Page 87 of Poetry By Dead Men
Softly.
Tentatively.
And it’s like a deep breath after being trapped under water, unsure if you'll ever find the surface again.
A rumble leaves Bobby’s throat as he deepens the kiss, just for a moment, before he leans back to search my eyes. His chest rises and falls with shallow, rapid breaths. "There’s no need to rush. If you need time.”
"I just need you," I say, my voice breathy.
It's an echo of the words I'd said that night so many years ago. The most beautiful, meaningful sexual experience of my life, and I lean forward again, reaching up to cup the back of his neck.
His hands slide to my thighs, squeezing as a groan escapes his lips. "You're going to be my undoing, Beth Winters."
"I hope so," I say, pulling him down to meet my mouth again. Bobby doesn’t hold back this time, his tongue finding mine, caressing it with long, deep strokes. His hands slide up my back, holding me as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear. As if his grip can keep me here with him forever.
I climb onto his lap, and the feel of him impossibly hard beneath me is almostmyundoing.
I break away from the kiss and lift my shirt over my head. My chest is flushed, my breasts rising and falling in my cream lace bra, but I don’t feel exposed. I feel beautiful.
Bobby's eyes drink me in, but it's different from the first time we were undressing on this couch. He doesn't look at me like he's discovering a woman's body.
No. He looks at me as if I'm his wildest, most forbidden dream, finally within reach. He lifts me off the couch, carrying me to the back of the bus.
"Where are we going? I like that couch!" I say, twisting back toward it, but Bobby pulls me tighter against him.
"So do I. For the past six years, I’ve dreamed of you on that couch," his voice is full of need, and so rough, it scrapes against my sensitive skin and makes me shiver. "If you're going to let me back inside you, then I need to know it’s not a dream."
He lays me down on his bed, his calloused fingers slipping beneath my waistband and pulling down my pants. It’s somehow hurriedandtender, but there's no awkwardness to his movement. It's just Bobby, older and a bit sharper, more jaded maybe, but kind, and loving, andgood.
He pulls his shirt over his head, and my mouth goes dry. Bobby at twenty-two was hot, but Bobby at twenty-eight isunreal. I count his abs—eight of them—and trace the defined lines that make a V as they disappear below his pants. There's a sprinkling of chest hair between his pecs, and I imagine running my fingers across it, but the thought disappears as Bobby removes his pants.
"You're even more beautiful than you were six years ago," he says, crawling over me. His scruff scratches as he presses kisses from my ankle to my navel, then to the apex of my thighs. He spreads my legs, running a finger along my center before his lips close around the bundle of nerves.
There's no prolonged foreplay, no tentative touches. Bobby claims me in only the way he can. Because even if we lost each other for a bit, I've always been his, and I think we both need to feel that right now.
Bobby sucks and licks like a starving man as he presses a finger inside me, his other hand coming up to tease my breast, his thumb strumming against my nipple like he’s playing the sweetest song.
“God, Beth,” Bobby breathes. It’s the barest whisper, but it makes heat pulse deep in my belly. My name on his lips has always felt life changing, but with his fingers moving inside me, it’s earth-shattering. My breaths are shallow and my muscles tight, my body completely out of my control as pleasure builds inside me, but I don’t want to come like this. Not for the first time with him again. "Bobby," I pull at his shoulders, and he looks up at me.
"I want to feel you," I say, and he doesn't need more of an explanation. He reaches for his nightstand, but I stop him.I’m protected, and I don’t want anything between us tonight.
"You’re sure?" he asks, his eyebrows lowering.
"Please," I beg, pulling him back on top of me.
“They’re probably expired, anyway,” he jokes, settling between my thighs. His thick length presses against my entrance, and once again, Bobby stares at me like he can't believe I'm here.
"I love you, Beth," he says, pressing a kiss to my throat. "And I need you to know that this is it for me.You’reit for me, and I'm never letting you go again." His words brush against my ear and slip across my skin, warming me.
"I love you, too," I whisper, and with my confession, he pushes inside me, stretching me until I’m once again branded as his.
His body was made for mine, and mine for his, and he thrusts deeper until I don't even know where I end and he begins.
“We’ve always just fit, haven't we?” he says, his gruff voice echoing my thoughts. His arms shake as he restrains himself, savoring every last moment as he fills me.
And when he finally begins to move, I cry out his name, digging my nails into his back. It’s too much and not enough, and I know Bobby feels it too as he loses all control and what was slow and gentle lovemaking quickly becomes frantic and frenzied, years of anger and hurt and love and longing combining as Bobby urges me toward my orgasm.
His hands and lips are everywhere, plucking at my skin like the strings of his guitar, and my eyelashes flutter closed. I try to memorize every sensation, the choreography of his touches.
