by Avery Aster
“Take your time,” he says, moving onto the bed beside me, one hand between my legs while his other hand moves up to my tummy, then to my breasts. His hand and lips make love to my nipples while his other hand continues to make love to my pussy. The fire that was building continues to grow and I long for the thing he’s suggesting. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt a man skin to skin.
Why not Christophe?
“Have you ever made love without protection before?”
“Yes. Once.”
“With her?” The words are difficult because of what he’s doing to my body.
“Yes. With her.”
Wow.
I close my eyes and the image in my brain is of Christophe thrusting into me without a condom. The imagined sensation of his cock sliding into me, his flesh against mine, is so real I arch and grind into his hand.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“You need to say it.”
“I want you inside of me, Christophe. Skin to skin. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”
He groans. It’s a lustful, sexy sound and it stokes the blaze inside of me to a point where I’m now ready to grab hold of him and force him inside.
“I’m going to go slow, Tess. You need to let go of that tension or I will drive you crazy.”
I throw my head back. God, it’s so hard! So many years of conditioning. So many crazy lovemaking sessions where the faster and harder and more painful it was the better it was. This is contrary to everything I believe in. And yet…and yet…
I’m struck again by the sense of familiarity. As Christophe moves on top of me and presses my thighs open with his knees and I guide him to my steamy entrance, I am overcome by a wicked déjà vu.
You need to take it slow, Christophe. Millimeter by millimeter. Feel every inch of me as you slide inside. Take your time. Enjoy it. Your penis will thank you.
Where did that come from?
“What’s wrong?” Christophe asks, holding his cock flush against my opening, exhibiting some kind of superhuman self-control.
“Nothing.”
“I’ll stop if you’re not ready.”
“Who says I’m not ready?”
“You’re frowning.”
I shake my head and adjust my hips, making the angle easier for him to slide inside. “Nothing’s wrong. For a second I felt like I’ve been here before. Like this. ”
He adjusts his hips too. “Maybe you have,” he whispers and suddenly he is inside of me—just the tip—but there he is. I am so aware of him, his warmth, the way he stretches me—fuck me—it’s sublime.
His smile is slow and leisurely like his cock, thrusting a teensy bit deeper, making me inhale sharply. God, it’s good.
Normally I’d be bearing down on him. Normally, I’d be grabbing his hips and urging him inside, further, faster, harder, harder. Now, now, now!
“Tell me how it feels.”
“It’s nice. I feel the stretch along each of my muscles. I feel—wow—all of you.”
“Mmm.” He sighs into my hair as he lowers himself on top of me, his breath slow and easy, in time with mine.
“How does it feel for you?” I ask softly.
“Exquisite. You’re incredibly warm and wet. You are sucking me in. I’m barely doing anything.”
“Really?”
“Mmm.”
“You don’t feel like going faster?”
He smiles and kisses me softly, then whispers against my lips. “I used to. I’d feel this urge building in me. It was an urge to fuck. There’s no other way to describe it.”
“Yes.” Oh, how I understand that urge. I’m feeling it right this second. “How did you control it?”
“I didn’t. I learned to relax into it. I learned that when I stopped trying to fuck and started trying to feel, the sensation was extraordinary. Better.”
“I’m having a hard time believing you.”
“And yet, here you are. Doing it.”
“Am I?”
He kisses me again. His lips so soft and tender. His mouth juicy and relaxed. I respond equally and our lips perform a luscious dance together. It takes me a while to realize we do not have our tongues stuck down each other’s throats because it’s not necessary.
“That’s nice,” I say.
“It is.” He kisses me again before moving up onto his knees, pulling my hips and angling my pelvis off the bed.
I brace myself with my feet and as he moves in and out of me, I meet him thrust for thrust. He pushes my hips into the mattress, holding me there. “You need to stay still.”
“But—”
“Stop worrying about making it pleasurable for me, think about the pleasure taking place inside of you.”
“Doesn’t it feel good when I do that, though?”
“It feels incredible, but it amps me up, makes me want to finish. Fast.”
“Really?”
“You have no idea how hard it is for a man to be inside of you. You make men want to lose control when you move the way you do.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Neither. But it’s what you did to me last night. You made me lose control.”
“I did.”
“You did.”
“You don’t like losing control, do you?”
“You have no idea how you tempt me.”
I lie still, gazing into his eyes, trying to figure him out but not having much luck. “You didn’t like it?”
“I haven’t done it in a long time.”
“Why?”
“When I retain my essence, I feel energized. Revitalized. When a sexy, manipulative, siren like yourself forces me to come, I become depleted.” He kisses me. “Both enjoyable but I prefer the former.”
As he relates the memory of last night, it seems to make him move with more vigor. I respond accordingly but not for long. Christophe holds my hips firmly. “Not tonight, Tessa. We’re doing things differently. But you need to be willing. Are you?”
“Yes,” I say. “Show me. I want to learn.”
Chapter Sixteen
He rolls me onto my side, scissoring our legs together. The new angle sends ripples of pleasure through my pelvis and shock waves up into my jaw. “Wow.” I say.
“Feel good?”
“So good.”
“The beauty is, the less you do, the more you feel.”
“That’s so weird.”
“But true.” We stay there for a few minutes, Christophe moving in and out of me slowly, sometimes stopping and breathing while he’s buried deep inside. At those moments the desire to move is overwhelming and just when I’m about to pulse my pelvis against him or contract my channel to squeeze him, I hear a voice.
Relax into it. Feel your sex. Feel every movement. Stop thinking about what he needs and think about how you feel, what you need.
“That’s it, God. That’s it. You are so hot inside. So wet.” He pulls me up onto all fours and plunges deep, holding my hips still while he does gentle thrusts. Deeper, deeper, deeper.
His words excite me as does the position, one of my favorites, and I can’t stop myself this time from backing up against him and gyrating my hips in circles.
“Fuck that’s good, Tess, but you need to slow down.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“You can. Channel that energy up inside of you.” He bends over me, his front against my back, one arm supporting him while his other hand comes around to my breast, softly kneading.
It feels fucking amazing. The full body contact, the prolonged penetration, the slow burn I had going on inside is suddenly on the verge of becoming out of control.
“Don’t think about it. Don’t think about what you need next. Think about what is happening now. Feel me inside of you. Feel your breasts, your nipples, be them.”
I hear a voice inside my head. It’s her voice, I’m sure of it. It’s like the ghost of the woman who taught him la
st time he visited Eden remained behind on the island and is here with us now, coaching me.
“She told you the same thing,” I ask breathlessly. “Didn’t she?”
His movement goes from slow and easy to a bit faster. “What do you mean?”
“The woman who taught you, she said, be your penis.”
He grasps my hips hard and holds me tight, thrusting into the most intimate part of me and staying there. “How did you know?”
“I heard her in my head. Just now.”
He starts moving again. “Yes,” he says eventually. “She did say that.”
“And is that what you’re doing now?”
He gently pushes me down onto my stomach and lies on top of me, not smothering me but just covering me like the most erotic blanket in the world. “Yes. Until you started asking me all of these questions.”
“Sorry.”
He nips at the back of my neck. “Stop thinking, Tessa.” He moves so that my legs are together and he is squeezed tight between them. “Just feel. Okay?”
I take a deep breath and concentrate on what he’s doing, my legs pressed together, just lying there while he moves. Soon, I stop thinking about him and start feeling the sensation of him inside of me. Of his body on top of mine. I start to move, not to please him but to please myself. I roll out from under him and slide on top of him, riding his cock up and down, not frenetically, like I usually do, but like everything is slow motion—up, down, up, down—I feel buoyant, a well-greased carousel horse on a pole. I control the penetration, I feel him from tip to root filling me, going deeper than I can usually take men, like my vagina has expanded. Christophe lies beneath me, his hands moving softly along my thighs. Not grabbing, not pinching, but stroking and caressing, teasing each nerve ending into awareness, creating a delicious, tingling awakening that encompasses my whole body.
From there I pull him up so that he’s sitting and I wrap my legs around his back. Seated in his lap, I feel his hands beneath my ass and he lifts me up and then lets gravity take control so that I slide to his base, him impossibly deep in me.
“Ah!” It’s like his body has come alive inside of mine. Not only is he incredibly deep, it feels as though his cock is snaking up higher, going places I’ve never known a man to go before. He reaches for me and fits his hand around my neck. We gaze into each other’s eyes.
And I’m there. There is nothing else going on except the fact that I am sitting in Christophe’s lap, his cock embedded profoundly in my body and our gazes searching out one another’s souls. There is no crazy thrusting. No spanking. No pinching, no slapping. He doesn’t tie me up, yet I am tied to him. He doesn’t move and yet I can feel him more acutely than any man before. I am not panting and yet I am so aware of my breath moving in and out of my lungs in a caress, just as I am aware of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest.
We stay like that for I don’t know how long, and then we move. Our bodies take over, performing an ancient dance that we were born knowing how to do. Fluid, lithe, gentle, loving, we move together in this rich, succulent sway of bodies until I cease being. I am no longer Tessa Savage making love to Christophe Chevalier. I am pure energy. I feel it rising from his potent male virility and traveling up from my womb and abdomen into my chest, out through my heart and back to Christophe’s. This cycle continues to build and build, energy shared in a divine circuit, deleting physicality and replacing our bodies with effervescent vapors of vibrating energy. Unlike the increased friction and tension that I normally feel prior to orgasm, this is an incredibly relaxing and yet euphoric state. There is no past, there is no future. There is only now and I am one with Christophe, moving together, breathing together, feeling together.
And out of nowhere I am transported across time and space until I find myself in this world of multicolored bliss. It doesn’t grow and explode. It expands, engulfs; it’s not a place or a height that I touch for a nano-second, feeling its loss an instant after experiencing its wonder. It’s a place where I live where I grow larger than myself. I remain within it. And it is peace and it is beauty and it is feeling whole for perhaps the first time in my fucking life and I don’t ever want to leave and in fact, I have no urge to leave.
It is not fleeting, I am not tired, spent, or satiated. I am open to more sensations than I could have ever imagined and I feel energized. Like a superhuman. I am a god in my own flesh. It’s my home. For the first fucking time I’ve found it. Not a pseudo home. Not a temporary home. It is the place where I belong. It is me and it is where I want to stay. But I’m not here alone. I’m with Christophe. We’re together. We feel this miracle simultaneously and I know we do because as I look into his eyes I see every feeling, every emotion that I’m feeling reflected back to me. That reflection does not double the pleasure, it expands the pleasure exponentially, like we’re nuclear fission.
Though I know I can’t linger indefinitely, that fact does not leave me panicked. I know I will return for I have been here before.
Often.
This place has a name and I feel it in every cell and fiber of my being.
It is pure. Bright. Weightless.
Perfect.
It is love.
* * *
Hours have passed since I came to the bedroom looking for a sweater. The candles have burned down but I don’t care. I’m lying in Christophe’s arms feeling more content than I may have ever felt before in my life. However, there is one thing that is bothering me. One thing I must ask.
“Christophe?”
“Yes?”
“The woman you met here last time, who was she?”
He takes a long time to answer. The longer he takes, the more worried I become that my dubious, impossible suspicion might actually be correct.
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
He rolls me to face him and he gazes deep into my eyes. “The woman was you, Tessa.”
Even though I had a gut feeling about it, even though I felt myself connect with a part of myself, a part I don’t understand, I still get a weird tingling sensation, like someone playing with the hair on the top of my head.
“No.”
“It’s true. I know it doesn’t make sense. But it’s true.”
“How is that possible?” I ask.
He smooths the hair from out of my eyes. “I don’t know. It’s this place. It defies physics and logic. Time is different here. I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is, I came here two years ago and met you.”
“But I’ve never been here.”
“Not yet. For you, the time is different. You will return and I will come for the first time.”
I sit up. “That’s impossible. You’re talking time travel and shit.”
“I know.”
“But that’s…”
He takes my chin and gazes into my eyes. “Yet you feel it. The connection.”
I try to shake my head but he won’t let me.
“I know you do, Tessa. I see it when you look at me. Like you recognize me.”
I close my eyes, replaying all the weird moments of déjà vu over the past week. The truth is, I know exactly what he’s talking about. “So you met a future version of me?”
“Yes.”
“And…” God! I can’t believe it. It’s simply not possible. And yet…and yet…there is something about what he is saying that rings true. I open my eyes and gaze up at him.
Holy shit. There it is. That feeling again. That knowing.
“So, what am I like?”
“Much the same.” He runs his knuckles across my cheek, across my lips. “Though you have learned restraint.”
I lean into his touch, smiling. Feeling almost like I am the person he’s talking about already…as crazy as that sounds.
“You are a good teacher.”
“You’ve got to be fucking with me.”
“I am not fucking with you.” He caresses my back, my hip, my thigh. “Though I do enjoy fucking you.”
/> “That was more than fucking.” I gaze up through my lashes. “Much more.”
“Yes. It was.”
I consider what he’s saying. It makes no sense and yet it makes a weird sort of sense too. “So,” I start slowly, “just to clarify. My future self, taught you…so that you could teach me?”
He smiles. “It would appear so.” He fits his hand around the back of my neck, threading his fingers through my hair. Leaning close he breathes in my scent before whispering, “I believe the reason is deeper, however.”
“Deeper than that? I don’t know if my brain can handle anything deeper than the paradox of me teaching Tantra to the guy who would eventually teach me. That’s fucked up.”
He chuckles. “You have no idea how hard it was to pretend I didn’t know you in Monte Carlo. There you were, the woman who changed my life, and you had no clue who I was.”
“Oh my God.” I cover my face, thinking about my behavior. “So that’s why you were so persistent?”
“Of course. I knew I needed to be with you, I just didn’t know how it was going to happen.”
I move so that I’m lying on his shoulder, listening once again to his heart beating beneath me, so steady, so virile, so alive. “So, besides the obvious, what is the deeper meaning behind our meeting?”
“Do I really need to say it?”
“Yes.”
“Tessa, you once told me…or you will tell me—depends on one’s perspective—that for true bliss to be found in Tantric practices, one must love their partner. And if they should find a partner from their soul group, and if they were to practice this art together, they would find ultimate enlightenment.” He tilts my chin up so that we can look at one another. “What we just experienced…my God. If that’s not enlightenment…”
“What are you saying?” Though I understand his words, my heart begins to pound in the first stages of panic.
“I’m saying you are my soul mate.”
I roll off his shoulder and move to the other side of the bed, lying with my arm over my face.
“Tessa. Don’t shut me out. Look at me.”
“No. Christophe. I can’t.” I push my feet over the edge of the bed as if I’m going to get out, but my legs are wobbly and I feel light-headed. Christophe is behind me and he takes my shoulders. I pull away.
