She reaches up on tiptoe and gives me a kiss I’ll always remember. It’s not a wild clash of tongues and mouths. It’s not a battle for control. It’s gentle and it’s scared. Hopeful and fragile. Her lips are so impossibly full as they slide and press against mine. Tugs and bites, quiet puffs of air that dance over my face.
I cup her neck and lean between her legs. My thumbs gentle her cheeks as her hands wrap around my waist and pull me closer. I taste an indescribable sweetness that’s just Willa, as I suck on her bottom lip and slide my tongue along its fullness.
Her moan dances over my skin and makes me shiver. One last kiss, before I pull her tight against me. She glances down between us, then back up to me with a massive raise of her eyebrows.
It makes me laugh quietly. I shake my head, lifting my hand, so she knows I plan to touch her this way, not take it home. Not yet. It’s seamless, our jump back into our original dynamic—body language, eye contact, unspoken understanding.
Her breasts are full and soft, begging for my mouth. I kiss them, sucking her nipples roughly as I drift a hand down her waist and find her, warm and smooth. My fingers part impossibly silky skin, one finger, then two, sinking inside. Willa’s hands clamp onto my shoulders. She falls into me, her chest smashed to mine, her mouth open against my neck.
My thumb finds her clit and swirls in a slow, featherlight circle. I feel each burst of hot air, the gift of her sound as she brings her mouth to my good ear and gasps against it. Willa’s hand leaves my arm and wraps tight around the base of my cock.
I groan and throw my head back as she squeezes, then drags her grip up to the head. Her thumb sweeps over the tip of my cock as a sound leaves me that I couldn’t care less about. Willa’s mouth stays pressed to my ear, each desperate noise of hers mine to drown in. Her grip is perfect, her touch just slow enough to torture me. Her thighs begin to shake, her breath gets choppier.
My hips rock in her grip. My mouth turns and finds hers. We kiss, and breathe against each other as we learn under the spray of water—fumbling and laughing a little, as we find that touch there that makes the other come undone. I hold her tight to me, my eyes glued to hers as her hips falter, as her nails dig into my skin.
Her eyelids flutter. A rosy flush sweeps up her chest, then pinks her cheeks. I watch her full lips say, “C-close,” and curl my fingers tighter, rub inside her, harder, faster. Desperate heat soars up my legs and sizzles low in my spine. My body’s taut as a wire, and her soft, small hands tight around my thick length makes me dizzy. Willa begins to tremble as her eyes widen, her mouth falls open. She comes around my hand, shaking as she moans into my kiss, and watching her go over sends me with her. One last thrust into her tight fist, then I spill for a small eternity against her stomach.
Willa leans into me, curling her arms fiercely around my neck. Her lips press to my ear, my cheeks, my mouth. Our foreheads rest against each other’s before she steals one last kiss. She pulls back, flushed and breathtaking as a shaky smile brightens her eyes. Then, her hand sweeps over her face, before it pinches and flicks into the air.
She knows what it means now, and I can’t help but smile back.
Beautiful.
I caved and made a fire. Seeing as we crossed the Rubicon back in the shower, I have a hunch Willa’s going to let me big spoon her in bed in a few hours anyway. She lies stretched on the couch, her feet in my lap. Her toes wiggle as I slide my thumbs up the arch of her foot.
“Let’s play a game,” I tell her.
Willa turns from staring into the fire and faces me. “A game?”
I nod. “It’s called fill in the blanks.”
“Fill in the blanks of what?”
“Your life.” Her foot starts to pull away but I grasp it. “Willa.”
Her eyes turn darker, boding anger. “What?”
“Talk to me. What upsets you about that?”
She sighs, her head dropping back to the sofa’s arm. “I don’t like talking about myself.”
“Yes, but when the kids are older, who’s going to explain to them why Mom always gets weird around corn dogs and tough conversations and grizzly bears?”
“Okay, I don’t get weird around corn dogs. They’re just gross. And grizzly bears—though extinct in the state of California, allegedly—are still terrifying.”
“And tough conversations?”
Willa scowls. “I was going to take issue with the kids portion of that statement, next.”
“You said you needed time, and I’ll give you all the time you need, Sunshine. I’ll wait until you’re done winning Olympic golds, then, when you’re ready, I want crazy-haired angry ankle-biters running around.”
Willa’s scowl deepens. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Completely agree.” I tug her legs deeper onto my lap and switch to rubbing the other foot.
“Ryder…” She scrubs her face. “Ugh. Feelings. Talking.”
I pause my massage of her foot and tap it so she’ll look at me. “Baby steps, okay?”
Willa’s expression wobbles. She looks so scared, my chest tightens in a protective reflex. I rub her heel and work my way up to massaging her Achilles tendon. Her eyes drift shut as she groans. “Where were you born?” I ask.
“Tulsa,” she says quietly. “You?”
I smile. “Here.”
Willa’s head snaps up. She glances around, looking disturbed, as if evidence of a traumatic birth is still somewhere littered across the wood floor.
“The story goes, Mom said her back hurt, stood up from the sofa and made it halfway to the door before she sat down and pushed me out, right at the bottom of the steps.”
Willa stares horrified at the landing. It makes a belly laugh tumble out of me. “I mean I was number four. It’s kind of an automatic process by that point.”
“Spoken like the half of our species that will never have to shove the next generation out of their vagina,” Willa says flatly.
It makes me laugh harder. “I’ve traumatized you.”
“Jesus. Okay.” She shakes her head. “So. My turn.” Her fingers tap her lips. “I want to know exactly what happened with your hearing.”
It’s like a bucket of ice water over my head, but I’m asking her to be brave. I have to be, too. “Bacterial meningitis. I was halfway through summer training for my freshman season at UCLA. I spiked a horrible fever, developed a headache that was so painful I couldn’t open my eyes. My parents took me to the hospital. I dropped out of consciousness at some point, and when I came to, my hearing was like this.”
Willa blinks away tears. “God. I’m sorry, Ryder.”
I shrug. “It’s okay.”
“No it’s not,” she says urgently, sitting up straighter. “You lost something you loved.”
“I know. But I grieved. Sometimes I still feel sad, but I moved on. There’s nothing to be done now. Just life to live in this new direction.”
She hesitates for a beat, her hands seeking my legs. She rubs up and down my shin bones like she’s always done it. Like we’re used to tangling our legs together in front of a blistering fire, shacked up in the glorious middle of nowhere.