Chapter 10 #2
She works down my throat with her mouth.
She puts her mouth on my collarbone. She licks the shallow scrape the glass left there and it makes a sound come out of me.
She goes down. She takes my nipple in her mouth and she sucks, slow, and the orgasm that had been an idea in my body becomes a thing that is going to happen, she has not even touched me between my legs, and the thing is going to happen.
I shudder. I am close. I think she knows it.
She backs off and releases my nipple and my orgasm although still threatening with her hands on my body becomes less urgent.
I say her name.
"Max."
"Mm."
"I'm."
"I know."
"Already."
"I know."
She slides a hand down my stomach. She rests her palm on my lower stomach. She does not go further. She holds it there. She puts her mouth back on my nipple. Sucking it, then running her teeth around it, her tongue. She lets my body walk to the edge without helping it.
"Please," I say.
"Say it."
"Touch me."
"Where."
"Between my legs."
"Yes."
Her hand slides down and my legs part to welcome her home.
She finds me wet. She makes a sound when she does.
The sound is new. I have not heard it on her yet.
Low, surprise at the edge of it. Appreciation.
I like being able to bring that out in her.
She cups me in her palm. She does not rush to my clit.
She cups. She pets. She slides two fingers down my slit without putting pressure. She comes back up.
"You're so beautifully wet," she says.
"Yes,” I murmur and my hips are rising to meet her hand, desperate for her.
"For me."
"Yes."
"Say it."
“I’m so wet for you. Please..” I beg. I will beg for her and I have no shame in that.
"Okay."
She slides two fingers deeply and firmly inside me as her thumb slides against my clit.
I come.
I come fast. Embarrassingly fast. I come in the first press of her fingers deep inside me.
I come with her mouth on my nipple and her other hand flat on my stomach and her thumb on my clit and my wrists loose above my head, and it tears through me in a wave that makes me arch off the bed, and the sound that comes out of me is something I have not made for anybody.
A long low full sound from the bottom of my throat.
She stays with me.
She rides it out. She keeps her fingers still inside me. She keeps her thumb lazily against my clit. She lets me come through it without pulling off. She kisses my sternum while I keep coming. She murmurs into my skin. She says yes, not in instruction, in witness. Yes, this. Yes, with me. Yes.
I come down from the orgasm.
I am shaking.
"Shh," she says. "There you are. You are so very beautiful.”
"Max."
"I've got you."
"More, please.”
“Of course,” she smiles.
---
She moves over me removing her fingers from me. I feel the loss of them. I ache, wanting them back. Wanting more of her.
She puts a knee between my knees and spreads them further. She settles her hips between my thighs. The dildo rests against me, cool silicone, a weight I have never felt before. She looks down at me.
"Ready," she says.
"Yes."
"Tell me if I need to stop. Any reason."
"I will."
"Any reason."
"Yes, Max."
"Okay."
She reaches down. She guides it with one hand. She rubs the head of it through my wetness. She slides it up and down the slit. She passes over my clit. I twitch. She does it again. She does it a third time. Then she rests the head at my entrance.
"Breathe out," she says.
I breathe out.
She pushes in.
She is patient. She pushes in an inch and she holds.
She lets me stretch. She pushes in another inch and holds.
She watches my face. My mouth is open. My eyes are on hers.
She pushes in until she is fully seated.
The curve of it is up against a place inside me I have felt once or twice in my own hand, and never in another person's.
"Oh," I say.
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
She moves.
She pulls back slow. She pushes in slow.
She finds the rhythm she wants. She puts one hand on the bed beside my head and she keeps the other at my hip, flat, steady.
She rocks her hips. She is good at this.
As though it is totally natural for her.
And it is. She is lean and strong and she thrusts into me.
I feel things building inside me again. It is so intense, I am so turned on. I can feel the weight of her hips pressing against my clitoris every time she presses into me.
“Oh, my god…”
“Come for me, baby,” she whispers and her whisper tips me right over the edge.
I come again.
It is bigger than the first.
It is bigger because the curve of the dildo is pressing in the place a man never once pressed, because my husband's sex was a polite skim of the surface and this is a full press, because I am held open and filled at the same time and Max's weight is on me and Max's breath is on my mouth and Max is making a soft sound in her throat that is apparently the sound a woman makes when another woman is coming on her strap, and I go.
I arch. I pull at the rope and the rope holds. I come around the dildo with my legs lifting off the bed. My mouth is open and my throat is full of the sound I am making, and my cunt is pulsing around the silicone, and I feel the pulse all the way up into my stomach.
Max keeps going.
Max keeps going, slow, through the pulse, and my body has barely begun to come down before the second one rolls into a third. I’m coming and coming and I can’t stop.
"Max,” I gasp as she keeps on fucking me.
"I know."
"I can't stop,” I can barely speak. My body is speaking for me.
"Don't stop."
The third orgasm is a long one. It is a long low pull that stretches out along my spine and out through my fingertips and the back of my knees. I shake. My mouth is open. I am saying her name. I am saying please and yes and Max and a word that is half a laugh and half a sob.
She slows.
She slows and she pulls out. Not all the way. Halfway. She stays inside me at the shallowest. She bends down and she kisses me through the wave. She strokes my hair back off my face. Her hand on my hip is warm and flat.
"Shh," she says. "Shh. I've got you."
"Max."
"I've got you."
---
She pulls out fully.
She kisses me once. She moves down the bed.
She settles on her stomach between my thighs. She slides her hands under me, one under each thigh, and she lifts my hips a little. She turns her head and she kisses the inside of one thigh, slow, up. She does the same on the other.
She puts her mouth on me.
I make a sound I have never made.
She starts soft. She uses the flat of her tongue.
She is very good at this also. She learns what I like from a count of four seconds.
She stays with the thing that makes my hips push up.
She slides her tongue inside me once, soft.
She comes back up to my clit. She sucks it into her mouth the way she sucked my nipple, slow, and she works it with her tongue.
My hips lift off the bed.
The rope pulls. The rope holds.
She moans into me. She slides two fingers into me while her mouth is on my clit. She curls them. She finds the place the dildo had been pressing and she presses it again, and I hear a sound out of my own mouth that is her name and nothing else.
I come.
I come into her mouth gushing hot liquid.
I come hard.
I come so hard the world goes white for a second.
And then I come apart in a way I did not know a body could come apart.
The pressure builds and builds in one clean second and then it goes, it breaks, I feel myself gush against her mouth and her chin and her fingers, a full wet release that has never, in my life, happened to me.
I have heard women talk about it. I have never.
I feel it happen. I feel it run down the inside of my thighs.
I feel it on her hand, her chin, her mouth, drinking it, slowing, swallowing.
She does not stop.
She slows. She brings me down. She keeps her mouth on me through the last of it, soft, soft, soft, as I come down.
I am sobbing.
Not unhappy. Not afraid. Just flooded. I am tied to the bed of a woman I met four days ago and I have come so many times and I have never come apart like this, and I have never been held like this, and I have never made the sounds I am making, and I am sobbing from all of it at once, shoulders shaking, eyes wet.
Max lifts her mouth.
She crawls up my body. She unties the rope in two moves.
She brings my arms down, rubs the wrists with her thumbs, kisses each one.
She lies on her side, half on top of me, and she pulls me into her.
I put my face against her throat. I put my wet cheek against her collarbone.
She strokes my hair. She does not speak.
She lets me shake. She kisses the top of my head once.
"Okay?” she says, after a minute. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I can barely speak.
"You're okay?”
"I'm okay. I'm okay. I’m…..”
"I know."
"Max."
"Yes."
"That wasn't sex."
"No?"
"Not the way I understood it."
"How did you understand it."
"As a thing you endured for his pleasure.”
She kisses my temple.
"Not tonight," she says.
"Not ever again."
"Not ever again."
We lie.
The rain is heavier now on the cedar. The woodstove in the next room is a low tick.
Her arm is across my shoulder. My hand is flat on her stomach, just below the old surgical scar I had not known about an hour ago.
My hair is stuck to her collarbone. The room smells of her skin and my skin and the salt-clean of my own come.
"Are you sore," she says after a while.
"A little. The good kind."
"I'm going to run you a warm washcloth."
"Not yet."
"Not yet."
She stays.
I put my mouth on the skin of her throat.
I kiss her pulse. I kiss her jaw. I kiss her shoulder where the sheet had been wrinkled under it.
I find the star-scar on her back, between her shoulder blades, the kind I asked her about this afternoon because it was mine she was going to find.
Hers is a raised knot in a shape I can put a thumb on.
"Nine," I say.
"Yeah."
"You fell."
"Off a roof. My dad was not happy."
"Your dad."
"Another night."
"Another night."
"Yes."
"Max."
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"Stop thanking me."
"No."
She laughs. It is a real laugh. The first real laugh I have heard out of her. It is small and a little cracked and it vibrates against my cheek where it rests against her chest.
"Okay," she says. "You're welcome."
"You're welcome, Evangeline."
"You're welcome, Evangeline."
I find the strap at her hip with my hand.
I slide a finger under the leather. She lets me.
The leather is warm. I feel where it presses into her skin.
I feel the buckle where she cinched it for me.
It has a mark on the leather where she has cinched it this tight before, the same notch worn dark.
I run my thumb over the worn place. I think about her putting this on in a bathroom minutes before she walked into my room, looking at her own face in the mirror before she came to me.
"You thought about me in the bathroom mirror before you came through to me. When I was waiting in bed,” I say.
"Yes."
"What did you think."
"I thought, I'm going to do this right."
"And."
"And I am not going to let this woman ever be touched the way she has been touched before."
I close my eyes. The sob comes back up in my throat and I press my face into her shoulder.
She holds the back of my head with her broad hand.
She lets me cry into her collarbone. She does not shush me this time.
She lets me have it. The rain on the cedar, the stove in the next room, her hand in my hair, her heartbeat under my cheek.
"I know," she says, quiet. "I know."
The rain comes down. The stove ticks. She rests her chin on the top of my head and I close my eyes with my face on her throat, and the pale band on my finger under her hand is gone now, has been gone for a day, will be gone the rest of my life, and I do not need a word for what I am feeling anymore, because what I am feeling is in my whole body at once, and the word is a small late thing next to it.