Page 105 of Can't Help Falling

“I’m just smiling because your dick kind of looks like you.”

“What?” Tyler laughed and looked down at the appendage in question. “What are you talking about?”

She was sitting on his thighs, her hands on his hip bones. Before she answered, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his tip, almost chaste. Tyler’s hips jutted upward of their own accord and, holding his eye, she gave him one hot, glancing lick before she lifted her head again and answered his question.

“I’m not sure how to explain it. But he looks like you. Preppy. Masculine. But with all this desire he keeps on a very short leash.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Tyler said, unable to keep himself from reaching a hand down, readjusting himself.

Fin batted his hands away and reached for a condom, opening it and expertly sliding it down his length. “Sorry,” she grimaced. “I’ll get bigger ones next time.”

“These’ll do,” he grunted, counting backward from nine thousand at the feel of her tight, confident grip against him.

The very second she was done fussing over him, he reached up and toppled her back down, over him. He tipped them to the side again so that she was pinned between the wall and him, his body on the chaise longue just far enough not to fall off. Her leg was over top of his hip, her eyes snagged on his, her breasts smashed against his chest. She was completely pinned and open to him with the exception of her underwear.

Pulling them off of her would require him to disentangle the two of them, and there was not a penguin’s chance in hell of that happening. So, Tyler simply reached down and yanked her underwear to one side, baring her to him. Fin’s pupils dilated and she jutted her hips forward, her light eyes almost hypnotizing him. Tyler found her with his fingers first, and she was the same heaven she’d been over on the bed. Warm, impossibly wet, ready for him. Open and tight and perfect. He guided his hardness straight toward the promised land, pressing himself just half an inch inside of her and waiting, his entire world trembling like those first disorienting few seconds of an earthquake.

“More,” she whispered, moving her head so that their mouths were pressed together, not kissing, just smashed together and breathing, her arms around his rib cage, their chests pumping in and out. He planted the flat of his palm against her ass and held her still as he pushed himself forward.

Not too fast, not too slow. Tyler pushed in halfway, pulled back out and then thrust forward and let himself sink to the hilt.

He said words. Lots of them. He felt like she was pulling them out of him with those eyes of hers. He had that familiar hypnotized feeling as he felt himself get lost in the light blur of her gaze. Her arms were a hard cage around him, their noses and mouths smashed together. He placed one hand between her back and the wall, reared back and thrusted again. And again.

The chaise longue scratched her wooden floor as it moved an inch or so at a time. Tyler was dimly aware of planting a foot against the wall for leverage. On their sides like this, they didn’t have a huge range of motion, but neither did they seem to need it. He could feel her pleasure point smashed against his pubic bone, the same way her breasts were smashed against his chest. He could hear her voice, begging directly into his mouth. He reveled in the tight, almost unforgiving clasp of her body. He felt her begin to rhythmically clench around him as she rose, chased her own fire, lost herself the way he was losing himself.

“Ty,” she chanted. “Ty. Oh, God. I’m gonna—” And that was all the warning he got before her fingernails raked across his back, her arms clamping hard around him, her head getting thrown back as her entire body went tight and writhing and pressure, pressure, pressure around where he needed her the most. White light spread into the corners of his vision as he endured the most pleasurable pain of his life. There was nothing like this. Nothing better than this moment right here.

He stopped thrusting and just held inside of her, letting her feel him there. He’d been close, but hadn’t come yet and suddenly, he found he wasn’t quite ready to. Though pulling out of her heat went against every law of nature known to mankind, Tyler did just that.

“Mmm,” she groaned, tossing one arm over her eyes. “That was—” She cut off and looked up when he gripped her knees and swung her around on the chaise longue, opening her up to him where he knelt on the ground. “What? You don’t have to—Oh, shit.”

He knew he didn’t have to. Which was part of why he wanted to so badly. He hoped that one day she would understand this. That sex without unwritten sexual obligation was the highest plane of adult fun that anyone could ever reach. It was like the secret hidden level at the end of an old Nintendo video game. Not everyone knew it was there, but once you found it, you refused to settle for less.

He opened his mouth over her wetness, kissed her there like he had her mouth. Slow and unbothered and joyful. He could still feel her aftershocks from her first orgasm and he chased them, used them like a roadmap, let himself find where she was sensitive, where she was too sensitive and which places made her yank his hair. He held her open with his hands and let himself lose track of time. He wasn’t completely converted on this whole energy thing, but he did his absolute best to nonverbally communicate to her that he was having a blast, that she should forget about time, that this was perfection.

He nuzzled and kissed and nipped. But it was the suckling she liked best. The no-nonsense, concentrated, he-didn’t-come-to-play suction that had her in that crescent-moon shape again, nonsense words that dissolved into a kind of hoarse scream as she trembled, vibrated, clamped down on the two fingers he’d slipped inside.

She reared up and he barely recognized her. She’d never looked more like Cleopatra than she did in that moment. She was fierce and glowing with whatever the nonangry version of anger was. She had it in spades. She tumbled forward, off the chaise longue, and knocked him back onto the floor. He caught himself on the heels of his hands, his legs spread out before him with Fin kneeling in the triangle they made. She aggressively ripped the condom off of him, leaned forward and swallowed him down.

Apparently she hadn’t come to play either. Because did she tease him? She did not. Did she experiment? She did not. Did she play? She did not. She merely attempted to get the roof of his head to blow off in cartoon steam.

He collapsed backward onto his elbows, thrust his hips up into the fisted hand she’d brought into the mix, and simply stopped holding on to reality. White claimed his vision then as pleasure, needle-sharp and ruthless, was summoned forth from him in an unstoppable cyclone.

He was shocked to feel echoes of that same palm energy she’d encouraged him to feel earlier. This was like that but multiplied by the earth. This was grounded in pleasure, in giving. He knew, without question, that he was giving something of himself to her. Not just his ecstasy, but a piece of who he was. He was riding on the impossible euphoria of handing himself over to her. Hers for the taking.

I’m yours.

The words popped into his consciousness out of nowhere as she sucked him through the most life-altering orgasm he’d ever experienced. And when he huffed and fell backward, and she continued to lap at him affectionately, he knew another truth: wherever this static-shock-having, possibly psychic, magic-doing, potion-brewing witch woman wanted to lead him, he was going. He’d go with her into the beyond. The next world. The next life. Beyond, beyond, beyond.

TYLERWOKEUPalone on the floor of Fin’s bedroom. The sky outside the window was a deep blue but he lay in a triangle of orange light glowing in from the living room. There was a pillow under his head and a sheet tossed over his hips. He moved one hand down and confirmed that he was still very much naked.

He didn’t usually enjoy sleeping on a floor, or really anywhere but his Serta mattress and Egyptian-cotton sheets. But so far with Fin he’d slept a night on a crappy antique couch and taken a very satisfying catnap on the rug on her bedroom floor. Had he ever felt more refreshed? He didn’t think so.

He sat up and something rolled off his forehead. Squinting in the dark he found it with a soft grin. It was a clear, almost round crystal that she’d laid there. He held it in the palm of his hand and gazed down at the little rock. It was warm from his forehead, but he almost felt like it was warm from her. Like although she’d gotten up, she’d left a piece of herself behind. He stood, stretched and found his pants, remaking her bed from the mess they’d torn it into earlier. He took one last look around the room that he was quite certain had changed the path of his life before he went to look for Fin.

He found her in the kitchen. Her hair was knotted in a huge pile on top of her head, and she wore his button-down shirt and her purple socks. There were miles of leg in between. Her back was to him as she slid something chopped up and orchid-purple into a pot on the burner. He heard her say something but couldn’t quite make it out. Something moved over him, almost like a static shock without the shock.

He watched quietly as she chose herbs from her drying rack and those went in the mixture too. Almost instantly, a fragrance curled out into the air, riding on the back of the steam.

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