Chapter 15 #3
When I finally break our kiss, all I can think about is the taste of her orgasm, and how I want more of it. I kiss her lips, and begin my descent down her torso, licking my way down her cleavage and then her stomach, sucking and nibbling. She arches her back as my lips move over her soft skin.
I slide my face down between her thighs, shoving my nose on the bottom of her panties and taking a long sniff.
The scent of her sex burns down my stomach, turning me on even more.
Moving my lips to her inner thigh, I dig my teeth into her skin, biting, nibbling, sucking on her skin so close to her pussy.
Her legs fall open, her back arched as her fingers find their way into my hair, tugging at their roots as I run my tongue back to the bottom of her panties.
I slide her panties aside, and trace my thumb on her pussy lips, earning a shiver from her and a gasp which excites me even more. I slide my thumb in an up and down motion on her pussy, feeling her wetness grow beneath my finger. I gather her wetness, rub it on her clit, and then her pussy lips.
Her body slowly begins to tremble as my movement quickens.
She moans, lifting her ass from the bed as she writhes beneath me.
I drive my tongue recklessly into her, twirling and sucking her clit and the skin between her folds.
She cries out, pulling at my hair as I shove my nose and mouth against her pussy, aggressively.
“Mmmm,” she purrs, her legs quivering.
I lick her slowly, lapping at her clit while penetrating her with two fingers. Another primal cry, echoes from her throat, her eyes rolling into her head as I thrust my fingers inside her, picking up pace while sucking her clit.
Her body shudders, which is why when I add the third finger she climaxes—her juice oozing down my fingers. Immediately I move my mouth to her pussy, licking her release directly from the source and cleaning her off before attending to my soaked fingers.
I lick my lips, lifting my head to catch her gaze. I lean over her, cupping her cheeks and bringing my mouth down on hers in a gentle kiss. I slide my hand from her cheek, grabbing her hands and pressing them against the bulge in my briefs—letting her feel just how hard I am for her.
She spreads her palm over my hard cock, squeezing it in her soft touch and sending a jolt of adrenaline through my body.
I groan against her lips, breaking the kiss as I pull them down.
My cock springs free, throbbing with need, the tip glistening with pre-cum which I wipe off with my finger, and slip it into her mouth.
She sucks my finger with gratitude, twirling her tongue around it, and my cock throbs, wanting the same attention.
As though reading my mind, she scrambles to her knees, palming my cock. She strokes it with her hand for a little bit, and kisses the tip, widening her mouth as she swallows it. A gasp reverberates from my throat as I fist her hair, throwing my head back as she works her lips around it.
She sucks me hard, bobbing her head up and down my length with water in her eyes.
Her hand squashes my balls, fondling them softly.
She pulls my cock out of her mouth, and swirls her tongue on the tip before swallowing me again.
Her saliva drowns my cock, the sound of her slurps echoing around the room.
She clasps her mouth tight around my girth, sucking me hard.
I growl, fisting her hair tightly as she begins to bob her head up and down on my full length. I guide her. She then moves her mouth to my balls, sucking them and rubbing them for a while before taking my entire length down her throat.
My cock hits the back of her throat, and I feel the pressure from her hollow cheeks as they squeeze around it, sending me over the edge.
I grunt, my orgasm fast approaching but I don't want to cum yet—I need to be inside of her.
I yank her hair down, and slip my cock out of her mouth quickly, taking a moment to catch my breath as she sucks her lips, wiping saliva from the corners.
I tilt her chin, and caress her face before pushing her down on the bed.
I position myself between her legs, pulling her closer as I fist my cock, tapping it on her clit before positioning myself at her entrance.
My chest heaves as I lock eyes with her and slide the tip along her folds, teasing her, watching her squirm beneath me.
She whimpers, her voice desperate as I rub the head of my cock against her clit, teasing her pussy some more.
“Please,” she breathes, her hips bucking against me.
In one thrust, I bury myself inside her, groaning as her tightness envelopes me.
“Fuck,” I growl, gripping her hips as I pull back and slam into her again.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, and her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper.
I lose myself in the rhythm, the sound of our skin slapping together filling the room.
Her moans grow louder with each thrust, and I can feel her getting wetter, her body clinging to me like she never wants to let go.
I lift her off the bed, her legs still wrapped around me as I stand.
Her back presses against the wall, her legs around me as I shove my length into her again, and she yelps, throwing her arms around my neck.
I thrust into her, harder and faster. She cries out, her head hitting the wall as I kiss her neck, her collarbone, biting and sucking, leaving marks she’ll see tomorrow.
Her walls flutter around me, and I know she’s close. I spin us around, and lay her back on the bed. I move her to the edge, hooking her legs over my shoulders as I dive into her at a brutal pace. Her screams turn incoherent, her body writhing beneath me as her orgasm crashes over her.
Her release triggers mine, and I grunt as I unload heavy spurts of my seed into her pussy walls. The veins of my thick cock nearly burst as I pulsate inside of her, emptying my cum until there’s nothing left.
After some moments, I slowly pull out, our combined juices spilling onto the sheets. I collapse next to her, pulling her leg over mine as my hand lazily caresses her thigh and I press a kiss to her forehead.
The room is quiet except for the rhythmic sound of our breathing, still heavy from what we just shared.
I’m on my back, one arm tucked behind my head the other draped across her bare back.
She’s pressed against me, her cheek resting on my chest, and I can hear her drift off quickly into a deep sleep.
I can feel her warmth and it’s a feeling of calm I haven’t known in years. I close my eyes and drift off to a deep sleep.
***
She is still asleep when I wake. The room is gray with early light. She's beside me — her hair loose across the pillow, her breathing slow and even, one hand curled near her face. I lie still and I don't reach for my phone. I don't start building the day.
I just look at her.
After a while I get up quietly. I shower.
I pull on lounge pants and leave my chest bare.
When I come back out she's still asleep.
Room service arrives while I'm reviewing nothing in particular — I'd ordered it before I showered, coffee and eggs, fruit and croissants, the kind of morning that doesn't require either of us to leave this room immediately.
I set the tray on the bed beside her. Pour two coffees.
She stirs. Her eyes open slowly and find mine and for a moment she just looks at me — unhurried, unguarded, the specific look of a person who woke up somewhere they feel safe.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi." I hand her the coffee. She sits up, pulls the sheet around her, wraps both hands around the mug.
I sit on the edge of the bed beside her. She looks at me over the rim of her coffee with the quiet attention she gives things she's deciding about.
"How'd you sleep?" I ask.
Something settles in her expression.
"Well," she says. "Really well."
"I'd like to think I had something to do with that."
She laughs — soft, genuine, a sound I've cataloged without meaning to over the past months that does something specific to my chest every time. She reaches for a croissant and tears a piece from it.
I watch her for a moment. The morning light is doing something to her hair.
She's completely at ease in this room, in this bed, in this specific version of us that exists only in hotel rooms away from the floor and the briefings and the professional architecture we maintain so carefully everywhere else.
I reach over. I smooth her hair back from her face — my hand moving slowly, my fingers combing through it once.
She goes still. She looks at me. There is so much sitting in this room right now that neither of us has said.
I can feel the weight of it — everything from last night, everything from the past months, everything I said in the corridor that I hadn't planned to say and meant completely.
"Thank you for staying," I say.
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Something moves through her eyes — deep, quiet, the kind of feeling that doesn't need to announce itself.
"Thank you for asking me," she says quietly.
I lean in. I kiss her — slow, unhurried, nothing urgent in it. When I pull back she's still looking at me. We sit with that for a moment. It's enough. It's more than I've given anyone in ten years.The thought arrives clearly and I hold it there and I don't push it away.
***
The flight is six hours back to San Francisco.
She opens her notes after we finish climbing.
I open my laptop. The work fills the space the way it always does in public — reliable, familiar, the thing we've always been able to fall back on.
But the silence underneath the work is different now.
Looser. Like something that has stopped holding its breath.
I think about Caleb somewhere over Pennsylvania.
Not with guilt — our relationship has been built of distance for years and I've made my peace with that.
But with clarity. What's happening between me and Sutton stopped being something I could categorize as temporary a long time ago.
I kept using that word because I didn't have a better one ready.
I have a better one now. I'm not ready to say it out loud. But I have it.
She falls asleep somewhere over Ohio. Her head tips slightly toward my shoulder and she catches herself and straightens — the automatic reflex of a woman who has spent months being careful about what she shows in professional spaces.
I reach over. I put my hand over hers on the armrest. She goes still. Then she turns her hand over and her fingers close around mine. She looks out the window. She doesn't say anything. Neither do I.
The Bay comes into view below — gray-blue, the bridges, the fog over the hills. I look at it coming toward us and I know two things with the same quiet certainty I apply to everything I've stopped arguing with.
I am not going to end this.
I am in love with her.
I don't say either of those things out loud. Not yet. But I know them the way I know things I've stopped arguing with — completely, and without any remaining room for negotiation.
I look at her profile for one moment, then I close my laptop. I hold her hand as the wheels touch down.