Own It

Before we continue, I grab your neck and pull your upper body up towards me. You're surprised, but go along with it. I could likely talk you into anything at this moment, since I have your penis safely tucked inside my vagina.

However, I simply want to offer you a soft place to recline, and something that may give you a better viewing angle. While you're elevated, I drag the aforementioned pillow underneath you, then ease you back down onto it.

"Better?"

"Sure," you answer, only slightly bewildered.

"Okay," I say, and bury my hands in your hair again before going back to an upright position where you can see my entire torso, right down to where we are now joined together. And then, I start to move.

At first, I move myself up, above your body, to withdraw you, and then come back down. I can feel every inch of this. Every piece of you moving in and out of me; I can feel it. You're inside me, then you aren't. When I move you out of me, I want you back inside.

Your hands are on my hips. I feel one gently curl around my waist more tightly as the other moves to explore one of my breasts. You keep traveling upwards, towards my neck, and your fingers connect with my jawline. I move my head slightly, open my mouth, and bring the tip of your index finger into my mouth. If I can't kiss you, I feel the need to taste you somehow.

Within a few seconds, this inspires you to want a real kiss, and your hand is out of my mouth and around the back of my neck. You are pulling me back down towards you, while also lifting your head up to meet me. Now you seem ravenous.

Since I am bent over your torso again, my movements change. My hips slide forward, rather than skyward. I'm shifting you inside of me, rather than withdrawing you completely. Then, I slide back, pushing you in deeper. Fucking you like this feels more intimate, like we never need to separate. My clit gets to rub against you consistently, if I want it to. And, fuckall, if it doesn't feel amazing at this moment.

Something shifts in our intensity when we begin to move this way. You claimed you wanted to see me, but now we are just staring at each other's faces, chest to chest, subtle hip movements keeping you inside me, shifting your cock along the inner walls of my tight, wet pussy.

Is this what you wanted to feel? I want to ask you. I love hearing your voice tell me things.

Instead, I decide to tell you how I am feeling. "I need you," I say, in a way I hope is just restrained enough to not raise any questions later. "You feel perfect inside me."

"I love being inside you," comes out of your mouth.

"Please," I start begging. "Please, fuck me until you come in my pussy."

"Do you want me to do that to you?" you ask, perpetuating our game of filthy talk.

"Yes," I say, ashamed of the tone I put on for you. I'm not even sure if you like it. But I am spent. I am weak. I am on my last bit of willpower, holding out to prolong the tease, but also not wanting to wait too long and lose this moment.

You bite my lip again, and then your hips impulsively pull away from mine.

Excuse me?

Before I'm fully aware of what is happening, you are wriggling out from underneath me, and I am facing an empty floor. Then, you take some sort of makeshift position behind me.

Oh, fucking hell. You weren't kidding about this, were you?

Only slightly shocked at your assertiveness, I glance over my shoulder to see you holding your cock and lining it up with my entrance. You're viewing me from a vantage point I have never given you the privilege of seeing. You seem briefly distracted by the scene, until you remember you get to put your dick in there.

And so, we begin again.

You make eye contact with me as soon as your hand is no longer needed as guidance, and you are grasping both my hips. Your mouth is slightly agape, as if to say, Can you believe we're doing this and isn't it amazing omg? But you don't say that. It just hovers in a thought bubble above your head.

With your first real thrust, a sound escapes my mouth. This feels different than before. You are filling me at a different angle, and I can barely contain myself. I return my face to the ground, scramble for the pillow, and secure it underneath my upper body, my face very close to it in case I get loud unintentionally.

Who the hell came home? How can I soundproof my room?

You thrust again, and I feel like my pelvis might explode. It isn't unpleasant, but there is a building pressure in my midsection each time you revisit me. I feel my body unconsciously pushing against you, or possibly wrapping you in more tightly, but I have no desire for you to stop.

As your pace gets more regular, so does my breathing. I'm aware my throat is pushing out pants and sounds with each breath you are beating out of my chest. I feel like I can't control it and do my best to muffle my own voice with the pillow I am clutching.

I am on my knees, and they are rapidly sliding further apart. My stomach is almost touching the ground with how my body is scooped downward for you. You don't seem to mind, and keep driving at my hips with your own. I feel you start to lean over my back. The only things preventing you from coming much closer is the swell of my ass and any decline caused by the position of my knees and elbows.

Nonetheless, I feel more of your weight, and you continue to get closer to me. One of my thighs falls to the floor, and your body connects more with mine. You don't halt your pace, nor would I expect or want you to. I pivot my head to where I have more space, and your face starts to come back into view. Your mouth can almost reach mine again.

"Fuck me, please, baby," I manage to breath in your direction.

Your teeth make a stop at my ear as your hands dig into my skin, just before we melt into a surprisingly passionate kiss. You've got me bent over, pinned to the floor, your cock up my pussy, and me begging you to finish me off. Meanwhile, your kiss is romancing me, like it might be our wedding day. Your lips turn soft and non-urgent, while still engaged and excited, as the rest of your body appears to still.

But I should have known better. With your tongue still playing with my own, your hips start up again, and I feel you slide in and out of me with more deliberate thrusts. Your muscles tense in several different groups. Your arms. Your legs. Your shoulders.

I wish I could wrap my arms around you as I hear your voice groan in your throat, then I feel your rhythm inside of me. The best I can do is lift a hand, twist it around, and palm the back of your head and finger your hair while we stay connected, both at our mouths and down below.

It lasts a few seconds. Or eternity. I'm unsure. I love to feel you come. It excites something inside me. My body greedily tries to draw you up further, even as you are finishing and at your most sensitive. As my muscles twitch in the aftermath, you jolt in surprise at being "hugged" in such a unique way.

Fucking hell. How do you do this to me?

I bury my face back into the pillow. Instead of being concerned about noise, I am now consumed with exhaustion. I feel your hair, nose and lips trace shapes around my neck and shoulders as you move your head slowly, likely trying to find a good position to settle yourself.

I look back at you, and our eyes meet again. You appear surprisingly alert for what we've just been through.

"Hi," I venture.

"Hi," you answer back, and flash a cheeky smile.

Oh right. The coffee.

"You seem... awake," I tease.

"Oh, that was a lot. Believe me," you say, pressing your nose into the side of my face. "Ready?" you ask, softly. For a moment, I have no idea what you're talking about. Then, you begin to roll to one side of me, and I feel you withdraw. Some of the heat is taken away.

I would go anyway for basic female purposes, but I know immediately I need to return to the bathroom. This is a situation.

"Be right back," I tell you, as I begin to rise.

"What?" There is light panic in your voice.

"I'll be right back," I echo, in an overly assuring tone. I pick one of our discarded towels up off the floor, and excuse myself from my room. Moments later, I'm back in the bathroom. Except, without you. It feels lonely.

I don't need you- or desire you- for this part. It's only that, after some necessary clean-up and using the facility, I am reminded of your scent. It's different than anything or anyone else I've been exposed to. Not bad, but distinct. I could pick you out, blindfolded, if I had to. You're imprinted on my memory in this very specific way.

Washing my hands, I survey myself in the mirror again. This time, postcoitus. My skin is fully flushed in some places, light and rosy in others. My hair is messy and loose; half-damp, half-dried from being tied up in the shower, then rolling around on the floor. My torso looks long and slinky, quite literally warm and limber from all the activity. Maybe doing all that with you really was better than going to the gym.

My face has an uncontrollable glow that I hope to tamp down before I finish drying my hands. There are several reasons I don't want to act like a teenager before stepping back in that room with you. There are small reasons like my pride, and your big head. Then there are the larger reasons, like the fact you're leaving again. In ten days.

Despite the pangs I push down deep past my diaphragm, I put my towel back on and return to my room. You're still there (where would you go?), but had the audacity to put your underwear back on while I was away.

"Well, if you're going to get dressed," I begin, closing the door behind me and walking to my wardrobe, which we just fucked in front of. I hope my furniture isn't offended.

I open my wardrobe doors and look for some basic clothing to slip on. Unexpectedly, you make a disapproving sound, reach up, give my towel and rough tug, and god damn it if it doesn't fall right to the ground in front of where you are reclined on your elbow. What. The hell?

I look at your own shocked face. "Ha!" you exclaim. You reach up again, this time for my hand, and tug my bare body back down to the floor.

Your arms are quickly around my still-naked body. I feel out of place now that you have a piece of clothing on. I wonder if you'll let me go back to what I was doing, or if I'm in for another surprise adventure.

How much coffee did you have, exactly?

Although your hands seem to be everywhere, my naked trip to the floor doesn't seem to go further than a very handsy kiss. My hands also go back to my favorite parts of you. Your jaw. Your hair. Your neck, shoulders, and your ass, now covered in fabric.

I would bottle up your hands, if I could. The way you touch me is like poetry. A cloud. It's always been that way.

"Do you still want clothes?" you pull away to ask.

"I mean, I could do without them for a little while, but why did you put these back on?" I snap the elastic on your underwear just as a trilling sound comes from across the room, not far from where we are. I don't recognize it.

"Umm," you start, "because my clothes are literally calling me."

It's coming from your pants, draped across the chair where my towel came from. You retreat from my body and move closer to where the rest of your clothes are stacked. You're searching your pockets for the origin of the sound, which must be your phone. Free of your fingers, I turn back to my drawers and quickly pull something comfortable on my body.

"Hey!" I hear you say, as you quickly glance out my window. "Where are you?"

I'm pulling a tunic dress over my head as I hear a muffled voice through the other end of your device.

"Yeah, just for a sec."

It's your parents. I listen to you put them off for a minute or two, and then you turn your attention back to me as you click off the call.

"They said they'll be back in about a half hour."

"Oh. Okay." I hope my eyes don't look sad as I look up at you. I knew you would be leaving soon. "I thought you said tomorrow."

"They changed course when I said I was here sooner. Sorry, I have to go."

I'm surprised. You're not usually apologetic.

"Well, if you want to make it up to me over the next ten days that you're here..." I'm feeling bold. I did just bring you to your knees on this very floor.

Your chin raises, and you stare me down. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Deal. Breakfast. One morning." Goddamn. Not unlike your words, your lips assault me and come for mine in that moment. I succumb, very willingly. "I have to run."

Without many more words between us, possibly due to my bewilderment, you put the rest of your clothes on, make yourself otherwise presentable, and we both start out of my room, attempting to look like respectable people.

We find ourselves back on my outdoor porch, where all of this began, and I'm negotiating the reverse situation as before. Do I hug you? What type of goodbye do I give to the person I used to see almost every day, but now I don't share any time with?

You make the choice for us. You give me a subtle, but not unhidden, kiss, with your hands on my face. You press your forehead into mine.

"I'm glad I saw you," you say, softly.

"Same," I say, back. "And I'll see you before you leave?"

"Yeah, I'll come get you one morning this week."

"Well, toss a rock at my window when you're ready, Romeo."

Your signature smirk begins to shine before you answer. Your hands travel down to my waist before you start to drift away from me completely.

"I'm always ready, Juliet."

I try not to melt for you as you leave.

"Don't watch me!" you add, as you walk down my steps and start leaving our yard.

"Oh, I will!" I assure you.

You shoot me an annoyed look as I retreat back into my house. I move to a window facing your yard, just in time to see you skip through your driveway, and trot through your back door. You are skipping.

I haven't seen you skip in years.

I'm glad I could add a spring back into your step.

Welcome home, baby.