He kissed her and he fucked her and he let himself meet her with a wild, grunting series of thrusts. He put his hand over her throat, bit and tugged her lower lip, and the gradual slowing of his movements inside coaxed her own arousal gently downward.
And at last the drugging waves ebbed from her and she drifted, drifted down into quietude. Her muscles softened as he softened inside her. Her mind was silent.
He withdraw gently, and through a haze Fran heard him walk to the bathroom to trash the condom. When he returned to the bed, he folded her against him.
“Oh Frannie.” He carried her hand to his mouth and bit into the meat of her palm. The fingertips of his other hand continued to move over her skin, tracing her shape, smoothing her hair. She put her mouth on his, wrapped her hand around his neck, thrust her tongue searchingly into his mouth, and he whimpered at the invasion. His hands flexed and pressed, now caressing her oh-so gently, now gripping her flesh fiercely, fingernails stinging into her, now stroking away the sting. Her shoulders, her breasts, her back, her hips, all over, he held her attention with his hands and renewed her arousal. She wanted to stay in this place forever, free from the noise, free from fear. Nothing but his hands on her, his lips on her, his eyes on her, would shut out the noise. And when he touched her, everything went quiet inside. She felt whole and safe and beautiful and home. So she was insatiable.
“Make me come again,” she said. “More.”
He pulled away from her and reached for the lube.
“I like this stuff,” he said as he turned her onto her back. Fran didn’t know what she expected to happen next, but it wasn’t what did happen: he straddled her shoulders and lay over her, his head over her hips, his feet on either side of her skull. She felt him kissing and caressing her wide, rounded cheeks, felt his hand slip underneath her to reach her clit. And she felt one well-lubricated fingertip touch her anus.
“Um,” she breathed, and even she could hear the “Yes!” in her voice.
He toyed with her at first, just brushing that slippery finger up and down and around and around the outside, with no pressure at all just a delicate touch, so that the muscle there contracted and flexed in anticipation. Meanwhile the fingers at her clit were still, with just steady warmth and pressure to stimulate her.
When he finally did slide just the tip of one finger into her ass, she gasped and clenched and flexed her hips, which rubbed her vulva against his hand, so she did it again. And again, With each shift of her hips, his finger went just a little further. And just a little further. The sensations from her clit and her ass melded with the feel of his lips on her hip, and then of his tongue tracing along the edge of her crack.
“Holy moly,” she said, and above her she felt him laugh.
The layers of sensation built and deepened, and Fran was half-aware that nearly all of it came from her own movements under his bracketing hands and mouth. So she moved more, searching out pleasure, letting it build. She folded her hands over his feet and drew an impulsive line along the arch with the tip of her tongue, letting her pleasure channel itself back into him, completing the circuit. He muttered wordlessly, and when the movement of her hips was steady and full, he began to fuck her with his finger, the movement matched to the pace and intensity of her rocking.
“Oh my -”
And he was still kissing and licking and biting her ass and the juncture with her thigh. His fingers on her clit began to make circles in time with her movements. The layers of sensation built inside her, built to a towering, precarious peak. With his hands, with his tongue, with his tireless, focused attention, he brought her to a third orgasm, toppling her into the abyss. She fell as he held her in his focused, steady hands. She rocked and spasmed and cried out, and then softened and relaxed and breathed.
He disappeared briefly and Fran heard water running in the bathroom. Pragmatic Mick. She was drifting to sleep when he returned. She heard rattling and rummaging and wondered vaguely if he were getting another condom, but then she heard a familiar buzzing. She opened one eye and saw him watching her face.
He tucked an arm under her neck and turned her to her side, nestled in the crook of his shoulder. He set the little vibrator on her clit. He kissed her. “One more and then you can sleep,” he said. “Give me one more.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she murmured through her drowse.
“Course you can, Frannie, you can do anything. And tonight is all I get. One more.”
The toy was compelling, and the warmth and pressure of his hand over it, of his body against hers, of his lips now pressed at her temple, conspired to arouse her when she thought she had nothing left.
“Hey,” he whispered to her, “Remember that first year in law school?”
“Uh-huh?” She let the warmth in her pelvis expand bit by bit.
“When you asked me if I would work out with you that first time?”
“And we ran our first treadmill race? Well I ran. You walked.”
Fran smiled into his shoulder. “Trundled, more like. God I was so slow and weak.”
“Weak? I watched you next to me, all pink-faced and dripping sweat and more determined than anybody else in that place. And I thought you were the sexiest thing I had ever seen.”
“I went home and fantasized about you in the shower.”
“Oh.” She rocked her pelvis against his hand.
“I’m glad we never had sex – I’m pretty sure we would never have gotten to be friends if we had, and your friendship is everything to me, Frannie. But don’t ever think again that your body doesn’t turn me on.”
He moved his mouth from her temple to her ear, whispering directly into it. She felt his eyelashes against her cheekbone “And last week when you came just from me touching your legs. Oh god Frannie, I wanted to fuck you right then.”
“That night was the second time I fantasized about you in the shower. I imagined doing all the things I did tonight, and more, much more. But my fantasy didn’t come close to the reality. Your orgasms are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life, Fran. Oh that’s it. Oh come for me, come for me one more time honey. Just one more. God yes. Tell me you like it.”
“Oh I like it, Micky.” Gasping, striving, reaching for it. “I like it.”
“I’ll make you come again. I’ll make you come. Oh honey. Oh my beautiful woman.”
With spasming contractions, she came once more, and Fran felt an inexplicable wetness where his eye was closed against her temple. And that was the last thing she was aware of before she fell into sleep.