Page 89 of Goode Vibrations
She just laughed with me. “Try getting them on.”
I hooked my fingers into the topmost layer of straps and laces, and tugged down, but they snagged on the generous swell of her hips.
She bit her lip to stifle laughter. “Rip them off if you have to. I’ll just make you buy me more.”
“Make me?” I echoed. “Try and stop me.”
I yanked them down, and she gasped, and I definitely heard a seam rip, but she only gazed down at me still as if the very sun itself revolved around me, as if I was her oxygen, her reason for breathing, for being, as if not being naked with me in the next few moments would be the worst tragedy there was.
I stood up, and her breasts brushed my chest, hard nipples pressing into my pecs, and she reached for me as I circled her body with my arms to find the clasp of the bra. I made quick work of it, and she let it slide down her arms, let me catch it. Not caring if I looked like a creeper, I sniffed it. She just laughed.
“Weirdo,” she breathed. “I’ve been wearing it all day. It can’t smell good.”
“It does. Smells like you. Like what I’ve been missing so badly all these weeks.”
Naked now, I released her and stepped back. Just stared at her. “Goddamn, Poppy. How did you manage to becomemorebreathtaking since the last time I saw you naked?”
“I think that’s the love you’re seeing,” she whispered. “Or it’s your love acting like a filter.”
“Ahh,” I murmured. “That explains it.”
“I just want to keep looking at you,” I said.
She moved forward, reaching for the fly of my jeans. “You can look at me all you want,” she murmured. “But I have needs too, you know.”
“You do?”
“Oh yes. Quite a lot of them, as a matter of fact.”
“Like what?”
She was trying to take off my shirt with one hand and unzip my jeans with the other at the same time. And bless her, but she managed to succeed. She pushed my shirt up off my head and threw it aside, and at the same time, got my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. Once my shirt was off and my jeans were open, she shoved them down, moving with greedy desperation. I stepped and clumsily kicked free of the denim, and by the time my feet were freed, she had my black boxer-briefs down around my thighs, and then I was naked with her.
She grasped my cock in both hands, groaning in utter relief. “This,” she moaned. “This is what I need.”
“Ohfuck,” I growled, as she stroked me with both hands, greedily, as if to make up for lost time. “Slow down, or this will be over before it starts. I haven’t had myself off either, you know. So I’m sort of, uh, primed to blow.”
“I don’t care,” she murmured, not slowing. “I just don’t fucking care. You can come all over me if you want. We have all night. All day. We can rinse off in the lake. I don’t want to slow down. I want to touch you. I want to taste you.”
We stumbled for the bed, and I somehow landed on my back, filling my hands with the warm round globes of her ass, filling my mouth with her breasts, my taste buds with her skin. She had her hands on me, caressing my cock with both hands, kissing my chest and my chin and jaw and lips, wherever her lips landed, she kissed.
The box of condoms was under the bed, since there wasn’t a bedside table—I fumbled for it blindly, with one hand. Found it. She noticed what I was doing, took the box from me. Unable to move fast enough, she tore it open, ripped open a packet still attached to the string of the rest, pulled the latex ring out. Sheathed me in it, rolling over me hand over hand.
The moment I was covered, she pressed her body against mine, cradling my face in her hands, lips to lips. “Errol, please.”
I held myself in one hand, traced her opening with the other. She gasped as I nudged against her, writhed to take me. Her mouth dropped open, lips quivering against mine as we joined.
“Poppy,” I groaned, grinding in to fill her, feeling her sex swallow around me, sliding in, deep, slow.
Her tremulous lips touched mine, in a half-kiss, an un-breathing touch of lips to lips, her gasp shattered as our hips met. “Oh god…Errol.Errol!”
She pulled away from the kiss, lifted up to brace her hands on my chest. Breasts hung, swayed as she found her balance on me. Eyes on mine, never looking away, not daring to even blink.
She held there, still fully impaled with me.
“Errol…” This time it wasn’t a gasp of incredulous bliss, but a predicate, a beginning. Lips on mine again, now a brief kiss. “I love you, Errol.”
I didn’t bother hiding or wiping away the damp salt at the corners of my eyes. Didn’t tear my gaze from hers—let her see it. She bent and kissed the tears, laughed giddily, sniffing, sobbing.