I reach for his belt. “Very.”
I always imagined this as some slow, romantic unfolding; our clothes removed one by one. Now I see how ridiculous that was. I don’t want to watch him slowly undress. I want to grab a pair of scissors and cut his clothes away to make them disappear faster. I want my bare skin glued to his, to have him so embedded in me we can’t be drawn apart.
I want it to happen as fast as we can possibly get there.
He pulls me to the bed. His weight presses me into the mattress. My dress is around my hips and I’m arching against him seeking friction, making him groan in my mouth as his hands slide beneath me to grab my ass. He lost the jacket and tie at some point and my fingers tug at the buttons of his oxford, unable to move fast enough.
He reaches to the neck and pulls it and the undershirt overhead, losing a button in the process and not appearing to care as he throws it behind him.
I place my hands on his chest and twenty years of past Lucies are just as amazed as the present one that this is happening. It’s even better than the past me fantasized about—his skin is smoother, his stomach harder, his nostrils flaring as if his self-restraint has already been pushed too far.
“I’ve thought about fucking you in this goddamn dress more times than I can count,” he growls, pushing it farther up my hips, looking me over like a feast he’s about to devour, “and now I just want it off.”
He undoes the zipper, his fingers trailing over my spine as he pulls the dress down past my hips and lower, tossing it behind him to join his shirt somewhere on the floor. His mouth covers the lace of my bra, sucking hard until it draws into a tight point, while his hand slips beneath my panties. “God, you’re so wet already.”
“It’s been a while.” I tug at the button of his pants and reach inside. When my palm moves over his tented boxers, air hisses between his teeth.
“I guarantee it’s been longer for me,” he grunts. “You’d better not…This will be over in seconds if you do that.”
Let it be over in seconds and then we’ll do it again. Let it be over in seconds that time too. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to do anything but this, again and again.
He unhooks my bra. I instinctively start to cross my arms—another insecurity Jeremy left behind—and he stops me.
“Don’t,” he demands. “My God. Don’t cover anything. You’re perfect.”
His lips lower to pull on one nipple while he tugs the panties off, and then he slips a finger inside me. “So tight,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “Jesus. I’m not going to survive this.”
He starts to slide down the bed, and as he pushes my legs apart, I place a hand on his shoulder. “Not that,” I whisper. “Come back up.”
“Lucie, I’ve been dreaming about this for months,” he says, his breath hot against my swollen clit. “Let me.”
There’s a part of me that wants him to, a part of me that’s dying to feel the flick of his tongue, the press of his lips. But it’s soured by the memory of Jeremy, again. Jeremy and his complaints. Jeremy suggesting I get a breast reduction every time he saw me naked, saying my C-section scar was gross. Jeremy telling me ‘most women’ come in a minute or two and that he didn’t understand why it took me so long. Jeremy saying he wasn’t going to waste his time going down on me if it wasn’t going to work anyway.
“I’m not gonna—” I stammer. “I don’t finish that way. Just come up.”
He slowly moves north, his mouth touching every inch he passes. “What do you like, then?”
Is there anything less exciting than a woman who says, ‘I almost never finish—don’t worry about me’？ I doubt it. I bet Kate doesn’t say that.
I hitch a shoulder. “Do what you were doing before,” I reply.
His fingers move over my clit and slip inside me.
The pleasure is so intense that my eyes fall closed, my hips arching upward.
“That’s it,” he says softly. “Show me what you like.”
“That,” I inhale. “Just like that.”
I reach into his boxers again and this time he doesn’t stop me. “God, yes,” he grunts.
My palm slides over him once, and again. My thumb circles around the head of his cock, leaking for me already.
Dust motes dance in the sunlight and I’m inhaling the smell of him, huge lungfuls of it, and at the same time my body is tightening and unspooling at once, noticing less. Time seems to be moving faster and faster, until there is nothing left but his fingers inside me and his mouth on my neck and the feel of his cock beneath my palm.