“Caro,” I said softly, overcome with reverence as she rocked her hips and started to ride me. Our movements were lazy, slow. This wasn’t the hunger of lust. It was a kind of sex I’d never known before. It was sluggish, plodding, a river of hot, wet kisses and long grazing caresses, our bodies rubbing and slick with sweat as we clawed at each other with a desperate need to become one.
I’d told her that sex was more about the mind than the body, and now I was proving it to myself in a way I didn’t even know was possible. Sex for me had always been about a kind of ferocity. It was a fire raging, demanding to be released. It was a compulsion, a drive, but making love to Caroline wasn’t about combustion or eruption. It was about allowing myself to be consumed. It felt like diving into a lake on a hot summer day. Only I wasn’t alone in the darkness of the watery depths. We were together, breathing each other’s air to keep from drowning. Being inside her felt like relief, like being held, like my individuality was muted and I was suddenly one with everything. It felt like belonging. It was introspective and egoless at the same time. It was meditative and so very beautiful.
It was a wonder that I wasn’t crying because I was so fucking overwhelmed my guts were shaking. I know men are supposed to be all bold. We are asked to be only brawn, to take, to command, to devour, to demand, but in this moment, I didn’t want to own her. I wanted to be owned. She had already given herself to me. I felt it. She was mine, but I wanted her to know that I was hers. So I gave and she gave, too.
Her orgasm seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Suddenly, she began to coo and shudder, and then she started chasing the feeling, rocking against me, asking me to chase, too. It was a wordless question with a wordless answer, but because we were utterly in sync, I heard her and followed her need. That which was languid grew loud and fast, and then we were bucking hard, slamming against each other like fiends. As she clamped down, I released, and the force of our mutual climax rolled my eyes back in my head. For the first time, I truly knew why the French called orgasms la petite mort. Because this feeling, coming deep inside Caroline as she came too, it was otherworldly. I left the plane of the mortal consciousness and for a moment knew heaven.
Spiraling back to reality, I collapsed backwards. Caroline’s body fell heavy and wanted on my chest. And I said the only thing worth saying, “I love you.”
Her cheek mashed to where she could hear the pounding of my heart, her eyes closed, heavy with oncoming sleep, and she smiled and said, “Yeah, me too. I love you, too.”
A few hours later, I was stirred awake by my rumbling stomach. Before I even fully opened my eyes, I knew Caroline wasn’t in bed with me. It was like my body could sense when she was close. I sat up, startled by her absence, and stumbled out of the bedroom into the kitchen. Bev’s dad’s hunting cabin was not a luxury environment. Hunting cabins generally weren’t. It was walls, a bed, that bathroom with the shower stall, and a working kitchen. When I came in and was distracted by the sound of the shower, I’d left a bag of fast food I brought with me on the counter. I found Caroline, buck naked, scarfing down huge bites of a cold burger.
Around a gigantic wad of partially chewed bun and meat, she said, “I know this is disgusting, but I’m starving. All I ate today was fried dough, which is so good by the way.”
I’m not gonna lie; she was both ridiculous and fucking hot, standing there with greasy fingers and tits out. I laughed at her.
“What?” she asked, looking down like there might be something on her shirt—or lack of shirt.
“Your kitty’s out,” I said, moving toward her.
“What kitty?” she asked, drawing her eyebrows together in confusion.
When I was close enough to have her pressed against the counter, I cupped her pussy and said, “This kitty.”
“Oh.” She giggled and then swallowed. “It is.” She popped her eyebrows at me comically. Then quirking her head and returning to her usual state of curiosity, she asked, “What’s the appropriate response to that? I feel like I should say I can see your honker, too. But honkers are boobs. How about banana? My kitty’s out and your banana’s swinging in the breezies.”
I laughed again.
She continued. “No? What about schlong? I’ve always liked schlong.”
I snapped my hips at her, and my dick smacked into her leg. “It’s my cock,” I scolded.
“Really? A rooster? I think they actually look kind of evil, like they’ll peck your eyes out and your penis is like …” She paused, thinking.
Smirking, I encouraged her to go on. “Yes?”
“Sweet.”
Bordering on insulted, I snidely said, “My dick is sweet?”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “I just want to cuddle with it and kiss it …”
I put my hand up and stopped her. “You can kiss it whenever you want, but don’t call it sweet.”
“No?” She took another big bite of the burger between us. And then lifted it to me, offering me a taste.
I shook my head and took a bite. The burger was greasy and cold, not really a winning combo, but I was also starving, and I liked sharing it with her. I chewed and then said, “Definitely not sweet. Masterful or maybe superpowered, but not sweet.”
“Mmm …” She swallowed. “Yes, it’s also masterful and way above average ...” She popped the last bite of burger into my mouth and then licked her fingers slowly with her tongue, clearly and effectively trying to titillate. Then she reached down and circled my shaft with her hand. “But also magnetic, and so, so, so sweet, like candy.” I put a hand on the counter on either side of her body as she stroked me. She got on her tiptoes and fluttered kisses up my neck. When she got to my ear, she said, “Face it, buddy, you’ve got a fucking sweet dick.”
That didn’t sound so bad. I consented. I mean, she was stroking me.
She let go of my cock and giggled.
Tease. I bent my knees and grabbed the back of her thighs, lifting her up and dropping her bottom on the counter. She squealed. I placed myself between her knees and kissed her. A light silly kiss, but still a tongue-filled kiss that allowed me to distract her and grab the bag of food just behind her butt. Then, bag in hand, I took a step back. She was startled by my retreat until she saw the bag.
“Sneaky,” she said.
“Takes one to know one.” I smirked, referencing the way she’d just used her power over me to get what she wanted, but when I said the words, something fluttered through her expression that told me Caroline was harboring a little something, a secret of some kind.
“Can I have a French fry?” she asked, her smile back in place.
“Sure.” I kept the bag in hand and made no move to give her one. “As soon as you tell me what that look was all about.”
Caroline’s shoulders dropped and she looked down at the floor when she said, “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” I asked, bowing down so I could catch her eyes again.
“See what I’m thinking?”
“I see what everyone is thinking.” I smiled. “People are always telling you how they feel, no matter what they say.”
She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She was smiling, too, and working hard to not look away. She was nervous. Whatever Caroline was harboring wasn’t hurtful, but it was maybe a little embarrassing. “Yes, I’ve studied body language, but you have a way of reading things about me that feels almost psychic.”