With impatient hands, I unbutton his shorts, coaxing them down his hips and off, dropping them on top of the T-shirt. His boxers are soft white cotton, challenged by the insistent length of him pressing up against his belly.
Teasing, I just pull down the waistband, leaning in to inhale the masculine scent of him, soap and arousal, and press a kiss to the head of his cock. Humming, I ask quietly, “Do you remember this?”
Luca sucks in a sharp breath as his head falls back against the sofa. “Fuck,” he says on an exhale.
I tease him, small licks and kisses, refusing to take him all the way out of his boxers until he’s an absolute mess, wet and rock-hard in my hand. “What about this?”
He huffs out a laugh, his eyes fixed on where I’m holding him. I use his arousal to lubricate his length as I tease him with my mouth, slow and luxuriating, until his thighs tremble, pressing in against my shoulders, and I wonder how long it’s been since he’s come.
“I thought about this,” he says, sucking in a breath. I look up at him to continue. “About fucking you. What we’d look like together. How you’d feel.” He makes an almost painful sound. “Wanted it so much.”
With a moan, I take him deep, sucking him in earnest, relishing the sounds he makes with every deep dip of my head, the way his hips begin to instinctively lift in rhythm, the soft toying of his fingers in the hair at my nape.
“So good,” he whispers; then his grip tightens in my hair. “Ah ah, no, my love… slower.”
I obey, going back to slow teasing, smiling with my eyes up at him, and after a few minutes of toying with his need, bringing him to the edge and then back again, I release him to whisper, “Do you remember this?”
With a grin, I lower my mouth down his length and back up again with suction, again, again, until he’s panting above me. Luca’s hand forms a fist in my hair and he lets out a guttural curse and comes, pulsing in release, his low moan pulling the trigger on my own desire.
Without hesitating, he pulls me up onto his lap, kissing my swollen mouth, huffing out an awed laugh as if he can’t believe what I just did, his fingers making quick work of the buttons on my shorts. I kick them off as Luca impatiently peels my underwear down my thighs, guiding me back over him so he can reach between my legs. He releases another rumbling sound when he feels the slickness there.
“I want this all over me,” he says, kissing me urgently, pushing two fingers into me, using the heel of his hand to rub my clit. “Voglio essere bagnato di te.”
I can only let out a whimper, feeling so swollen and tight I know it won’t take long before I’m coming on his hand. I ride it, circling while he thrusts, and he stares down between us, watching what he’s doing to me, before he pauses with a frustrated growl to rip my shirt up over my head and unclasp my bra, getting me fully naked over him.
I laugh in relief when he returns his focus to the urgent situation between my legs, and I kiss his jaw, his chin, his cheek until I can only bare my teeth against his cheekbone, panting, entirely focused on thesensation I’m chasing. It’s so close, the moment is just there, that feeling of falling and blooming and expanding, and he whispers that I’m doing so good, I’m so beautiful,get there, amore mio, get there, and he bends to pull my breast into his mouth, sucking and biting, and it’s what I needed to completely fall to pieces on his hand.
It’s eternal, the way I come, drawn out by the press of his palm and the rapid thrusting of his fingers—a skill he’s always had, one that makes my science brain sit up from the sex-hazed slumber to momentarily high-five him—before I slump forward, boneless and leaden, loose with pleasure.
Luca carefully pulls his hand from between us and slides it up my side and around to my breast, where he urges me to sit up so he can kiss and play with my chest, rediscovering my skin and curves. His hand is wet, covered in me, just like he wanted, and watching him suck and lick makes my skin feel sensitive and electric.
He stretches us out on the sofa, side by side, pulling my leg over his hip, and when he kisses up my chest, my neck, over my chin and up to my mouth, and he tastes like me and him and us… I fall so much further in love with him that I get lightheaded. We get lost in the slowest kiss trance, just exploring each other in an ebbing and flowing rhythm of play to heat to loving to calm and back again.
With him naked against me, I feel my eyes grow heavy, hear the way his breaths, too, are becoming deeper and rhythmic, and like this, we fall asleep in each other’s arms.
35LUCA
I don’t think I’ve ever slept this late in my life, but when I wake up next to a naked Emery, I can’t imagine getting out of bed.
I carried her in here around midnight; she was sweet and sleepy, too lazy to walk herself down the short hall to the bedroom. But I had a cramp in my calf and a sore neck and wasn’t going to sleep on the couch all night when we could stretch out together in our bed. Emery happily clambered in, eyes droopy, and rolled over with her back to me in invitation. She melted into the curve of my body when I followed her between the sheets.
For a few minutes I felt the pressing desire to roll her over and make love. I remembered the videos of us together and wanted to re-create every one of them. I wanted to lose myself inside her, to forget everything and every person outside of our house. But soon her warmth and softness pulled me under, too. I slept like a fucking rock.
It’s nearly nine and she’s still out cold, on her stomach, with a pillow clutched in her arms. Her hair is soft and loose, fanned around her face, down past her shoulders. I wonder if it’s always been this long. If she’s ever had bangs or a haircut she regrets. I study her in a way I haven’t been able to do yet—the bare skin on her back, arms, sides—tracing the gentle slope of her neck, the strong line of her back, the luscious curve of her waist, knowing that, once upon a time, her body was as familiar to me as my own. After the intimacy of last night on the couch, I feel something inside me uncoiling. I might not remember our past, but I know we have a future.
Emery has a scar on her right elbow. It’s just above the joint—a crescent moon about half an inch long. I dig around in my memory for some echo of how she got it.
Nothing.
Bending, I kiss her shoulder, and she hums in her sleep, pressing back into me.
“Morning,” I murmur into her skin.
She grunts, burrowing deeper into the pillow.
Honey nudges my arm, and I look over her shoulder to meet her hopeful brown eyes. She stares at me in stark betrayal. Clearly she’s never been fed a day in her life.
“Morning, sweet girl.” I push to sit up at the side of the bed and, with a hand under her chin, I gently turn her head, searching to make sure she’s really okay. Had she been in the yard the whole time? It’s hard to imagine she wouldn’t have come when we’d called her… unless she’d found a rabbit to hunt or more dead worms for Emery and couldn’t be distracted.