never heard before.
“Marsh,” she cries.
“Mm?” I get out.
“I want you inside of me.”
“I am inside of you,” I say and then stick my tongue as far in as I possibly can. I do this until I can feel her thighs shake around my head.
“No,” she breathes out, “I’m going to come.”
“That’s the point,” I say against her skin.
She looks at me over her shoulder. “I want to come while you’re in me.”
With a grunt I stand up and take off my jeans.
Lucy pulls down her underwear and throws it on the floor.
The snapshot of her black lace panties lying on my West Elm rug looks like something that needs to be hanging at the Broad.
She positions herself on all fours, and I reach for a condom in my nightstand drawer.
Finally, I grab her hips and slowly ease myself inside.
She lets out a moan and digs her face into the sheets.
“Don’t be shy,” I huff out. “Those sounds drive me crazy.”
There’s another moan on her end, and we find a rhythm that’s desperate, rough, and fast. I do everything in my power to make sure this is not what it was the other night.
Don’t get attached, don’t get attached, I tell myself.
With every pump, I chant it in my head. I ignore Lucy’s moans, her crying out my name, and how I fit inside her like we were made for each other.
All of these are details that don’t matter and can’t matter.
Instead, I remember what Lucy wants. She wants sex.
Rough, hot, filthy. I can give her that.
Even though I had urges and curiosities, I never felt empowered before to do or say certain things in bed with other women.
I never wanted anyone I was with to be taken out of the moment or feel like things were getting too erotic.
So, I held back. But with Lucy, she makes me feel like I can do whatever turns me on.
“Your cock,” Lucy gasps, “it’s so big.”
“That cock stretching you out, baby?” I say and she nods. I’m surprised at how I’ve been able to comfortably find my voice when I’m with Lucy. How I can say things that turn us both on with no qualms. “This pussy is so tight, isn’t it?”
“Please,” Lucy begs. “Deeper.”
I pull Lucy’s hair into my fist, lock a grip on her waist, and pump until I hear a different kind of noise from her.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she screams over and over again. Her ass bounces off me, and it looks like art. “I want to go on top.” Lucy looks at me over her shoulder.
I lie down and she straddles her legs over me. When she settles, it’s a whole other new sensation. “Sh-shit.” She lets out a laugh.
“Take this off.” I reach for her bra clasp.
“I’m busy,” she says and rolls her hips into mine while reaching behind her and stroking a finger against my balls.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, and then I can’t take it anymore. I rip Lucy’s bra and she gasps.
“Marsh!”
“You said take it off.”
“You’re buying me another one.” She rolls her hips harder.
“I will buy you as many as you want as long as I get to see them.”
“Yes, daddy,” she says. There’s a moment where her eyes lock on mine, gauging if this is a safe enough space where she can say what she wants.
I want to tell her that whatever kinks or experimental positions she wants to try, this is the place to do it.
Lucy is safe with me. But I hold myself back because that’s not what we’re doing.
We’re not opening up in the middle of sex.
Instead, I smack her ass, and she lets out a little yelp.
I sit up and lean against my headboard and take advantage of the braless display in front of me.
I flick her nipple with my tongue then bury my face in the crevice of her breasts.
She squeezes my shoulder in pleasure. Her hips move in a figure eight that feels all too good, and that’s when I know she’s close.
I grip Lucy’s waist and hoist her up a little higher until I can thrust as fast and hard as physically possible. The sounds coming out of her are obscene, and I’m positive my neighbors can hear us. I don’t care.
“You like that, baby?” I huff, and her moaning confirms it.
It takes all of ten seconds for Lucy to orgasm, the feeling of her pulsing around me, then she collapses on the bed. Taking the condom off, I wrap my hand around my dick and start rubbing.
“Where do you want it?” I ask.
“Stop.” Lucy places a hand on mine. She guides us off the bed and she gets down on her knees in front of me. She places both of her hands on my aching cock, stroking it, and my eyes shut in pleasure. “I want to make you come…and I want to taste it.”
It’s when I feel her plump lips around me that my eyes open and I look down at her. Lucy’s perfect and all it takes is one glance at her on her knees for me to become undone. I let out a grunt, and she pushes me even deeper down her throat. As I come, I swear to god I can feel her smiling.
When I’m done, she wipes the corner of her mouth. Placing both of my hands on her cheeks, I pull her up and give her a kiss.
“So, just checking,” I say, “that’s a yes to the new arrangement?”
The next day I’m sitting in my office, working on an article on the downfall of the housing market in Los Angeles, when my phone vibrates.
Lucy:
How did you sleep last night?
Marsh:
Like a baby. You?
Lucy:
Same, but I woke up with a pretty big ache between my legs.
Lucy:
I can barely walk
Marsh:
Don’t flatter me.
Lucy:
A really BIG ache.
Marsh:
What are you doing tonight?
Lucy:
You, hopefully.
Marsh:
That can be arranged.
Lucy:
Come to my place after work.
I simply “like” the message and put my phone back on my desk.
If I continue, I’ll lose control of what happens below my belt.
I get back to writing and look at my assigned stories for the week.
There’s no surprise that my workload is a lot; in fact, I would be offended if it wasn’t.
But now that I’m seeing Lucy after work and I might be seeing her a lot during nonwork hours, I start to feel a tinge of stress.
In my entire career, I don’t recall a time where I was worried about working late.
I’m programmed to work at all hours of the day.
Whether it be coming home from the office past eight p.m., spending all weekend in my home office, or skipping out on a friend’s birthday to turn around breaking news.
That comes with the territory. News stories need to be told.