25. Stephen
25
STEPHEN
Jay McKenna
Forgot to mention before we went up, absolutely no driving tonight.
And just so you know, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, the guest room is way, way, way on the other side of the house from our bedroom. We're also a whole floor up, and we've both taken melatonin. You know, in case you were curious or if you know of any young gentleman who are currently working on getting an old girlfriend to fall back in love with them or something like that.
Do with that information what you will ;)
Hand to God, I had no intentions of doing anything improper tonight. I am a good, southern gentleman. I respect my elders, I have good manners, I carry groceries to people's cars for them. I was going to crash on the floor in Dean's room and then wake up early to make breakfast as a thank you to Jay and Keith for being such gracious hosts.
I was, until I walked up the stairs behind Dorothea a moment ago and saw that her tights don't go all the way up, but in fact, they stop at mid-thigh under her skirt, the lace tops held up by silky black straps.
Now? Now it's game fucking on.
I don't love the idea that Jay's messages basically meant he was playing pimp, but I'm willing to put that out of my mind and focus solely on getting my tongue all over that beautiful crease where her thigh ends, and her ass begins.
Behind the closed door of the guest room, I nearly swallow my tongue when she casually pulls her sweater overhead, revealing one of those lacy half bra things, the kind that pushes a woman's breasts up to her chin like glorious, proud round globes.
Or, more realistically, like delicious tits on a pretty pink half shell.
"Sorry we're stuck here for the night, but at least the bed is a queen, and we don't have to share with a sixty-pound golden retriever," she says as she pushes the door to the adjoining bathroom, presumably to start the forty-step skincare routine she does before bed that makes her look like an adorable glazed donut.
I take two long steps forward and loop an arm around her bare waist, pulling her flush against me and nestling my rock-hard erection right against her plump ass. She gasps as I push her hair off her shoulder and run my lips from her shoulder, over the side of her neck and to her earlobe, where I nip and suck.
"Mmm," I rumble as she presses her ass harder against me and grinds, slowly. "I like that. Big bed. Plenty of room for activities." I splay my hand across her belly, brushing my thumb right under the bra. I feel goosebumps start to form on her skin, and she reaches back, arching her back as she wraps her arms around my neck.
"Stephen," she whispers "we shouldn't. This isn't our house."
"That might be a little more convincing if you weren't wiggling that perfect ass all over me and soaking through your panties, sweetheart. Besides, sneaking around is hot. It's what we do best, isn't it?"
She closes her eyes and sighs as I move my hands up, cupping her tits through her bra and brushing my thumbs over her nipples.
"And how do you know that I'm wet?" she asks, another slow, tantalizing grind of her ass against my erection.
"Because I know you. I've touched you enough to know what turns you on."
"What turns me on?"
"You like it when I kiss you breathless. Kiss you like it's the only thing I've wanted to do for years. You like when I skim my hands over your skin. You like that they're just a little rough, just enough to light you up. You like when I go down on you. When I get my face between your thighs and devour you like you're the hottest thing I've ever tasted. And you love it when I fuck you. When I sink into you as deep as you can take me, holding you and stroking into you until you lose your mind with bliss. And you know that if you let me, I'll give you all of that and more right now, because I live for your pleasure. That's how I know you're wet for me, sweetheart."
Her breath stutters as she sinks back against me, writhing like she's trying to bury herself under my skin.
"You love being right, don't you?" she teases, and it's all the confirmation that I need. That, and her pretty little moans when my palms coast over skin. The sexy gasp she lets out when I cup her tits. I nearly lose my mind as I knead them in my hands, testing their weight and admiring her curves.
"Can you be quiet?" I ask. She looks at me over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
"Can you be quiet?" she challenges, and I smile. She's got a point. Something about this woman in my arms, the way she touches me, the way I feel when I'm with her. It makes me extra noisy.
"I'll be quiet, I promise. I'll be such a good boy for you Dorothea. Such a good boy if you let me touch you."
She spins and presses her lips to mine, soft but desperate at the same time. I part my lips and let her tongue meet mine, tangling and caressing. I let my hands wander, down her stomach, over her skirt and then under. I run my fingertips over that sexy as fuck crease, then find the silk of her garter straps, snapping each one in tandem. She gasps into my mouth, and I cup her ass, lifting her and lowering her onto the bed. I crawl over top of her, coming down to my forearms and hovering over her.
"Hey, Stephen," she whispers and smiles up at me.
"Hey, Dorothea," I brush a kiss against her cheek, then pull back to look at her a little longer. The room is lit only by a nightlight plugged into the far wall. Dorothea is cast in gold and shadows, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, breasts pushing at the lace of her bra, the pretty little diamond stud in her nose glistening when the light catches. The sight of her makes my throat go dry.
For a few seconds, neither of us says a word. We don't move. I don't think. I just look at her as she looks at me. The tension snags between us, the need for each other's bodies, and for me, the certainty that this woman beneath me is everything I will ever need.
"You," I whisper, moving down to place soft kisses on the hollow of her throat. "You. You. You."
I repeat the word like a prayer as I continue my path down, over one collarbone and then the other. She wiggles, freeing her shoulders from the constraints of her bra straps just as my lips reach the cleft of her breasts. I flip one of the cups down and pull her pebbled nipple into my mouth. She groans loudly, and my hand flies up to cover her mouth. I want her pleasure, every ounce of it, but I'm a selfish man. I want it all for me, no one else gets to hear my sweet girl moan. I move to her other breast, pushing down the cup and showing it the same attention with my tongue and my teeth, and all the while she wriggles beneath me.
She arches up into me, giving me room to settle between her legs as my lips continue their journey south. I dip my tongue into her navel, and she squirms. I push up her skirt, revealing a black lacy thong and the garter straps that have been toying with my head since we got to this room.
"These things," I say as I toy with one of them, running it through my fingers. "You wore these to kill me, didn't you?"
"Death by lingerie?" she taunts, and I groan.
"Death by Dorothea," I correct as I snap the strap, mesmerized by the way her thigh lightly jiggles with the sting. I press my thumb to the wet panel of her panties, lightly applying pressure to her pretty, swollen clit through the lace.
"Stephen," she sighs softly, and I nearly come in pants. With my free hand, I squeeze my dick through my jeans, trying to stave off some of the intensity I feel just hearing my name on her lips. "Stephen, I need you. I'm so… god. I'm so ready, please."
Fuck. I could spend my life down here, toying with her, playing with her, tasting her, but I can hear the desperation in her voice. Can feel it in my chest. My woman needs to be fucked, and who am I to deny her what she needs ?
I push her knees up and quickly undo the snaps of her garter belt, fumbling a bit because my hands are shaking and because I have very little experience pulling lacy underthings off women. She lifts her hips as I pull her skirt and her panties down and toss them to the side. I leave the stockings, and she spreads her legs wide. She grabs my collar, pulling me to her nearly naked body. I practically fall on top of her as she starts to fuck me through my pants from below, bucking her hips and grinding her pussy all over me. She's so fucking sexy, completely wild and uninhibited in her pursuit of pleasure, using me to make herself feel good.
"Sweetheart, if you want to come like this, by all means, keep going, but I might ruin these jeans if you do," I say as I lean down and kiss her, smiling against her lips. She giggles sweetly as she slows her hips, like the fact that I'm still fully clothed and not actually inside of her never crossed her mind.
I sit back on my heels and pull my shirt over my head. She helps me along, pushing the hem of my shirt up and then dragging her nails down over my chest. I roll over a little clumsily so I can make quick work of my jeans, but not before pulling a condom from my pocket. She watches me the whole time, perched up on her elbows and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.
Once my clothes have joined hers in a pile on the floor, I pat my chest.
"Wanna come up and ride me, sweetheart?" I croon, and she shakes her head.
"Will you get on top of me? I want to feel you, all of you. Please?" She lays back and waits patiently as I roll the condom over my cock. When I'm all settled, I position myself over top of her. She hooks her arms around my neck and pulls me into a deep, searing kiss. A kiss that tells me just how desperate she is for me, how badly she wants me.
And I want her just as desperately.
I grip my cock and slide it up and down her wetness a few times before pushing in. My brain goes instantly fuzzy at the feel of her tight warmth enveloping me as I slowly push in, inch by agonizing inch.
"Yes," she breaths, "yes, fuck. More, Stephen, more. Please."
"Take it, baby. Take it all, just like that. So good. So fucking hot and tight, sweetheart." I say, dropping my head to the side so I can whisper into her ear. I slide all the way into her, bottoming out inside her pussy, my hands digging into the mattress on either side of her as she swallows me whole.
"So good. You feel so good. Always so, so good for me," she moans, somehow able to keep her voice barely above a whisper as she wiggles and clenches around me.
It's not just good. It's so much more than good. It's earth-shattering. It's life changing. It's fucking everything.
It feels like love. She feels like love.
I move, swiveling my hips as I fuck her. I thrust and pull back, fucking her deeper over and over.
More. Stephen. God, Stephen. Harder. So good. So good .
She can't stop talking, even at a whisper, and I can barely handle it. She's too responsive. She's too sexy. She's too much. I'm holding on by a goddamn thread, gritting my teeth as pleasure builds and builds inside of me. My toes curl, my thighs quake, and I can barely take it.
"You like it nice and hard, don't you sweetheart? Like to feel me deep in your pretty pussy, isn't that right?" I groan into her ear as one hand skates down between us, finding her clit and stroking it in time with my thrusts. I need to get her there, need to feel her come before I let go. She tilts her hips and hooks a foot around my waist, drawing me into her. When I hit that spot inside of her, she cries out in spite of herself.
"Dorothea, fuck. I love your sounds. Fucking love them, but you have to be quiet, baby. You have to be."
She lowers her mouth and bites down on my shoulder to muffle herself. Her fingers find purchase in my hair, pulling and tugging at the roots as she whimpers against my skin.
My whole body shakes as her teeth dig into my skin. "Just like that, sweetheart. Keep biting, give it all to me. Give me all your pleasure, I can take it." Her entire body quakes, her thighs tighten around my hips and her pussy seizes as she comes. I can feel every bit of her orgasm, hot and tight and squeezing my cock so deliciously, her arousal dripping and coating my thighs. I quicken my pace and follow her right over the edge, fighting like hell to keep my mouth shut when all I want to do is throw my head back and roar to the sky as I come inside of her.
The taste of copper coats my tongue and I realize I've broken the skin on my lips from the force of my bite, but I don't care. I shudder and shake as I come down from my high, and she trembles underneath me. I kiss her, and if the taste of blood bothers her, she shows no signs of it. She grabs my cheek and kisses me back, hard but soft at the same time.
"Stephen," she whispers my name against my lips, and feels like some sort of vow. I press my forehead to hers. The words I want to say sit on the tip of my tongue. My chest aches with the weight of them, the butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach since her return flap their wings in time with my heartbeat.
I love you. I have loved you. I will love you.
But I can't say them. Dorothea is a flight risk, and I won't shorten the time I have left with her over a secret that I am more than capable of keeping to myself. Instead, I kiss her once more.
"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up and then we can start on that skincare routine of yours." I roll up and discreetly make quick work of the condom with my back turned to her, because there is absolutely nothing in the world less attractive than a soft dick and used latex.
"We?" She squeals, bouncing on the bed behind me. "Does that mean what I think it means?" She positions herself on my back, and I carry her piggyback to the bathroom. One quick look in the bathroom mirror shows me just how ridiculous we look, both of us naked and flushed, carrying on like this.
Ridiculous, and so fucking happy.
"Yes, Dorothea," I answer as I turn and deposit her on the bathroom sink. "I'm giving you free rein. Teach me about retinol. Lotion and potion me up, sweetheart. I want to be young forever."
And does she ever lotion and potion me. I fall asleep feeling a little sticky and a lot moist, with gunk on my face and some kind of coconut-y oily shit in my hair, and the woman I have loved for my entire life warm and sated in my arms.
The next morning, I wake up early to throw on a pot of coffee and do my best attempt at breakfast. I slice bagels and put out the fifteen different kinds of cream cheese from the refrigerator, then cut up some honeydew and arrange the pieces on a platter with grapes and pineapple.
When the coffee is brewed, I pour a large mugful to take upstairs to Dorothea. I find some hazelnut oat milk creamer on the refrigerator door and stir in a little bit, just enough to turn the coffee a milky, chocolate brown. Not too sweet, just the way my girl likes it.
My girl.
Those two words keep crossing my mind. On one hand, it’s the most natural thing in the world. Dorothea has never not been mine, just like I have always belonged to her. Distance, timing, none of that ever mattered to me. I may have been able to put my feelings to the back of my mind over the years, but they were always there.
On the other hand, she’s not mine. Not really. She might be mine for the season but even if she doesn’t go back to LA, she’s never going to stay here. I can’t blame her for that, but I also can’t help but wonder why she’s always found it so easy to leave me.
"Is that coffee?" she asks, coming up behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist. She presses her face into my back and inhales, breathing me in the way I've been doing to her whenever I get close enough.
"It is. I was going to bring it to you in bed, sweetheart," I say, turning in her arms and giving the top of her head a kiss.
"I woke up a little bit ago. It was cold in the bed without you." She snuggles into my chest, and she feels wonderfully warm pressed against me, hair still slicked back into a bun and slathered with product. My Hudson Family Construction hoodie hits right above her knee, covering half of the cute green pajama pants she has tucked into a pair of fuzzy socks.
"Want to have your coffee down by the lake with me? We can bring a blanket and snuggle."
"Mmm, that sounds wonderful," she says. I gather a few blankets and she grabs the mug, and we set up shop on the edge of the dock, one blanket underneath us and one draped over our laps. My legs are spread, Dorothea planted right between them, our feet swinging over the edge. I hold her around the waist as she holds her mug, sipping and sighing and leaning her head back against me. It feels so perfect, so right, and yet there's a buzzing in my ear. A low, nagging drone that I can't seem to ignore. My mouth moves of its own accord before my mind has a chance to catch up.
"Dorothea," I whisper, and she hums in response.
"Why did you leave the way you did?"