It makes me strangely happy to realize that she was telling the truth about not having a lot of one-night-stands. Honestly, for the sort of relationship we’re engaging in—a week or two of uber-casual sex—it shouldn’t matter how experienced she is or isn’t, but I’m not very experienced: my only other sexual partner ever, was Wendy. It’s reassuring that we’re both a little nervous; that neither of us has ever done this before.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask her.
“Mm-hm,” she hums without looking at me.
I shift a little so that I’m semi-facing her and reach for her face with both of my hands, cupping her jaw gently as I lower my lips to hers. First contact is bliss. My lips, soft and starved, touch hers with tenderness and gratitude.
These are the first lips I’ve kissed since Wendy’s.
The thought streaks across my consciousness and my eyes well up with unexpected and unwanted tears. Shit. I close them tightly, sliding my tongue along the seam of Amanda’s lips until they open for me.
I have no illusions. I’m not trying to pretend this woman is my dead wife.
I know who I’m with—Amanda from Seattle.
As much as I will always love Wendy, and part of me will always miss her, a cord that has bound me to her since her passing is gently broken as Amanda and I kiss, and I’m grateful for that, even if my eyes water, even if some small part of me briefly mourns the finality of its loss.
Thankfully, I’m distracted from my thoughts by Amanda looping her arms around my neck, her stiff nipples scraping my pecs as I groan into her mouth. I touch my tongue to hers, tilting her head as I kiss her from a different angle. My mouth is sealed over hers as I pull her onto my lap, inviting her to straddle me.
“N-Not yet,” she murmurs.
Still kissing me, though, she slips off my lap and pulls her underwear down, then straddles me again. Sliding up my thighs, closer to me, she cradles my erection within the soft, wet folds of her sex. She arches her back, rubbing the nub of her clit against the pole of my cock, moaning softly with each slick slide of my skin against hers.
I skim my hands down her back, kneading the soft skin of her backside as she kisses me passionately, tiny sounds from the back of her throat making my breath catch with longing. I’m trying to be patient, but she’s naked and it’s been so damn long…
“Are you…on the pill?” I pant against her neck, peppering quick kisses along the column of her throat.
“Yeah,” she says. Her head is tossed back, giving me ample access to her skin. I suck her ear lobe into my mouth, gently biting it before letting it go. “And I got tested after my breakup. Just to be sure.”
So, he cheated on her. Bastard. I file that knowledge away and pull her closer, so that her clit is flush against the base of my cock. I can feel my excitement building. It’s been so long. I don’t know how much longer I can wait.
“Listen, um…I might need to go to the bathroom.”
“Now?” she says, righting her head and opening her eyes to look at me.
“I…” Shoot. This is embarrassing. “It’s been so long, I don’t think I can—I mean…”
She gasps. “Oh, my God! You can’t wait…Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”
I reach for her hips, to lift her gently off my lap and take care of my needs privately before we continue. But she places her hands over mine, stopping me.
“It’s okay,” she says. “We can do it.”
“No,” I say. “I’ll just go and—”
“Stop,” she whispers firmly.
Her knees are on either side of my hips, but she places her hands on my shoulders and raises her body up, over mine.
Reaching for my cock, I line it up at the entrance of her sex then stay still, letting her decide on the rate and depth of penetration. With my feet on the floor, it would be easy to thrust up into her body, but I force myself to wait, holding my breath as she slowly lowers herself onto me.
Fuuuuuuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Nothing in my life has ever felt so sweet.
I hear her breath, staggered and gasping, as I sink into her, disappearing inch by blessed fucking inch until I’m encased inside of her tight, hot pussy.
“Jesus,” I pant, remember my promise to let her be in control until we’re both naked and she’s asking me to fuck her. Then it occurs to me: that time has come and gone.
I hold onto her hips and brace my feet on the ground, holding her up as I pull away and then thrust upwards again.
She cries out, but I’m watching her gorgeous face as she closes her eyes and arches her back, as her nails dig into my shoulder, as her innermost muscles coil around my cock like they’ll never let it go. Her face spells pleasure.
“Please,” she murmurs. “More.”
It’s all I need to pump into her, trying to establish a rhythm. My cock is excited, and I’m sure my hands are clumsy as they clutch desperately onto her hips. Her lips crash into mine, our teeth clacking together before our tongues take over in a frenzied mating that pushes me over the edge, stealing all of my self-control and leaving me to the mercy of my needs. I feel my balls bunch up. I feel the deep, deep tremors at the base of my cock—infinitesimal earthquakes before a volcanic eruption.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she pants, her arms around my neck and her teeth biting into my shoulder. “Come inside of me, Luke. I want to feel it.”
I hear myself half-growl and half-sob before my throat closes and my body convulses, coming in thick, hot streams of cum into her tight hot pussy, which seems to tighten and release, tighten and release, in perfect tandem with my own climax.
We orgasm together, holding onto each other tightly, whispering mindlessly as our bodies meet in the most profoundly intimate way, meeting our individual needs and transforming them into a shared relief.
I exhale in short bursts as I let go of her and fall back on the bed, throwing an arm over my eyes.
I feel her slide carefully off my lap and lie down next to me.
For the first time since meeting her in the lounge tonight, I feel shy. I’m not sure what to do. I want to lie on my side and pull her into my arms. I want to sleep with her naked body spooned next to mine because I’ve missed that so much. But I don’t know if—
“Luke,” she says softly.
“Hmm?” I hum, lifting my arm and opening my eyes to look at her.
“Would it be weird if you held me for a little while?”
I know that this is a no-strings-attached affair, which certainly means it’s a no-hearts-attached affair, but her request squeezes my heart a little nonetheless.
“I’d like that,” I say, pulling down the covers, slipping under them and gesturing for her to join me.
“Let’s not overthink it,” she murmurs, nestling into the warmth of my body.
I agree, I think, but something keeps me from saying it.
Maybe it’s the sound of her soft snoring. Or the realization that in some places, especially those in which you are only briefly visiting, the less you say, the better.
7
Amanda
We texted a few times over the weekend—Luke checked up on me to see how I was feeling and to thank me for Friday’s date which I appreciated. It was considerate, and too much of my final year with Bryce didn’t include much consideration.
Luke spent the weekend with his kids, but I thought about him a lot: when I visited the Fortress of the Bear on Saturday, I wondered if I might bump into him there, and as I ate a lonely Sunday evening dinner, texting back and forth with Leigh about her plans for the fundraiser, I hoped he’d get back in touch, to make another date with me.
I ended up hearing from him late on Sunday night. He asked if he could “stop by” my place during his lunchbreak on Monday, and butterflies teemed in my stomach when I wrote back, “yes,” and gave him my address.
Having my own rental apartment and keeping my own hours means I’m available anytime Luke wants to see me, and I can’t lie: the idea of spontaneous sex whenever one of us wants i
t is such a turn on, I spend Monday morning in a perpetual state of arousal.
By the time he knocks on my door at noon, I’m wet and ravenous.
He’s barely inside the door before our mouths collide. I’m yanking his pants down and he’s lifting my skirt up, growling with satisfaction when he finds me bare underneath. Sheathed inside me a second later, he fucks me hard against the door, my legs wrapped around his waist as he grunts with each deep thrust. My pussy gloves him like it’s been years since we mated. And about a minute later, we come together in loud moans of pleasure that will surely wake up my neighbors if they happen to be late sleepers. Biting on the soft lobe of his ear, I’m too lost in my own mindless bliss to care, and besides, it’s not like I live here.
“Amaaaaanda,” he sighs, his breath falling soft and hot against my throat. “That was…”
“…amaaaaazing.”
I slide down his body, breathless and sweaty, his cum slipping down my inner thighs as my feet hit the floor. Taking his hand, I lead him to my bathroom where we finish undressing and shower together.
Lying on my bed a little while later, we have sex a second time, but less hurried now. We take our time touching each other, exploring each other’s bodies with our fingers and tongues. I savor the joining of our bodies this time, staring up at him as he enters me slowly. When he’s fully embedded inside of me, his balls lie gorged and heavy against my skin. I lean my head into the pillow, my eyes rolling back, then focusing on him again. This oneness, this fullness, this intimacy…it’s almost too much to share with someone I barely know. And yet, it feels so physically perfect, I try to shove my emotions aside. Our deal doesn’t involve feelings. Our deal involves fucking. And no one’s body fucking mine has ever felt so fine.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, scanning my face, dropping a gentle kiss to my forehead.
The kiss is so soft—so like something a boyfriend or lover would offer—it makes my eyes burn. I don’t want tenderness. Tenderness has strings attached to it.
“That this is good,” I answer, closing my eyes and flexing my pussy muscles so they fist around his cock. “That I’ve missed it.”
He groans softly, withdrawing from me all the way before surging forward again.
“Me too,” he says, increasing the speed of his thrusts.
His hips gyrate to a faster rhythm now and the slapping of our bodies is a primitive turn-on. I reach for his cheeks, pulling his face to mine and locking my lips with his, our tongues mimicking our bodies as we fuck faster and faster, my body surging off the bed every time he slams into me.
His arms shake on either side of my head and finally he freezes for a second, groaning loudly before I feel the quick spasming of his cock. He comes in long, beautiful waves punctuated by his panted breath near my ear. His arms grow slack and the heaviness of his body gradually rests on mine. I stroke his back with my fingers, lightly, gently, reveling in his weight resting on me, covering me, our bodies still joined, though replete and exhausted.
After a minute or two, I hear him chuckle softly, flipping to his side next to me. He pulls me against him, my back to his front. His strong, tan arm under my milky breasts anchors me to him.
“Oh, man, that was good,” he says, nuzzling my neck. “How about a quick nap?”
“Sure,” I whisper, closing my eyes, but I don’t sleep even as the sound of his breathing falls into a regular cadence. I just…experience this: being held, feeling held.
Bryce wasn’t a cuddler.
Even when we were first dating, first sleeping together, first waking up together…Bryce liked his space. He didn’t like falling asleep with our legs entangled and his heart beating against my back. If I touched my feet to his, he’d pull them away, even in his sleep. We’d have sex, sure, but afterwards, he’d lie on his back with his head on his pillow and if I rested my head on his chest for a few minutes, he’d eventually tell me that my face was “heavy”, and he was getting sweaty. Real romantic. Even though I’d enjoyed snuggling with boyfriends in college, with Bryce, I got used to sleeping on my side of the bed and keeping my hands to myself after sex.
So this? Being held by a big, strong man after such an intimate act? It feels vaguely familiar and completely wonderful, like a song you really loved that you haven’t heard in years and years.
I want this, I think. When I find my “next someone,” I want him to be a cuddler.
That thought cheers me up a little and makes what Luke and I are doing a little less cheap and tawdry. He’s my rebound guy, right? I can use this time with him to figure out what I want next, and that will give our time together purpose and meaning outside of gratuitous sexual satisfaction. Meaning and purpose that I, apparently, need.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise to me that having a relationship based solely on sex would feel wrong, somehow. I’ve been a serial monogamist since high school. I wasn’t kidding about one-night-stands, or a casual, short-term, sex-only relationship being outside of my comfort zone.
But if my time with Luke can mean something? Can help me narrow down what I want in the future and impact my life in a positive way? Maybe I can better accept it for exactly what it is: a harmless and satisfying fling.
When I glance at the clock on my bedside table, I realize it’s 12:45pm and Luke probably needs to get back to work soon.
“Hey,” I say, shaking him gently. “Luke, wake up.”
“Huh?” he groans. “Wendy?”
“Um, no.” I gulp. “Amanda.”
He flips over to look at me, his face sheepish. “Sorry.”
But I don’t want him to feel bad. I’m the first woman he’s been with since he lost his wife. I can’t take this slip personally.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Right,” he says, cringing.
“Doesn’t matter,” I reassure him.
“We just had sex and then I called you by my ex-wife’s name.”
“You were half asleep,” I say, offering him a little grin. “It wasn’t on purpose and I’m not offended.”
For a minute, he looks at me closely, examining my face like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Thanks. That’s—you’re cool.”
“I’m cool?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, giving me a shy half-smile. “I think you’re cool.”
I was never cool in high school. Smart? Sure. Bookish? Yep. Reliable? Uh-huh. Cool? No. Honestly? It feels kind of nice for someone to think I’m cool.
I lean forward and press my lips to his. “Want a sandwich? I haven’t had lunch yet.”
“You don’t mind?” he asks.
“Nope. It’s just peanut butter and jelly. I’m making one for myself anyway.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’d love a P, B and J. Thanks for offering.”
His dimples dent his cheeks and something inside of me clenches. He’s cute. And nice. If we’d met in Seattle…at a bar on a Saturday night, would this have been the beginning of something real? Of something that might have a chance to survival?
No strings attached. Don’t overthink it.
“Get dressed,” I say, rolling away from him. “It’ll only take me a sec.”
As I leave the room, I pull on a silk robe, tying the sash as I pad over to the kitchen.
“Hey!” I call to him as I pull a loaf of oatmeal bread from the fridge, “I’ve been meaning to ask: how’d you end up at Evergreen?”
“I’m originally from Seattle.”
I place a paper towel on the kitchen counter to act as a workspace and open the jar of peanut butter, surprised about this news. “Wait. You’re from Seattle?”
“Born and bred. My parents moved us up here when we were in our late-teens.”
“You and…Bonnie.”
“Yep. My sister.”
“Are your parents still in Seattle?”
“Nope. Passed away,” he answers. “They were in their late-forties when they had us. My Dad died of cancer a few years back and my Mom had a stroke a few mont
hs later.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice closer now. “I miss them.”
I turn to find him dressed in his navy-blue pants, light blue shirt and navy-blue tie. The shirt has navy-blue epaulets and pockets, with a State Trooper patch on the arm and a gold, metal badge over his heart. He looks so masculine, so handsome, my own heart skips a beat.
“There’s something about a man in uniform,” I say, winking at him.
He grins at me from where he’s leaning against the kitchen wall. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, feeling a flutter in my belly as I turn back to the sandwiches. “You know? I don’t think you were wearing your uniform when I met you last week. When you gave me a ride.” I cough, my cheeks coloring. There have been so many rides since then. “In your car.”
“Probably had a black golf shirt on. That’s what I wear most days at the academy. For training. Can I give you a hand with anything?”
“Nope. I’m almost done,” I say. “So, what kind of training do you do?”
“I’m a staff instructor at the Trooper Academy,” he says, taking a seat at my two-person table to wait for lunch.
“A teacher?”
“Yep. Mostly driving and emergency vehicle operation. Some weapon safety. Fitness too.”
I put two glasses, a container of lemonade and two plates with sandwiches on the table, then sit down across from him. “Why are you all dressed up today?”
“Today’s the last day of school,” he tells me, picking up his sandwich. “I have a fifth grader graduating to middle school and an eighth grader graduating to the high school. Need to look my best.”
“Do they have ceremonies for that?”
“Sure do. I’m headed to one right after this, and the other right after that.”
I know he’s a dad, of course, but it’s the first time he’s mentioned his kids to me. “You have three kids, right?”
“Uh-huh.” He reaches for the lemonade and pours half a glass for each of us. “Chad is thirteen, Gillian is eleven and Meghan is five.”
“Five,” I say, instantly thinking of the mother these children have lost. “She’s just a baby.”
One Hot Summer Page 41
