33. Aarti
AARTI
I scoop Noa up around my hips and carry her blindly toward what I assume must be the bedroom, but we end up in her kitchen instead
“Where are we going exactly?” she laughs.
“Not here,” I say, though honestly, anywhere with her sounds ideal right now.
I spin us around, catching glimpses of her well-stocked spice rack and Post-it-covered cookbooks.
Part of me wants to stop and ask her about everything–her favorite recipes, the collection of salt and pepper shakers sitting on the ledge above her stove, what her preferred coffee brewing method is–all the little details that make up her world.
But there’s definitely a bedroom we need to find right now.
I carry her toward what looks like a hallway, and that’s when I see it hanging in the doorway above us.
“A pull-up bar?” I stare at the apparatus, genuinely surprised.
“You seem shocked,” Noa says, amusement dancing in her voice.
“Just didn’t picture you as a pull-up bar kind of girl, I guess.”
Without warning, she reaches up and grabs the handles, her thighs tightening around my hips as she adjusts her grip. The sensation makes my knees nearly buckle.
“Isn’t it obvious this is where I got these guns?” She flexes slightly, and I have to pull her closer before I completely lose my composure.
With her face now level with mine, I can see the intricate makeup she’d applied for her night out with Aiden–the way her hazel eyes pop against the indigo and magenta eyeshadow. She could be anywhere tonight, but she's here with me, and the thought makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
With her weight supported by the bar, I slide one hand to cup her ass while the other traces up her arm, feeling the soft dusting of hair raise under my touch.
“Your guns…” I murmur, biting my lip as her breath hitches in response. The sound sends electricity straight through my core. “…are absolutely perfect.”
Her thighs squeeze me even tighter. “Don’t you want to see my party trick?”
I’m nodding before I even consciously register the question.
Like something out of Cirque du Soleil, she flips her grip and tucks her legs up and over the bar. She’s hanging upside down in front of me, cheeks flushing pink from the rush of blood.
“You’ve done this before,” I say, smiling down at her inverted face.
“Usually just to think through problems, never to–”
I silence her with a hand between her thighs, and she gasps, the sound making my pulse spike.
“Never to… what?” I tease, pressing a soft kiss just above her knee.
The maroon leather of her skirt rides up as she spreads her legs wider, and I can’t resist tugging at the fabric with my teeth until it slides down, revealing simple black lace underneath.
When I brush my thumb over her panties, I can feel how wet she already is.
“Fuck, Aarti,” she breathes.
I pull the lace aside and the sight of her, glistening and ready, sets my nerves on fire. I wrap my arm around her, supporting her weight as I lean forward and take my first taste.
Her abs contract and she lets out the most adorable squeal of pleasure, making me smile against her skin. But one taste isn’t enough.
I grip her inner thighs, opening her further for me, and properly dive in. My tongue works over her wetness as her whole body trembles. I can feel every shiver run through her core.
“You okay down there, Spider-Woman?” I ask between strokes of my tongue.
“Mmm-hmm,” is all she manages, which makes me grin before I return to circling her swollen clit, alternating between gentle suction and firm pressure.
When I dip my tongue inside her, she squirms beautifully.
“Just like that,” she pants. “Don’t stop.”
I follow her instructions exactly, and soon she’s coming undone, her whole body shaking as I hold her steady, making sure she doesn’t have to worry about anything except the waves of pleasure washing over her.
As her trembling subsides, I give her one final, lingering lick before carefully supporting her shoulders and lowering her to the kitchen floor.
Her flushed face turns to me, eyes bright and dazed. “It’s official,” she pants. “The Thinking Bar is no longer designated for thinking.”
I capture her mouth in a deep kiss. “Maybe we should rename it… the Lightning Rod?”
“Very apt,” she agrees, and then her hands are sliding down into my waistband, making me gasp as she easily slips two fingers inside me.
“God, you’re so wet,” she murmurs, biting her lower lip in that way that makes me shudder. “All from taking care of me?”
Her fingers find my G-spot with devastating precision, stroking slowly but firmly before sliding out, leaving me aching for more.
“Patience,” she says with a wicked smile, circling my clit instead.
“Patience was never my strong suit,” I murmur against her lips, grinding down onto her fingers. “But I’ll show you what is.”
I pull her sequined shirt over her head, tossing it somewhere behind me because I need to see her, need her skin under my mouth.
Her breasts spill over her bra and I can’t be bothered to remove it properly.
I tug the cups down and take her nipple between my teeth while continuing to rock against her fingers.
She props herself up on her elbows to watch me, head falling back as I work my way up her neck to whisper in her ear.
“I want all of you.”
The look she gives me is pure hunger. “Yes.”
We manage to get the rest of our clothes off between kisses and desperate touches, giggling when her skirt gets tangled around her ankles and I nearly trip getting out of my sweats.
Noa lowers herself on top of where I’m sitting on the linoleum, her legs straddling my thigh, the slick of her entrance sliding across me, her knee pressing against my pussy.
All of my consciousness is focused entirely on that molten point where we grind together, her skin catching on mine with a friction that sends sparks ricocheting through my pelvis. Her breath hitches against my collarbone, each exhale a soft puff that makes my nipples tighten against her chest.
Her fingers dig into my hips, blunt nails leaving crescents in my flesh as I arch up, meeting her downward thrusts with a desperate, fluid roll.
The rhythm is instinct now–a primal, wet glide that draws gasps from us both.
She trembles, thighs clamping as if trying to fuse us deeper.
I feel the flutter low in her belly against mine, the precursor to release tightening her body like a coiled spring.
“Aarti,” she chokes out. Her gaze locks onto mine. The intimacy is terrifying, exhilarating: no artifice, just skin and sweat and the sound of flesh against flesh, echoing in the tiny kitchen.
I press my forehead to hers, our noses brushing, the air between us thick with shared exertion.
The pressure builds like a storm surge–deep, inevitable, tightening my abdomen until my muscles quiver uncontrollably.
Her slickness coats my thigh, hot and impossibly slippery.
My clit grinds into her knee at the same time.
She gasps my name again and I feel the first tremor ripple through her–a sudden clenching deep inside her hips.
Her cry shatters the air as the tension snaps.
Her back arches with a thrash, thighs locking around me like iron bands.
Each throb of her shuddering climax is a hot, liquid pulse against my skin that pushes me over the edge, triggering my own release.
My orgasm crashes over me, forcing a groan from my throat as my hips stutter against hers.
We cling through the aftershocks, trembling against each other. Her breath fans across my neck.
She collapses onto me, face in my hair, breathing deep. Outside, a car horn blares, a reminder that beyond these walls, there’s somehow a world oblivious to the universe we’ve just dissolved into.
I wake up in Noa’s bed, and for a split second between sleep and waking, I drift in the breezy haze of Noa’s scent, the soft cloud of her comforter, her warm hand slipped into mine. But alas, nature calls.
On my stroll back from the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of something on the coffee table. I grab it and return to the room.
Noa stirs in bed, the sheet perfectly draped over her curves. She sits up on her elbow, a literal recreation of a Renaissance painting. I lean on the doorway and drink her in.
“Say ‘I’m gorgeous.’” I bring my new-found Polaroid up to my eye and snap a photo.
“Thank god that thing doesn’t save photos to the cloud–it’s Aiden’s.”
“Well, thank you, Aiden,” I say as Noa’s form begins to take shape on film. I climb back on top of her in bed and give her a kiss. “I’ll be saving this for later.”
The harsh buzz of my phone jolts us from our reverie and I fumble to answer.
“Madge?”
Noa sits up instantly and I put the phone on speaker.
“Gretchen wants to see you.”