Chapter 4 #2
Soft. Careful. Testing. Her lips are warm.
Bottom lip fuller than the top, pressing against mine with a gentleness that contradicts every sharp word she's thrown at me for the past week.
Her hand is still on my wrist. My free hand comes up to the back of her neck.
Fingers in her hair. She makes a sound, quiet, barely there, and her mouth opens.
The kiss goes deep. Her tongue touches mine, tentative, then bolder. My hand tightens on her neck, pulling her closer. She steps between my knees, her body pressing against my chest, and I can feel her heartbeat hammering through her shirt.
I stand. One motion. Her head tilts back to keep kissing me, and my hands go to her waist, lifting her. She wraps her arms around my neck. Legs around my hips. The chair scrapes back.
"Bedroom." She says it against my mouth.
Down the hall. The floor I fixed this morning solid under my boots. Her bedroom door is open, the air mattress on the new wood, a reading lamp casting warm light from the floor. I set her down on the edge of the mattress. She pulls me down with her.
My hands find the hem of her sweatshirt.
The UNR one she's had since college. I pull it up, slow, my knuckles dragging along her ribs.
She lifts her arms. The sweatshirt comes off.
Underneath, a thin tank top, no bra. I can see her nipples pressing against the fabric, hard from the cold or from this. Both.
"Take it off." Her voice is raw. "All of it."
The tank top goes. Her breasts are full, soft, gorgeous. I cup one with my hand, thumb rolling over her nipple. She arches into me. My mouth follows my hand, closing over her nipple, sucking, tongue circling. She grabs my hair.
"Briggs. God."
I pull my thermal over my head. Her hands land on my chest immediately, fingers spreading across my skin. She traces the muscle, the ridge of my stomach. Her nails drag down, light enough to feel everywhere.
Her leggings come off. Black underwear. Simple. Cotton. My hands grip her hips, thumbs hooking the elastic.
"These too." Not a question.
She lifts her hips. The underwear slides down her thighs.
She's bare underneath me, and I take a second.
Just a second. Because this is Margot. The woman I've been thinking about for fifteen years, spread across a bed I built the floor for twelve hours ago, looking up at me with those brown eyes and her hair fanned across the pillow.
I drop to my knees beside the mattress. Pull her to the edge by her hips. She gasps. My mouth hits the inside of her thigh, kissing up. Slow. She's trembling. Not from cold.
My tongue drags through her pussy. One long stroke, bottom to top, ending at her clit. She moans. Loud. Her hand flies to my hair, gripping hard.
I do it again. Slower. Tasting her, learning what makes her breath catch. Her clit is swollen under my tongue, and when I circle it, firm and deliberate, her hips buck off the mattress.
Two fingers slide into her. Wet, tight, her walls gripping me as I curl forward, finding the spot that makes her thighs shake. My mouth seals over her clit, sucking gently while my fingers work a slow rhythm inside her.
"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Briggs, right there."
Right there. My tongue flicks her clit while my fingers press forward, and she comes. Hard. Her back arches off the mattress, thighs clamping around my head, hand fisted in my hair. The sound she makes is something I'm going to hear every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life.
Before the aftershocks fade, I'm stripping off my jeans. Condom from my wallet. She watches me roll it on, eyes heavy, chest heaving.
"Come here." She reaches for me.
I cover her body with mine. Settle between her thighs. The head of my cock nudges against her entrance, slick from how wet she is, and I push in with one long stroke.
Her back arches. Nails dig into my shoulders. She's tight, hot, perfect around me. I hold still for a beat. Just feeling her.
Then I move. Slow, deep strokes that drag against her walls. Her legs wrap around my hips, heels pressing into my ass, pulling me deeper. My forearm braces beside her head. My other hand slides down between us, thumb finding her clit, circling with firm pressure timed to every thrust.
"Harder." She pulls me closer. "Please."
My hips snap. Faster. The mattress shifts on the new floor. Her breasts move with every thrust. I drop my mouth to her neck, tongue against her pulse, and she turns her head to give me more.
"You feel incredible." Low, against her skin. "You know that?"
She clenches around me. A whimper. Her hand grabs the edge of the mattress. My thumb presses harder on her clit, matching the pace of my hips.
"I'm gonna come." Her voice breaks. "Briggs, I'm..."
"Let go."
She shatters. Her whole body locks around mine. Pussy gripping me so tight I can barely move. The sound she makes, my name broken into syllables, pushes me over the edge two strokes later. I bury myself deep and come so hard my vision goes white at the edges.
We lie there. Breathing. My forehead against her shoulder. Her fingers loose in my hair now, tracing slow patterns on my scalp. The reading lamp throws warm light across the room. Princess Buttercup is purring somewhere in the kitchen.
"Stay." She says it quiet. Against the top of my head. "Tonight."
I lift my head. Look at her. Flushed, wrecked, beautiful. Hair everywhere. Glasses askew on the nightstand where she tossed them.
"Yeah?"
"If you make it weird, I'll kick you out."
"Define weird."
"Talking about feelings."
"I don't talk about feelings."
"Good."
I pull her against me. Her back to my chest. My arm over her waist. She fits. Perfectly, immediately, without adjustment. Her body settles against mine, and her breathing evens out within minutes.
I don't sleep. Not yet. My thumb traces her hip bone. Outside, the mountain is dark, quiet. Tinsel is probably asleep on my porch wondering where I am.
Fifteen years. Fifteen years of knowing this woman existed somewhere in the world, hating me for something I couldn't explain, living a life I had no part in. And now she's in my arms, in a cabin I've been watching stay empty for eight years, sleeping on a floor I put in with my own hands.
She stirs. Murmurs something I can't hear. Presses closer.
My phone vibrates in my jeans pocket on the floor. I ignore it. It vibrates again. Twice more.
Careful not to wake her, I reach down. Pull the phone free.
Mom:
Tommy Parker says the new neighbor is divorced. Did you know? Is she settling in? You should invite her to Sunday dinner. Also I'm making pot roast this weekend if you want to bring someone. ANYONE. Just a thought.
Also I noticed her kitchen window faces your property. That's nice. Good sight lines.
I'm not meddling. I'm observing.
I put the phone face down on the floor. Pull Margot closer. Press my mouth against her hair.
Good sight lines. Christ.
The woman in my arms has hated me for fifteen years. Still hasn't forgiven me. Told me so right before she kissed me. Tomorrow, the daylight might bring the walls back up. The grudge might reassemble. She might wake up and decide this was a mistake.
I close my eyes. Sleep comes faster than it has in years.