Chapter Twenty-Three #3
We pick up where we left off, lips slamming against each other, heads twisting and turning, our bodies pushing so hard against each other it’s like we want to fuse our flesh together.
I’m just thinking about sliding my hand inside Sharon’s shirt and playing with those perfect oval nipples of hers when her fingers start attacking the buttons on my uniform.
It’s a clumsy and unproductive attempt so I quickly bring my own hands up to help her.
When I have a few buttons undone, Sharon’s hand slips inside and cups one of my breasts.
I feel her smile against my lips and I push into her hand.
It’s like she can read my mind when her hold becomes a grab, squeezing my tit with enough force that I gasp.
She pulls back and asks, “Shit, too hard?”
“No, no,” I smile at her. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
And she does. She plays with my breasts like she’s running out of time on this planet, twisting my nipples, filling her hands with my small offerings and stroking the firm lines of my ribs.
When I start to feel my legs lose their rigidity and a new light-headedness has my mind spinning, I know I need to take back control.
I grip the waistband of her trousers and pull her closer.
My fingers make quick work of undoing the fastening and zip there and in seconds, I’m sliding my hand inside her trousers.
Arousal builds inside me as I coast my hand over the curve of her stomach and then find her underwear.
Soft cotton, just like Sunday night. And just like then, it’s soaking wet.
I play with her through the material, flicking lightly over her clit and dipping my finger in where her entrance is. I’m teasing myself as much as I am her and it’s not long before we both break our kiss because we’re moaning so much, our breathing erratic.
When I finally slip my fingers underneath her underwear, Sharon’s absent-mindedly kissing my neck, but she’s more teeth and sighs on my skin than anything.
Which is just as well because each one of her touches is making my cunt ache with longing.
I wish we were sitting down. That I could ride her thigh or shove a cushion between my legs as I fuck her, but there’s barely room for us both standing up in this space and I don’t want to do anything to break this moment.
I’m rewarded for my perseverance when Sharon starts cursing as the tip of my index finger finds her clit.
“Oh, fuck, yes, there. Right there. Please, please,” she begs.
I start to rub in slow circles. “Does that feel good?” I ask.
She makes a strangled noise, like a moan and a grunt meeting in the base of her throat. “Yes, fuck, yes.”
“Are you going to come on my hand?”
“Can I…” She looks at me, eyes wide and pleading. “Can I come with your fingers inside me?”
Oh, fuck. I’m starting to think I like all versions of Sharon Goldblatt. The defiant and despondent grump. The stoic and secretive woman. The loyal and loving friend. But maybe I like this version – the needy and desperate lover – the most.
Which is a theory I will think about another day. Or never.
I answer her question by adjusting my hand so the heel of my palm is pressed up against her clit and my two middle fingers slide inside her.
She sighs with relief as I push in as deep as I can. All too easily, I can imagine how good that must feel because I have never been more aware of how empty and aching my pussy currently is.
“Is that better?” I ask, slowly thrusting my fingers inside her.
“Hmmm,” she moans and her head falls back against the door, eyes closed, lips parted.
“You look so beautiful,” I tell her before I can stop myself. She opens her eyes and looks startled.
I stop moving my fingers.
“Has anybody ever called you beautiful before?” I ask.
Sharon shakes her head.
“Well, that’s a fucking disgrace,” I say and I go back to pushing my fingers inside her while kissing the soft skin of her neck.
“I want…” she gasps. “I want to touch you.”
Yes. I want that too. But there’s no way I could keep fucking her with her hands on me. I will go to the Ladies toilets later. I will finally do something other than cry or pee in that cubicle.
“Later,” I mumble into her neck. “Next time.”
“Next time,” she repeats and I can’t discern her tone of voice. Is she dazed? Is she disappointed? Is she disagreeing that there will be a next time?
I push all the worries aside and move my hand a little faster. Sharon moans in response and spreads her legs wider.
“Are you going to come for me now?” I demand.
She nods. “Soon. Yes, oh God, yes, but…”
“But what?” I prompt when she trails off.
“Please can I have another finger?”
I have absolutely no doubt my smile is more like a villain’s than a hero’s. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” I tell her as I rearrange my hand and slide three fingers inside her.
“Oh, fuck,” she bites out. “Yes. That’s so much better.”
And I believe her as her body starts to move on my hand and her breasts press against me. I have half a mind to bend down and find her nipple through however many layers she’s wearing, but her breathing changes, her moans become more guttural and she becomes impossibly slicker around my fingers.
She’s coming. So I keep my eyes on her and I watch. I watch her eyes squeeze shut. I watch her mouth fall open and an almost silent moan leave her lips. I watch rosy patches stain her cheeks. I watch it all and almost forget to breathe.
“So fucking beautiful,” I tell her and then I press my body against hers and wonder what I could do, what I would have to sacrifice, in order to make time stop.