Maisy

Blaze is coming home today. Our schedules have not been playing nice for the past few months, and I feel as though we’re like one of her relay teams, ass-grabbing and all. Not that I mind the drive-by quickies—one of which actually took place in an airport bathroom due to a delayed flight, much to both my delight and mortification—but I won’t be sad to have her all to myself for a bit.

We’ve figured out a pretty happy medium. We know we’re together, our friends know we’re together. We’ve tried to keep exactly how serious we are out of the press, and in the few times I’ve talked to my parents since Blaze and I moved in together not that long after the SIGs ended, I’ve just said we live together. They can draw whatever conclusions they’d like from that.

My parents have been on the back burner of my worry stove, though, and my relationship with Blaze on the front. Not because anything’s wrong—to the contrary, it’s perfect—but it’s changing, evolving, and that can be scary. Intimidating.

Blaze has been on the road, and it’s the first time we’ve really gone whole-hog on the poly thing. I was nervous about how I was going to feel about it, but it’s been better than I’d ever expected.

I’m the one she calls every day, I’m the one she texts filthy pics to, I’m the one she comes home to at the end of her competitions, and I’m the one with whom she shares a home. And a cat named Captain Flufferbutter. If some other people have shared her bed while she’s away, and she’s gone out with a couple of people a few times on for-realsies dates? I’ve been fine with it. It makes her happy, keeps her satisfied, and I feel good about having given this to her. I like knowing, too, that she’ll be honest with me about all of it, and that if anyone’s unhappy, it’s a problem to be solved, not the end of the road.

In return . . .

The tumblers in the lock of the front door thunk as a key is turned, and then there she is, all crazy-haired from travel and road worn, but with a glint in her eyes and a smile curving her mouth that I want for myself. She drops her duffle, unzips her coat, and doesn’t bother hanging it up before striding across the living room of our small apartment.

We’re hardly here—leaving the Captain with Mrs. Meyers down the hall when we both have to travel—so we don’t need a lot of space. Plus, no matter how much space we have, Blaze sticks to me as though she’s glue when we’re both around. Always touching, cuddling, kissing, groping, biting. I like it.

I like, too, the way she hikes up her skirt to straddle my thighs and threads her hands into my hair at the nape of my neck, dragging me in to kiss. Sometimes when she’s away for so long, I forget what she tastes like. Now I remember, and I want to gorge myself on her for days.

Sliding my hands under her bunched-up skirt, I let them graze her thick thighs higher and higher until I find the sorry excuse for underwear she has on. There really isn’t much to them at all, and it makes me want to tear them off, but that takes too much effort and if I ripped away her underwear every time I wanted to, she wouldn’t have any left. Not that she’d probably mind that anyhow. Instead, I grab her ass cheeks on either side of the flimsy material and pull her to me, rocking my hips up to grind against her.

I’d ask her if she’s tired from her trip, but she’s never too tired for this. Sure, after we fuck, she’ll pass out hard for hours, wake with her hair out of control, and stumble into the kitchen wanting something to eat, but for now . . .

Blaze tugs at the hem of my shirt, and I raise my arms so she can peel it off. After she’s done, I do the same to her until her sports bra is in my face, and her hands are fondling my breasts over and under the lacey thing I’ve got on because I know they drive her crazy. Luckily, hers has a zip in the front, and I’m going to take full advantage of that design feature.

When the zipper’s freed from its tracks, so are her magnificent tits, and I don’t waste any time burying my face in them, breathing in her smell before I cup one and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard and using my other hand to press the small of her back. Against my hipbones, her pussy is hot even through her underwear. I can’t even wait anymore. I want inside her. And since she’s mine, I use my free hand to dig into the flimsy fabric, find her clit to rub and circle, delve my finger back toward her core to gather up a bit of moisture to make my path slicker.

She moans against me, and it’s the best sound. My insatiable lover. I look up at her, her head already thrown back, her mouth open, and ask, “Are you going to come for me like this?”

“I can.” Her offer’s accompanied by a crooked smirk that makes me grab her hair and pull. She could use a cut, something I’ll do later after I’ve worn her out. For the moment anyhow.

“You won’t. You’re the one who’s been getting laid regularly for the past month.”

Her eyes widen, and she draws back, looking stung. No, that’s not what I wanted. I honest-to-god didn’t mean it that way at all. “Hey, babe. I’m teasing. I like you being satisfied. I like you calling and telling me about your exploits. I like that even after getting fucked six ways to Sunday, all you have to do is hear my voice to get horny again and we can have phone sex. I am in no way sorry about our arrangement. What I am is horny as hell, because as good as I am with my hands or a vibrator, it’s nothing compared to your mouth.”

She kisses me, and it feels like sweet relief. “You can tell me, you know. If it ever feels bad to you.”

My firebrand doesn’t often look shy, but she does when we talk about these things. Sometimes I have to remind myself this is new for her, too. Uncharted territory even for Blaze, who has experience with every sex act under the sun. Less so with longer-term relationships, and with navigating poly waters with a partner who’s . . . not poly. But I feel as though we’re doing really well. She makes me feel special, and like I come first. And I make her feel safe enough to have us and whomever else she wants.

“I will. And you ask me, you know? Very considerate, very . . . sensitive.”

Okay, so it’s not entirely playing fair to work her clit while we’re talking about this, but I’ll worry about fairness later.

“I’m—ngh—trying.” Blaze squirms on my hand, trying to get my fingers inside her already, but that’s not happening. Yet. “I don’t want to—Christ, woman, I’m trying to be serious. Could you not?”

“Nope. Talk later. I’ve got better ideas for your mouth right now.”

I shove her away playfully, and she takes my cue, backing off my legs to sink to her knees. Then she’s grabbing the waistband of my pants along with my underwear and dragging them over my hips and down my legs, not stopping until she can fling them across the floor. Which seems a little theatrical, but Blaze isn’t one for subtleties.

Since we are very much alone, I hook my legs over the arms of the chair and scoot my ass forward until I’m spread out at the edge of the seat. The better for her to service me. And service me she does, not even having to be asked. No, she goes down as though she’s been waiting weeks for this. Which I suppose she has.

“I love how you smell,” she says from between my thighs. “I can’t go into a produce section without getting soaked because when I smell oranges, I always think of you. Of your sweet, wet cunt.”

Holy hell. All I can see is the top of her bright red head as she goes back to work with her mouth and adds her hands, and, I have to say, this was worth the wait. Sometimes I ask her to tell me about the other people she’s been with while we do this. It was kind of edgy the first time and I wasn’t totally sure I liked it, but it turns out I get ridiculously turned on by hearing about Blaze getting off with other people. I don’t think I’d want to be there or participate, but when she tells me about it in her matter-of-fact way . . . there’s something about it that amplifies my orgasms. But we’ll get to that later, when I’m not so grateful to have her back, on her knees, in my hands, at my feet, and buried between my legs.

I have a great deal of respect for the things Blaze can do with her body, like go ridiculously fast, defy gravity in those turns, wipe out and slam up the boards and get back up again not looking much worse for wear and certainly not having her dedication dimmed, but her mouth is maybe the most skilled part of her, and that is saying something when you’re talking about a SIG athlete.

She licks and sucks, using her lips, tongue, and teeth, and I lay back and enjoy. I’m in no hurry, and she doesn’t appear to be, either, with the leisurely and indulgent way she’s eating me. It’s almost extravagant, but after being without for so long, I suppose I deserve it.

Finally, when I swear to god she’s had her mouth on every centimeter of me at least a dozen times, she focuses on my clit and with broad licks, has me grabbing her hair between my fingers, pulling her face into me and shuddering against her lips. She’s set me on fire once again, and I tell her so.

“Fuck, Blaze, You are so fucking good.”

I buck and rock against her as best I can, and she doesn’t stop, drawing out my climax until the only thing that’s left are the tiniest ripples flowing out from my center.

Finally, I’m sated and collapse, too worn out to even bother closing my legs. I can imagine Blaze with her knees tucked up while she leans her head partly against the upholstered chair and partly against the very inside part of my thigh. I can feel her breath on me as I stroke her hair and try to catch my breath.

Soon enough, though, she’s squirming, and I smile without opening my eyes.

“What’s the matter, babe?”

She nudges me with her nose and it makes me laugh—silently, of course. “You know. Meanie.”

“Me? Mean? No . . .”

“Yes. I haven’t seen you for a month. I just got my fill of your cunt and now I’m horny as fuck, and you know it. And what are you doing about it? Nothing.”

Her indignant grumbling is entertaining, but she’s not really mad. This is all part of the fun. “Yeah? What would you have me do about it?”

“I want to fucking ride you. Grind up on you while we make out and you can taste yourself in my mouth. Because you’re still all over my face.”

I drum my fingers against her scalp as if I’m considering her offer, but I want it, everything she said. More, too, of course, but I’ll take that for now. “Yeah, I guess.”

And then I laugh because she’s vaulting to her feet, wasting no time grabbing me behind the knees to close my legs and straddle me as she was not all that long ago. She wasn’t lying about me being all over her face—around her mouth is still glossy with the remnants of some of the best cunnilingus on the planet, and I can’t wait to taste her. Taste us together. Which is what I do while she ruts against me. I can feel her heat, her wetness as she frotts against me, and goddamn is that delightful.

It’s not so long until she’s panting into my mouth, her breath hot and coming fast, and her loud-ass sex noises because she’s not even sorry about her pleasure. Neither am I. I want her to have it, want her to have it all, and if I have a part in giving it to her, even better. And if Mrs. Meyers raises her eyebrows when we drop off the Captain, well, she does.

The way Blaze is rubbing on me is getting increasingly fast, hard, and it makes her tits bounce into my face until I grab one to suckle, the other to pinch and tweak a nipple, and then she’s a goner. Calling out a whole lot of curse words and praise of my sexual prowess, and alongside all that expected sex talk that she’d give to anyone, there are endearments that are for me only, because I’m first in her mind, first in her heart, as she is in mine.

“Goddamn you, Maisy Harper. I’m yours first, forever. I fucking love you.”

Maybe that’s not the most romantic sentiment on the planet, since she’s other people’s second, third, fourth, fifth . . . and that might be just one night. But she’s happy this way, I’m happy this way, that I get to claim whatever I want and she can use the rest however she sees fit. It’s beautiful to me, and she makes me feel beautiful and cherished, too, that I come first. I mean, literally, but also in her thoughts and in her responsibilities.

“I fucking love you, too.”