fingers slide up the inside of my thigh. His chest is so warm under my hands, though, and I dig in, sliding my palms over his collarbone and down to his stomach, wanting to feel every inch.
He grunts out some unintelligible words when he feels me through my underwear. And then his fingers slide up my navel, carefully digging down inside the lace, and I push up to my knees above him, helping give him access to the place I need his touch more than I need anything else in the galaxy.
“Are you wet like this for me?” he asks, pulling back to look up at my face. His fingers push into me, thumb stroking. “This is me?”
I nod and his disbelief is contagious; it’s what makes every touch feel amplified, makes me move with him, biting him while he touches me. It’s what sends my body up a tight spiral staircase, one destination, just there, just two strokes higher. Two more.
“Ell.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to come.”
His smile curves the single word: “Good.”
I fumble for him, his belt, his zipper.
“Wait,” I tell my body. “Oh God, I’m close.”
Wait.
Hold on. Wait.
He doesn’t stop what he’s doing when he pulls back and looks up at my face. “You want . . . ?”
His fingertips glide over me, tighter, faster.
Clumsily, I dig in, finding the heavy heat of him, closing my hand around it, shifting so I’m there, tilting him up, making him wet with me.
He groans as he sinks in, and the sound hits me somewhere ancient and savage.
The relief of it—of him thick and hungry, finally sliding deep in and out of me—is a melting star, spreading fire into my bloodstream. He gasps that he doesn’t want to come, never wants to come, doesn’t ever want to stop. I’m already on the sharp edge, and our instant, frantic fucking gets me there through a jagged set of thrusts. Him up, me over.
The crickets and Elliot go quiet at the sharp, aching cries tearing out of me.
In the silence that follows, I can feel the drum of his pulse where my lips meet his throat. But then his hands come to my jaw, cupping, tilting my face to his.
“Yeah?” he whispers. I nod in his hands, feeling the weight of him inside me. “Holy mother of God,” he says into a kiss, “this is unreal.”
Everything narrows down to the tiny shifts of my hips over his, and the soft sucking kisses. I’m barely moving. Just rocking, squeezing. It means I’m not expecting the tight way he tells me he’s close.
I press the question against his lips: “Do you want me to stop?”
“Only if you’re not on something.” His tongue meets mine and he groans. “Macy, honey, I’m so close.”
I’m not sure why it’s this moment that makes the reality sink in, that we’re making love, still mostly dressed, somewhere in the gardens at his brother’s wedding. But when Elliot comes, I want his hands and the cool, humid air on my skin, not on the crushed silk of my dress. Every time we’ve touched each other, we’ve been mostly dressed.
I reach back, unzipping, pushing the straps off my shoulders and quickly doing away with the tiny strapless bra. My dress falls to my waist.
His mouth is there, and his words of approval—for the heat and sweetness of me, for the feel of my breasts on his tongue. Against my belly is the scratch of his open, starched shirt, and inside I feel him climb, feel him need more than the gentle shifting he’s getting, and his hands find my breasts, holding them for his open mouth.
We are a crescendo again, faster now, I’m bouncing on him three,
oh
four five six times
“Fuck.”
He bites me,
wild.
“Yes.”
Elliot stills me when his iron grip drops to my hips, and he’s jerking into me, his mouth open, teeth bared on my breast.
It will leave a mark.
But even after he’s finished he grazes his teeth back and forth, tongue stroking the tight peak, soothing the site of his gentle attack. I feel the way he spasms still. His breaths are tight puffs of air against my breast.
My fingers make a tangle in his hair, holding him to me. Goose bumps spread across my skin as his hands slide around, cupping my backside, holding me tight against him.
He came inside me.
He’s still inside me.
What did we just do?
And how have I gone this long without him?
Making love to him suddenly feels vital, like air and water and warmth.