Page 55 of Goode Vibrations
Fucked again,slowly.
Wordlessly. Missionary.
Her eyes on mine, an aching tumult of unspoken things weltering and billowing between us as our bodies met and joined and crashed.
She bit my chest and clawed welting lines into my shoulders, and I left fingerprint bruises on her hips from jerking her into me to get deeper, harder, because for as hard as I fucked, as deep as I got, she begged breathlessly for harder, deeper.
I kissed the bruises, and she licked my welts.
Still,we spoke of nothing real, or meaningful.
Noon came, after a nap and we finished the last, cold coffee.
Finally,out of food and out of coffee, we both showered and dressed in clean clothes. Me, in convertible shorts that looked like normal dressy golf-ish shorts, but were made of quick-dry togs material, and a clean tank top; her, in cutoff denim shorts that only just barely covered the juicy globes of her taut round ass, so that the underswells were visible for a tantalizing moment at each step, and a seafoam green V-neck T-shirt. I had the unique and breathtaking pleasure of watching her dress, which was nearly as erotic to me as if I’d gotten to watch her strip.
She wore a blue thong under her shorts, a minuscule string around her waist with a triangle of shimmery, stretchy fabric cupping her sex and another string stretched between her ass cheeks. Her bra matched, and was equally provocative, a pushup style which added extra size and lift to already massive and tight tits, so the lush weight of her breasts filled and overfilled and spilled out of the half-moon cups, leaving her nipples mostly covered and the upper half of each areola bared. Then she had the audacity to cover the artwork that was her body with stupid clothes, which somehow only made her all the more beautiful, in a different way.
She watched me watch her dress and gave an extra shimmy as she wedged herself into the shorts, a teasing grin on her face which told me she knew exactly what she was doing to me with that little wiggle.
We packed our things.
There was a heated, volatile tension crackling between us. Sexual chemistry sparking, waiting to be ignited by a look, a word, a touch.
But there was something else. Something darker. Heavier. Sadder.
A sense of ending.
Once our bags were packed and all that was left was to leave, we stood facing each other at the foot of the bed. Her hands were shoved into the back pockets of her shorts, her hair done in twin braids hanging down to her shoulder blades. Eying me, a million things percolating in those cocoa eyes.
We’d spoken maybe half a dozen words each since last night, as if beginning a conversation would hasten the end we both knew had arrived.
“So…” I swallowed. “You’re headed toward Alaska?”
She nodded. “Yep. Figured I’d see some of Canada.”
“I was thinking I’d make my way to the west coast, and then make a big loop down into those big states with the four corners that all touch. Can’t remember all of them.”
Silence.
“So, you’re heading west, and I’m heading north from here,” Poppy said, and her expression showed a hint of sadness, regret. “I guess this is it, then, huh?”
Something within me wanted to argue. To say or do something.Go west with me. We can go north from California. I don’t need to be anywhere specific.
Instead, I just nodded. “Guess it is.”
She just waited. Gazed up at me, a soft glow to her eyes. “Thank you, Errol.”
“For what?” I asked.
A shrug. “A good time. Good conversation. Taking photos together.” She glanced at the bed, smirked. “And…that.”
I shook my head, huffing a laugh. “You’rethankingme?” I shook my head again. “I’m the one who should thank you, Poppy. That was…fucking unreal. Especially the way you woke me up.”
She blushed, ducking her head. “I mean, I’m a practical sort of gal. Not gonna let a good erection go to waste, you know?” a hot, lusty grin. “Besides, you more than paid me back.”
I groaned. “We have to get off this topic.”
Poppy snickered. “Get offthe topic, huh?”