Page 53 of Plunge

I kneel naked between her legs and I worship her with my tongue, lapping and stroking. I add a finger or two and watch her face as she melts with pleasure. “I love making you come,” I tell her. And it’s true. I have never in my life felt more powerful, more accomplished than when I can relax a woman enough to help her let go, to bring her over the edge and draw out her orgasm.

Thistle digs her fists into the carpet, and I can tell she’s close. One well-timed pinch of her clit paired with a slow lick of my tongue, and she detonates. Thistle McMurray is putty in my hands, screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors if they weren’t all at the dance with my family.

She starts slapping my back to let me know her clit is too sensitive, and I remember that she always needs a break from contact after she comes. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this sort of connection, since I’ve been this in synch with a woman. Probably since she and I split up. Rather than think about that, I grin and hoist her over my shoulder.

She yelps as I carry her upstairs and toss her onto my bed. “Be right back,” I say, jogging quickly into my suitcase in the closet, cursing myself for not keeping the condoms in the night stand. But who did I think I was going to be fucking here in Oak Creek?

When I stand up, Thistle is lounging on her back, legs spread wide, eyes half closed. She’s got one hand lazily trailing across her breast, and the sight is so fucking sexy I almost come in my hand while I roll on the rubber. “Fuck, Thiss. You ready for this?”

“Mmm hmm. Come here, Fletcher,” she says, and I don’t wait around. I practically leap onto her, reaching between her legs where she’s warm and swollen and so wet. Bracing my weight on one arm, I notch myself at her opening, and slide home.

I rest my forehead against hers and I start to move inside her. It felt good to hate-fuck her in Philadelphia and I’m sure it felt nice when we drunkenly rolled around the night we got married, but this? Here in my bed tonight? This is indescribable.

Slow and hard, with her limbs wrapped around me, with both of us kissing each other. I feel a deep connection that’s rooted well beyond just the nerves in my dick. Something has changed between us, grown and healed and as she clings to my shoulders, desperate to pull me closer against her chest, I vow to never let her slip away again.

“Thistle,” I breathe out.

“I know, Fletch,” she says, eyes closed, tongue slipping out of her mouth as she lifts her hips and clenches around me. “I want you to come inside me,” she says. “I want to feel you.”

And oh, do I want that, too. I thrust once more, again, and my orgasm rips through my body. I stiffen and grunt against her throat, pulsing and shaking as I pour myself into the condom. Into her arms.

After, I slide off her and pull her against my side, holding her tight while we catch our breath. “Stay with me tonight,” I plead. And she nods.

“Couldn’t leave if I wanted to, husband,” she says. And I like that. I like that she lets me know this experience was a big for her as it was for me. Eventually, we use the bathroom and crawl back into bed. “Fletch,” she whispers, as I turn off the light. “The mess downstairs…”

I shrug. “Nothing can be worse than that skunk smell in the carpet anyway,” I say. “I’ll get it in the morning.” And we fall asleep, woven together like vines.

---