Bad Case of Loving You

We fucked like that, slowly and carefully, moving together until my skin began to slip away from me, my life, my thoughts, leaving me open and vulnerable, so full of him. I couldn’t still my tongue, so I whispered, streams of words, falling and stumbling out of my mouth.

He didn’t silence me or try to stop the flow and his mouth was moving against my shoulder, whispering, too, words that slipped through my mind without me being able to hear them.

It seemed to me I could hear the river gliding past and it made me want to go home, wherever home might be; Los Angeles, New York, my house, my office … I wasn’t sure where, but I wanted to be there with Matthew, just so we could be quiet and still, and he could slide into me like this every night, rocking my troubles away.

He guided my hands off my cock, replaced them with one of his own, slick with lube, so cool and smooth and wet, and that was his gift to me. He was going to let me come again.

The noise from the next room ebbed and flowed around me as Matthew stroked into me differently, shallow strokes, pressing forward, making me moan more loudly now.

I would have slipped away if his arms weren’t wrapped around me, shed my skin completely without his certainty and strength.

My face was wet and I was beginning to tremble. There was too much feeling inside me, too much sensation, too much hunger, to belong to just one place and one time.

“Let go,” he whispered against my shoulder. “I’ll hold you, just let go.”

My pulse was a roar in my ears. Matthew held his cock still inside me, half way in, half way out, so I was poised on the edge…

I went over quietly, not resisting, not holding back, letting go just like Matthew had told me to, leaving me weak, slack-mouthed and pliant, my face pressed into the pillow.

Matthew began to thrust again, deep and hard, driving himself in further each time, then he came, groaning and twisting against my back.

He slid out of me far too soon, and I would have felt abandoned except that his arms were holding me, firm and secure around my chest.

He rolled me onto my back and through half-open eyes I could see that he was smiling.

Gentle hands cut and peeled the tape from my wrists, and I closed my eyes completely when Matthew kissed my wrists carefully.

“I’m just going to turn the light off,” he whispered and I nodded.

His arms left me for a moment, then the room was dark and he was back beside me. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said as he pulled the covers over both of us and settled my head on his shoulder.

I fell asleep with the feeling of him stroking my hair gently.

Chapter Thirty Five

It was the sound of a horn on a barge that woke me, I think, and I yawned and stretched. Andrew’s arm was draped across my chest.

He was deeply asleep when I turned my head to look at him, jaw slack, breathing slow and peaceful. He was going to be asleep for hours.

I needed to piss and was damn sure I couldn’t wait hours, so I eased his arm off me and slid out of the bed.

I found my underwear and trousers and pulled them on, then pushed the cardboard carton blocking the door out of the way as quietly as I could. Andrew didn’t even stir.

I pissed, which was an enormous relief, and washed my hands, and helped myself to more lube sachets, then decided I needed to rehydrate in a major way. And if I was thirsty, it was an indication that Andrew was going to have the hangover from hell when he eventually woke up.

There was a woman in a bathrobe in the kitchen, surrounded by vast quantities of used plates and glasses and mugs. She looked kind of dyed and plucked and constructed, and far too well-groomed for first thing in the morning, but she smiled at me in a friendly enough way.

“Hi, I’m Lena. You must be Matthew.” Her eyes locked on the bars through my nipples. Served me right for not bothering to put a shirt on. I could deal with straight women asking about my piercings, even first thing in the morning.

“Yeah, I’m Matthew,” I said. “I think Andrew’s going to have a killer hangover when he wakes up. Have you got any electrolyte replacement fluid?”

She tore her eyes away from my nipples for a moment to nod. “Sure, it wouldn’t be F’s place without Gatorade.” She opened a cupboard and gave me two bottles of vile blue liquid.

“Thanks.”

Her eyes were back on my nipples. Here we go; she was going to ask to touch them.

“Um, would I be able to just, you know, touch them?” she asked, looking coy.

“As long as I get to touch your nipples, too,” I said, and she spluttered at me.

“But… You can’t… That’s completely different!” she said, drawing her bathrobe more tightly closed around herself.

“It’s what you wanted to do to me,” I pointed out.

She took the kettle over to the sink stacked with dirty dishes, filled it, and put it on to boil. “All right,” she said when she turned back to face me.

Damn. About one time in ten, the woman was either sufficiently curious or sufficiently comfortable in her own body to take up the offer. Looked like Lena was that one in ten.