Chapter 11
Mitch and I make small talk while we caress and tangle our hands together on the center console of his truck on the way over to Mitch’s place. It isn’t far from the bar, maybe seven blocks at most. Once he parks, we’re out of the car and racing hand in hand across the parking lot in record time.
I stop suddenly. “You live here?”
“Yes,” Mitch says, a little frustrated, and tugs me forward.
We’re at the edge of a little bridge that spans a canal. On the other side is an adorable house. It’s located on a small strip of land between the canal and the intercoastal waterway. It’s one of many tall, narrow, two-story, wood frame homes.
“You live on the intercoastal?”
“Yes,” Mitch says again but doesn’t stop to explain or elaborate. He finally herds me across the bridge to the house. Mitch directs me to the outside stairs that lead to the upper level. “Up here.”
I follow him up. How can a struggling musician afford a waterfront apartment on the intercoastal?
Reaching the top landing, Mitch releases my hand. I gasp at how beautiful the view is, but only for a second. My focus shifts from the breathtaking vista to the sound of a key turning a lock and the breathtaking man I’m with. I admire Mitch’s strong shoulders and arms opening the door to me. He smiles and waves me inside with a chivalrous bow of the head.
I don’t go in. Instead, I charge into his arms, back him against the doorjamb and thrust my hands into his hair to bring his lips to mine. We kiss. Short, frantic kisses. One landing milliseconds after the next. As our kisses lengthen and deepen, Mitch backs me up against the opposite side of the doorjamb. He firmly holds me with one hand at the nape of my neck and the other cupping my hip. His long, capable fingers grasp the top of my butt while his thumb skates down my hipbone.
We stay in the doorway only moments before we twirl and tangle, our bodies moving like molecules that have been kept apart too long and finally crash together and fuse. I tear at the buttons on his shirt. He, in turn, pushes my jacket over my shoulders and down my arms. He flings it away to who knows where. I’ve managed to get his shirt off and start tugging on the sleeveless T-shirt partly tucked into his jeans that are straining under the pressure of a growing erection. All the time we are walking backward and sideways, a tornado of passion trying to touch down.
Mitch pulls his lips away, but we are still touching, grasping, caressing. Anything to get closer.
Mitch rests his forehead on mine and asks, earnestly, “Is this OK?”
“Yes.”
“Really? You? You want this? Want me?”
“Yes, Mitch. Yes. So much.”
No other confirmation is needed. Mitch’s lips crash down on mine. He grabs my knee and pulls it up around his waist. I jump slightly and hook my other leg around him. I can feel his hardness and I slide against it greedily. Mitch’s arms encircle me completely. He carries me into the next room. He’s half naked, and touching the ripples and bulges of his back muscles sends scorching sensations to my breasts and sensitive places even lower.
Mitch lowers me to the floor. Never breaking contact, we give minimal directions to get out of our clothes.
“Here.”
“Over my head.”
“Just pull the end of belt.”
It would be comical if we weren’t so desperate with want.
Finally down to the last scraps of clothing, we stand face to face, millimeters apart, and everything slows. The air we breathe is thick and moves between us languidly. Mitch drags down the straps of my bra with deliberate movements of his fingers. Fingers, deft at coaxing music from a stringed instrument, are now playing me. Making the cells in my skin sing. He unhooks the bra and my breasts tumble out. And just as quickly, he catches them, cupping them. He rakes his thumbs across each nipple and I arch into him.
Mitch bends down and trails deep, suckling kisses down the side of my neck and across my collarbone. He moves further down and brings my cupped breast to his mouth. His breath on it causes my nipple to tighten painfully. The pleasant discomfort builds when he pulls the whole of my nipple between his lips, tugging and laving it. Flames shoot to my core. I arch into him, only my panties and his boxer briefs separating us.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, Posey,” Mitch husks deeply, moving from one breast to another. “Have mercy.”
With my head in a swirl but needing more, I cup Mitch’s relentless stiffness and massage his balls. He moans, and I moan with him as he powers his suckling of my breast.
I stroke him up and down and with each one, I ache to feel all of him. With that I slide my fingers inside the elastic of his briefs and push them down. Mitch moans again. His lips leave my body. He stands upright, takes his briefs off and spins me around so my back is to his naked front. His erection presses and pulses on my lower back.
Mitch slides a hand around my front and inside my panties. His fingers walk downward until they find my clit. He strokes left, right and circles and circles. My lower abs contract and I pitch forward, sure I’m about to come.
Mitch stops, retreats and whispers, “Shh, not yet. I got you.”
He hooks his fingers onto my panties and drags them down my legs as he kneels and artfully trails kisses down my back, ending at the top of my ass. I step out of my panties pooling around my feet.
Half kneeling behind me, Mitch spins me so I’m facing him, but he is facing my most sensitive of areas. He kisses my thigh, and with just his breath that close to where I want all of him causes me to grasp his shoulder to steady myself.
Mitch looks up at me and I look down. There is no mistaking the message we’re giving each other.
“Posey?” I’ve never heard Mitch’s voice deeper, more penetrating.
“Mitch.” I say his name instead of yes.
“I need you in my bed, right now.”
“I need to be there.”
In a swift well-orchestrated move, Mitch scoops me up, cradles me against him, walks to the bed and gently places me on it. I’m so caught up, I didn’t take notice of anything around us. This could be a bed anywhere. I couldn’t care less as long as I’m in it with him.
I expect Mitch to slip in next to me, but he doesn’t. He’s over me. All of him over all of me, kissing me long, slow with his tongue sweeping across mine. I try to rock my needy core against his hardness, but he shifts and kisses down my body, stopping briefly to draw my nipple into his mouth and kiss between my lower abdomen and hip bones.
Then he reaches his target, he Heexhales and my clit pulses. It’s already vibrating and ready. His tongue touches it lightly.
“Oh my God,” I moan.
Again, the left, right, circle, circle, left, right… just like he did with his fingers, but now it’s his hot, wet tongue. A slow building, warm tingling overtakes me. I reach down and grasp his hair.
He stops and I cry out, “Please!”
I know what he’s doing. He’s edging me. Closer and closer. Stopping my orgasm just as I’m about to let go, but I need this release.
Blessedly, Mitch continues. As his tongue works his magic below, he reaches up and pinches and releases my nipples in synchrony. I lose my mind. I can’t continue. He licks me up and down and then circles deeply and powerfully, sucking my burning clit. I arch as every muscle in my body contracts, stiffening until I’m unable to move. He flattens his tongue and holds it firm against me and I come. Hard. Panting with each wave. He stays where he is, drinking me in. Humming with pleasure.
Descending my climax, I’m breathing hard but want more. I tug on his hair and shoulders. When he brings his face up to mine, I roll him on his back.
“Do… do you have protection?” My turn to make him lose himself.
“Yes, in the drawer.” He points to the nightstand on the right.
I reach in and feel around. My hand lands on the familiar foil-wrapped shape. I rip it open with my teeth.
He laughs, but stops and groans when I sit back, grasp his cock and stroke it up and down a few times while grazing my thumb across its plush pink head. I roll the condom on with care.
“You’re killing me, babe,” he groans.
In answer to his plea, I straddle him and encircle the base of his erection in my palm and guide him into the wetness he evoked. I moan as he stretches and fills me. I gasp at the familiar but long denied sensation. I believed I would never make love again. I stifle a sob that sneaks up on me.
Mitch cups my face in his hands. “Are you OK?”
I swipe at my eyes. “Yes, oh, yes, I’m just…” I was going to say overwhelmed, but instead I say, “happy.” I am happy. I never thought I’d be really, truly happy again, either.
We rock into each other, sighing and humming, in perfect rhythm. As it builds, we begin thrusting into crescendo, harder, faster. So intense, our kisses end, but our mouths open still millimeters apart.
The build reaches its peak and I contract around him. He in turn arches his head back, his mouth opens wide and his eyes close tight. He falls apart beneath me and comes a moment after I do. I’m flooded with his warmth and pleasure crashes and crashes inside me until it devolves into tiny waves lapping at the shore.