Her apartment looks out over the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s an inheritance in the form of a rent-controlled apartment from a father she barely knew. Leaning too far out the window as she smokes, she tells me she was raised there. At least for the first few years.
I can see the bridge from the bed, but my eyes are focused on her ass peeking out from the bottom of her shirt. Part of me worries she’ll fall. Another wonders if she’ll climb into bed with me even though she spent the night on the couch. You’re taller she had said tucking me into the mattress on the floor.
When she turns and sits on the sill I look at her eyes, because she’s wearing nothing beneath that shirt and her thighs are too dangerous. Not that it’s her fault. I’d never blame her for thinking she’s perfect.
She takes another drag before flicking her cigarette out the window and I almost don’t notice her hand on the buttons. They open casually like a conversation about the weather. It’s a beautiful day they seem to say, although I hear there’s rain in the forecast. Her breasts are as I’ve imagined a thousand times before.
When she leans her head against the wall the shirt falls open all the way and I still can’t tell if it’s an invitation.
“It’s your turn,” she says and I realize she’s talking about the blanket. I wonder if I blush as I gently pull it off, revealing my naked body sprawled on the bed. The pillow props me up and the muscles in my legs look strong from the right angle. My cock is hard.
“What if we don’t touch. Other than that I mean.”
She nods at me again and I look down, desperate to touch myself but too afraid to break whatever mystery is happening.
“Not at all?” I ask, gripping the sheets with white fists.
She stands and walks towards the bed, the shirt on the floor behind her. When she straddles me it feels more explicit than erotic, but I don’t care. I’ve never seen her like this. I’ve never heard her like this.
“Not even a little,” she says, lowering herself until I can feel the warmth of her pubic hair and the skin beneath it against my cock. Her hands are on her shoulders, and I wonder if it’s even possible to fuck without someone putting something somewhere on purpose.
When she begins to slide up and down, the wondering vanishes. I struggle not to move, because the truth is I want to kiss her more than fuck her. I’d give anything to touch a shoulder, to feel her breasts against my chest, or to press my lips to her collarbone.
Somehow she pushes down on me and I’m standing up straight between her legs. She looks at us before grabbing my gaze and holding it tightly. I can’t look no matter how badly I want to, but I can feel it. In the slowest, most painful motion ever executed, I feel her envelop me. It’s not until I feel myself grow dizzy that I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
The smile that covers her face when she sits back–taking all of me–is new and different. It’s a look I realize she’s never shown me before and may never again. But just as soon as I fall in love with the curve of her lips she begins to move. Her eyes close, her hands move to her knees and she’s moving up and down, letting me fill her each time.
We’re fucking, I know that’s the word for it, but it doesn’t sound right. It’s not love either, I’m smarter than that, but it’s also nothing in the middle. It’s something else I don’t have words for.
Maybe it’s what waves do to the sand.
Each time I think she might fall forward and let me hold her and kiss her, she bites her lip and sits up straighter. I don’t even know if I’m the one she’s feeling, and I can’t stand it. Faster and harder she moves until I realize I’m going to come. It’s a surprise because this is not what it’s felt like before.
“I know,” she says, stopping for a moment. I’m deep inside her and this time she leans forward until her hands rest on each side of my head.
“I want to kiss you,” I whisper, her mouth inches from mine.
“It’s okay,” she says, not moving any closer. “You can let go.”
She moves again, this time at a new angle; her body is so close to mine I can taste her. Her nipples barely brush my chest as her lips part. My mouth is open and aching and she’s clenching around me until I can’t hold back.
I cry out something as I begin to come and she doesn’t let me go. Her mouth is barely on me. Her chest is so close we might as well be the same person. Her thighs press against mine as she opens her eyes wide.
The sigh that leaves her is not a quick grunting and moaning of release. She doesn’t come like thunder or something wild. She comes slowly, like waking up from a deep sleep. Even as my body lingers on the edge of pleasure and pain, she comes with muscle, tendon, and bone. For a moment I think she’ll devour me, but I feel her for less than a second.
Her lips brush mine for the first time, but it’s so quick I wonder if I imagine it. Then she’s leaning back, pushing down onto me and her mouth is open in another cry I can’t hear. I lift myself from the bed, needing to be closer as I let go one last time. It looks like she’s going to pull out her hair but instead, she squeezes me again and she’s done.
I watch the muscles in her arms grow slack as her legs release me. Her hands fall. So does her chin.
It feels like hours that we linger in silence. I’m still inside her but even that doesn’t feel real. When she finally sits up and moves off me, the ache of separation is overwhelming. I watch her stand and find her shirt, but she doesn’t put it back on. She places it on a chair before sitting back on the window sill. She looks outside and then back at me.
I have no idea what she’s thinking.
But I do know what to say.
Love this!