Cacophony

Pulling into the space next to his car, I couldn't shut mine off fast enough. I was out the door and hurrying around the trunk before it was closed. He mirrored my actions, moving swiftly across the seemingly invisible space between us.

In a breath, I was enveloped. In his arms, yes, but beyond the physical, simply absorbed. Time melted as our bodies met, my face found a home in the hollow of his collar. I breathed deeply, a scent that I knew as well as my own. His hands pressed me closer, impossibly closer, and wound through my hair.

My hands slid up his back, feeling the familiar planes. I could feel the longing that had resided in my chest for the last few days wane; replaced now by anticipation, familiarity and desire. These feelings, so much the focus of my time when we were apart, took on a life of their own when we were together.

Anticipation knew that time was important and limited. It launched the body into its physical responses to his nearness, his physicality.

Familiarity searched for those scents that also triggered body responses; surging wet heat, butterflies. But familiarity also spurred movement. My hands tracing those areas that I knew would draw small gasps, tiny groans, half-smiles.

Desire led the encounter. Forcing the body to act without thought, without plan, without concern for cause and effect. Desire held the reins and encouraged the full gallop.

Our lips met, tentative only in the shared need to prolong the first kiss of the evening marking time in breath and heartbeats. His hands were on my waist, pulling me closer, more tightly to him though there could scarcely be a stray atom between us. The kiss deepened, teeth and tongues began to explore. I rose up slightly on my toes, anxious to be closer still. My hands slid up between us and I could feel his nipples harden as I touched them.

A groan crossed his lips and I captured it. His hands moved over my back, never remaining in one place as if to remember every curve, every valley.

In moments, we fell into his backseat. Though the location was public, the dark offered a cloak that breathed life into my hesitation. His hands were on my breasts, squeezing gently then with more fervor as his lips followed. Each nipple responded to the heat of his mouth, the implied danger in his teeth on my sensitive flesh. I shuddered and struggled out of my clothing.

I found myself astride his hips leaning up to press my breasts to his mouth as his hands pushed me down on his lap. I could feel his cock under me and it was obsidian. To shift atop him drew involuntary whimpers from somewhere in my chest. My heart raced as I struggled to create space between us so I could release his button and draw back the zipper.

My skirt gave reasonable cover to anyone passing close enough who we might not notice and the missing panties allowed me to slide down on him as soon as I was able to force his clothing aside.

I felt him tense, relax, and tense again as his cock slid all the way in. I leaned back slightly and his hands captured my shoulders to allow distance between us but only at the top. I worked my hips on his as my body leaned back. The stretching created ripples in my stomach that made breathing difficult and my breath became short as I began to inhale and exhale in the same rhythm as the grind.

We moved this way for a lifetime, for a minute, for an immeasurable passage of time. The only indicator of its passing was the building heat, his racing pulse that I felt over every inch of his skin and his ever-changing stream of words captured by my brain as I struggled to remember everything.

We raced together for a moment more and then, hands clasped, fingers laced, we fell together into the rolling tide. I tilted my head and rested it on his shoulder as I fought to regain even breathing but held the rest of my body as still as I could to stay atop the wave.

He continued to breathe words into my hair as his hands began to move over the slick muscles of my back and shoulders. I leaned out slightly to catch his eye and he dipped his head so our lips brushed; words still flowing.

We remained in the back for what seemed like only seconds before an electronic invasion of sounds resurrected reality and we grimly separated and re-dressed.

I lingered outside his car before half-staggering back to my own feeling his eyes on my back. I could feel his instinctive need to capture me and prevent my departure – it was a tangible thing hovering between us as I crossed the short distance.

My mind worked desperately, trying to preserve these recent memories and already setting up a file for the next chance. Mental lists were being made: when, where, for how long. I found myself on the highway without knowing how I got there and was startled at the intrusive ring of the telephone.

"I miss you already." The words were expected but still delivered unexpected longing.

"As do I. Don't ask when or where. I don't know." The road. I concentrated on the road as it blurred.

"I won't but I already need you again," he said and was gone.

I put the phone down on the seat and returned my hands to the wheel. In a short time, I pulled into the garage noting that he was already home as my car slid in next to his. Pressing the button for the door, I scratched at my hair in the mirror but it was hopeless. The best I could do was wipe smeared make-up and hope for the best.

I gathered my bag, pushed the kitchen door open with my foot and listened for sounds from inside the house. I could hear water running in the bathroom. I headed down the hall.

I dropped my bag on the bed and walked toward the bathroom armed with a ready excuse for my bedraggled hair, my wrinkled shirt. He probably wouldn't notice but I couldn't risk not being prepared for scrutiny.

He was sitting on the side of the tub, shirt off, pouring silky soap under the running stream. The smell of cinnamon and cloves filled the room and I breathed deeply and noticed the new but slight scratches on his shoulders.

He turned to face me with a small smile and I opened my mouth to the first excuse that would cover my delay in returning home. As I spoke, I watched his eyes and then, surreptitiously, surveyed the marks on his shoulders.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" he asked.

"I did. The site is coming along quicker than we expected." The lie was easy, rehearsed, unnoticed?

"Come. Climb in. I think it's the right temp." He gestured to the snowy tub with its iridescent cacophony of bubbles.

I began to undress as he watched. Panic arose as I tried to remember if there was the possibility of a mark on my chest, stomach, neck. A quick sideways glance to the mirror and I realized I was too far away to tell. I focused on the buttons and calmed myself.

"Hey...is that a bruise?" He pointed to my right breast, fingertip hovering over a quickly-emerging reddish mark. Quick heat surged through my belly and I felt the rush of wetness at the memory of his teeth and tongue on me.

"I suppose so..." I uttered quietly as I stepped toward the tub and over the edge.

"I'll need to be more careful next time, won't I?" he breathed into my ear as his familiar hands reached for my hips and his lips dipped to the evidence of our earlier passion in his car.

The surge between my legs grew stronger. It was so hard to refrain from spinning and capturing his lips with my own. I could only take so much.