She hadn’t realised it was getting dark and by the time she did, it was too late to do anything about it. The late light of the autumn sky had turned grey like it couldn’t wait to fade out altogether.
The bottle on the table was half full. There was maybe an inch of liquid gold remaining in her glass. His was empty.
There were a thousand things she always planned to say to him but every protest she’d ever come up with had been shot down and now it was too late. Words didn’t come out right when he was looking at her. He was always looking at her and lately it seemed pointless to try and hide from it. Sooner or later he’d look so long he’d catch onto all the flaws and then he wouldn’t want to look anymore. Sooner or later.
His fingers were defter than the look of them warranted. He touched her like he wanted to take her someplace she wasn’t sure she wanted to go and yet she didn’t stop him. She just took it. Went with it and tried to remember to breathe.
“There,” he said and he was studying her face, his hand still fitting against the curve of her jaw. “Is that good? Is that what you want?”
She wanted to hate him. Wanted to be able to form a response but there was nothing. His fingers moved relentlessly, curling in and out of her until the end felt within touching distance.
“Look at me,” he said. She didn’t. She craved a closer connection but eye contact felt like it’d finish her. She pushed her face into where his neck met his shoulder and breathed in the smell of him. His fingers slowed. The hand on her face gripped a little harder.
“Look at me,” he said it calmly but there was something tight about the words. She didn’t want to look at him, or rather, she didn’t want him to look at her; didn’t want him to see what he was doing to her. His fingers pushed hard inside her and stayed there, unmoving as she ached around them. She shifted, trying to create friction.
The hand on her face was stroking her cheek. She could smell his skin, his sweat, his shirt. She wanted to stay wound up in him forever. His fingers still hadn’t moved. She lifted up a little and pushed back at his hand. She moaned into his shoulder and the thumb of his invading hand found her clit, making her shudder.
“Please.”
She pushed back hard but he moved too, maintaining just enough contact to make her eyes water.
“God, please.”
He sighed so deeply she felt it reverberate through her.
“Just look at me,” he said, like it was easy.
His hand went into her hair, gently tugging her face away from the security of his shoulder. She looked at his mouth. His dark eyes were on her face but she felt them drop briefly down to the weight of her breasts in the thin tank top she wore. His throat moved as he swallowed. He was hard. She knew without seeing. Distractions. It felt almost unfair sometimes. Her eyes watered and she blinked. His fingers moved inside her briefly, encouragingly.
“What’re you so scared of?”
She looked at him then. Bare and naked enough to make her heart skip and her stomach ache. His eyes were deep and once she was in, there was no way out. His fingers moved sublimely, caressing her roughly. His thumb pressed down on her clit, hard enough for the resultant throb to lick through her entire body.
Her hips rose. She bit her lip but the moan still escaped and he leaned forward, pulling her face to his and kissing her, his mouth hungrier than she’d anticipated. His tongue pushed against hers, his hand tight in her hair. His fingers worked urgently between her legs. She had to drag her mouth away from his to catch a breath. He didn’t stop looking at her. His hand released her hair and grasped the weight of one breast, fingers digging into the firm flesh. His eyes were on hers, almost like he was daring her to speak. She couldn’t look away.
“You gonna cum?” His thumb moved on her clit, steady and knowing. She pushed back. Her breath was coming out hard, interspersed with frustrated sighs. Everything inside felt wound up like a music box ready to burst into exuberant sound. Her body felt like it didn’t know her. His thumb found the perfect circle on her clit and chased it until the hum encompassed her. Her hand flew out, grasping at his strong wrist, nails digging in. He didn’t stop. She didn’t want him to. Nothing made sense.
She reached for him, caught the waistband of his jeans, blindly undoing the fastenings. Her hand groped beneath, fingers in his boxer shorts as she sought out his cock. It throbbed in her hand, hot and hard and heavy. He breathed in sharply, eyes closing. It struck her that she’d never seen him with his eyes closed before. She could have taken in the violent fragility of his face all day. His eyes opened, catching her gaze and he leaned in to kiss her harder, teeth biting her lip.
“Stay,” he groaned, “Just once. Stay, and we’ll take our time.”
She wanted to. But the room was full of grey dusk and she was already late, had already taken too much time, too many risks and it was building like evidence, all the elements and not enough excuses. And then his thumb picked up speed and there was nothing to hold onto. She came hard, working his hand as much as it worked her, his name inside her, and every inch of her belonging to him and she knew she needed to stop, had to leave but she didn’t know how she ever could.
