Sick of Losing Soulmates

Only when she felt the pattern of Carter's thumb close slightly, did she know. It was his turn. She still thrust her hips into his palm, but now his wrist began to move; perfectly following the rhythm that her body had set for it, meeting each of her fevered thrusts with a more controlled one of his own. Against her ear, he growled. Properly this time. A sound that travelled from top of his chest and into the closed-in cavern of his mouth.

"Cum for me, gorgeous. You feel so fucking good. So, fucking, ah--"

He must have been acting, the intuitive part of her brain knew. It was the kind thing that people said when their cock was inside of you, not their fingers. But in that moment, it didn't matter to Samara. The sensation had built to a point of being overpowering, and the sound of his voice was all that she needed. She hadn't even realized she'd been making a high sound with each breath, until she stopped; her breath locking up in her throat. As her body went rigid, her own thrusting coming to a trembling halt, Carter's hand added her previous rhythm to his own. The ball of his thumb pressed down on her clit, and he fucked her with his fingers.

And then she was cumming. She buckled, body nearly sinking into the mattress as all of the tension left her at once. She could feel tears in the corners of her eyes as her body was wracked with pleasure; pushing against the fingers that were still buried inside of her, muscles quivering around their length. Once more, her breathing lifted her blouse-covered chest. In the moment that she came, the room had gone soundless. Now, as she came down from the initial intensity of it, the sounds came back.

Carter's mouth pulled back a bit from her ear as his fingers slid out from inside of her. His head rested on the pillow, drawing hers down the sloping indent of it until her cheek rested against his sweat-slick forehead. He raised his hand, tasting her on his fingers, and then slid it flat over her stomach. He held it there, just above her bellybutton.

"Feel better?" He asked.

It was all Samara could do to breathe, placing her hand over top of his. She could feel the small hairs of his wrist, beneath her palm. Beside her, the young man radiated satisfaction.

Who the hell was the she who had decided to give up on that?, Samara's thoughts wondered vaguely. She had just had one of the best orgasms of her life, and they were still fully clothed.

She felt the weight of his body shift on the mattress, the length of an arm reaching down and pushing him upward. And then he was standing, raking his fingers back through the bristles of his hair and wiping away the sheen of sweat that had gathered below them with the balls of his palms. Samara turned over, studying the young man as she fought to gain control back of her scattered breathing.

He's leaving? The thought, strangely, sent a pang of regret through the center of Samara's chest. Then he glanced down, met her eyes, and let his lips crook upward in the beginning of a grin. It made him, in that moment, look even younger than his twenty-four years; roguish and a bit wild. The pang in her chest sharpened, and Samara swallowed. It was no longer regret. It was desire. Perhaps it was the stray endorphins of her previous orgasm, but she didn't think so. This was something else entirely.

She'd never seen anybody look so handsome.

"You need some water--" he glanced away from her, in the direction of the open kitchen, "Got glasses?"

"There's bottles beside the stove."

He disappeared for a moment. Samara heard the squeaking of water bottles being pulled through the thin plastic of a case. Then he was back, his weight dropping onto the mattress beside her once more. She accepted the plastic bottle that he offered to her, cracking the cap and taking a long sip. She passed it back, and he did the same. She watched the line of his clean-shaven jaw tip up, saw the knot in his throat bob up and down like a fishing-buoy in rough water as he swallowed. She touched her tongue to her lips.

"You want me to take off?" He asked, catching Samara off guard. He lowered the bottle, screwing the cap back on and placing it in the bed between them. His candy-brown eyes studied her, his body propped up on one elbow, "I don't want to--" he continued quickly, "I just don't know what this is to you. Don't want to overstay my welcome."

"You're not overstaying," Samara reached down to where her blonde hair spilled over her chest and onto the slightly damp mattress. She twisted a couple of threads between her fingers, "I was actually hoping you would... stay, that is."

"Then I'll stay."

With that, he lay back on the bed. One arm rose, hand tucked under his propped-up head. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell rhythmically as he breathed. For a moment, Samara almost thought that he had fallen asleep right then; simply like a flicked-off switch. The only sounds in the room, besides their breathing, was the whirring of the overhead fan and the flicking of bug wings against the glass planes of the windows. Like the keys of a thousand, tiny typewriters.

For a couple of minutes, they lay together in silence. When she was pretty sure that he was sleeping, Samara reached out and touched Carter. It was the lightest of touches, only playing the tips of her fingers over the small folds of his shirt just below his left breast. She couldn't have said what drew her to do it. To feel his closeness, perhaps. Just above her hand, she could see the small point where his nipple pressed out the canvas-like material of his hiking shirt. It was only when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips twitch up in a smile, that she realized he was not nearly as asleep as he seemed.

He cleared his throat before speaking. His eyes remained closed, "Yes?"

"Could we..." Samara's voice trailed off. It sounded smaller than it had, in the sound-heavy quietness of the room, "Never mind. Forget it--stupid."

"Nah," his eyes opened then, and he turned slightly to face her, "If you want it, it's not stupid. Just ask."

Cuddle. That's what she had been going to ask. Could we cuddle? But even as she thought about asking, about saying the words, the pang in her chest came back once more--embarrassment, this time. Even thinking about the question, it seemed too pathetic for her to let the words passed her lips; too childish. She was a grown woman. And yet, she couldn't get over the desire. To feel Carter's arms around her, to have him pull her against his chest and feel the steadiness of his breathing.

"Could you hold me, just for a moment?"

Instead of answering, Carter instead reached between them and picked up the water bottle. Samara heard it come down somewhere on the wooden floorboards as he tossed it over his shoulder. Then he slid closer, his legs catching in the tussled sheets at the bottom of the bed, and slid an arm beneath her. She felt herself being lifted. His elbow bent around her body, his hand resting just beside the small of her back. As he pulled her closer, Samara snuggled into the space made between the young man's neck and shoulder. She could feel the sun-flushed warmth of him against her forehead. This close, the earlier scents were even more accentuated; clean sweat, the faint trace of his cologne that still clung to him, or perhaps it was the lingering of his aftershave. Does he even have to shave? She wondered somewhere in the back of her mind.

He cleared his throat once more, and the closeness of it sent a shiver down Samara's spine. Like the sound a lion might make, if you were lying on its belly. She sighed, tightening her fingers slightly in the front of Carter's shirt as she lay against him. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she began to play with one of the plastic buttons with the tip of her thumb. It slid free, and she traced the edge of it with her nail.

"If you want to see me naked again, you just have to ask."

He couldn't see the curve of her smile, but she was sure that he could feel it against his neck; just like she couldn't see his, but could hear it in the tone of his voice. The hint of it, the quick flash in her imagination of his bare body pressed against hers, was enough to make the space between Samara's legs tingle. Instead of replying, she moved her hand lower and slipped her fingers beneath the second button.

In response, his hand slid a few inches lower down her back. She felt the weight of it on her hip, the tips of his fingers finding their way closer to the button on the front of her jeans.

It was, Samara thought, like being a teenager all over again. She could feel the same butterflies that she'd felt then; the pique of slight fumbling, nearly-awkward excitement. They were in their own private space, but she couldn't help but listen more carefully for the sound of somebodies' parent coming through the front door. Carter couldn't quite reach the button of her jeans with his arm curled behind her back, so instead he ran a curved hand over the highest cheek of her bum and used it to pull her closer. Once more, Samara found herself smiling against his neck.

"What are you grinning about?" His voice was curious.

"Just you," she looked up and pressed a quick kiss against the bottom of the young man's jaw, "Feels good."

"Yeah," the word came as a sigh, "It does." As he exhaled, Samara felt herself drawn closer against his body, like she were sinking into him. Without thinking about it, she let the hand on his stomach slide beneath his shirt. It came to rest against Carter's pelvis; she could feel the small hairs there, soft and slightly ticklish beneath her palm. If she stretched out her fingers, she could just feel the top of his hiking pants. She did so, and felt her arm slowly lifted on the exhale that passed through the young man's stomach.

"May I?" Samara asked. She felt his nod, through the cheek and jaw that rested against her forehead.

She reached further still, attempting to slide her hand beneath the waistband. It was too tight, and after a moment she was forced to realize that her knuckles simply wouldn't fit. Drawing them out, she picked open the button of his pants--metal, this time--and pushed down the zipper with the side of her thumb. As she did, she could feel Carter stiffening below her. Not his body; that remained completely relaxed, but the penis that rested just below her hand. It pushed up involuntarily against her palm. At least, Samara was pretty sure it was involuntary. She didn't care one way or another.

Beneath her, she felt Carter's breathing change ever so slightly as she wrapped her hand around the shaft of his penis. From her position, she couldn't see a thing below their chests, but she could certainly feel it. The weight of it. The thick vein along its bottom which fit perfectly into the curve of her palm. She had caught a glimpse of it earlier that night, but that's all it had been--a glimpse. Now, as she began to slowly stroke up and down with her wrist and elbow, she got a better idea of the young man's size.

"Hey, gorgeous--" he didn't pause between that word and the next, but to Samara it seemed to he had; it was the cloudiness of arousal in his voice, somewhere between a growl and an exhale, "you're about to start something that I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."

Did she want him to stop? Samara's breathing hitched slightly, and she matched the stroking of her hand to the beating of her heart. Catching her bottom lip against the back of her front teeth, she brought her mouth to Carter's ear. For a moment she held it there, doing nothing but letting him listen to the sound of her breathing. And then, in a voice barely audible in its breathlessness, she whispered.

"Then don't stop. Fuck me."

"Are you...?"

He trailed off when she put her forehead against the curve of his ear, nodding. What came next seemed to happen all at once, though in reality Samara knew the motion was smooth and rather slow. The arm below her tensed, and she felt his other hand connect with her hip as he twisted his body, rolling her on top of him. She closed her eyes, relying on the position of their bodies to tell her where his mouth was. She felt his tongue parting her lips, and exhaled deeply against his cheek as they were swept up together in the feeling of their kiss.

She'd had to release the young man's penis, as she rolled on top of him. It didn't matter, now, because she could still feel it. It was a pressure between her legs, its exposed head pushing against the fabric of her jeans in a way that made Samara want to whine. She knew that she was wet, but the strange sensation didn't come from her own body; it came from the dampness on the head of Carter's penis, precum seeping into the material of her jeans and straight through to the bare skin beneath.

Her breathing came faster, now. And faster still as she raised her hips, trapping Carter's penis between her thighs and his stomach. She began rolling them slowly, forward and backward, and felt his hands tighten in response.

It was too much, then. Her hands pulled at his clothing, in a fumbling attempt to strip it away from his body. A moment later, his joined them. He moved a bit too slowly for her, but with perfect composure. She saw his fingers working open the last buttons of his shirt, pulling it back to expose a narrow and tensely muscled stomach. As he pulled her own shirt off, she bent down to bring her lips against his skin. There was a thin layer of blonde hair, making a trail from the bottom of his belly to the curve where his hips entered the waistband of his hiking pants. She kissed her way down it.

The moment he had the button of his pants undone, Samara pulled them down his thighs. They caught just above his knees, and she left them there. All she could see was his cock; standing straight up, curved slightly toward him where the base of it was shadowed by golden hair.

Before she could think better of it, she took him into her mouth. She didn't start slow--she didn't want to, and neither of them needed it. She gripped him with her lips, sliding down the length of his shaft until she could feel the head of it pressing against the back of her throat. It had been nearly six years since she last gave a blowjob; she felt the telltale closing of her throat as the head of his cock brushed against her larynx. Pushing past it, she heard her own gag as he sunk two inches inside of her throat. She could feel his hardness, making a pocketed bulge just below her chin.

Above her, Carter groaned. One hand slid behind her head, gripping near the base of her hair. He didn't try to control her movements, letting her push him deep into her throat and then rise to breath in her own time. As she exhaled through her nose, the small hairs around the base of his cock wavered slightly at the gust of air.

When she finally came up properly, she didn't remove her lips from Carter's cock. Instead, she wrapped them only around the head and played her tongue along its bottom edge. Reaching up, she wrapped a hand around his shaft and proceeded to jerk him off. She could feel him twitching in her fingers, fighting his hips desire to push upward from the mattress. She could taste the salty musk of his precum, against her tongue. A more potent version of the ocean water from earlier. She lifted her tongue, letting it run along the sensitive opening in the head of his penis; he grunted, back arching slightly.

All of a sudden, the hand in her hair tightened. Samara paused, head turning back slightly with the unexpected pressure of it. A bit of pain bloomed in her scalp.

"Sorry--" Carter's voice was different than anything she'd heard before. Like he'd been punched in the gut, the moment he'd begun to speak, "Just... too much. You're--"

"Too much?" She guessed, continuing to jerk her hand up and down his shaft as she used the other to balance herself. His hand had gone out of her hair, but she could still feel the touch where it had been.

"No," his laughter was gusty and short, "No, you're not too much. But if you kept doing that, I was going to..." a slightly deeper blush crept into his already flushed cheeks, "to cum."

"Aw--that's cute," she leaned down and picked up the bottom of his face with a kiss. She brushed her lips over the curve of a warm cheek, feeling his hips rise slightly into her hand, "You're blushing."

"That word's weird to me."

"What?" Samara smiled, "Cum?" She let a thumb brush over the top of the young man's penis as she continued to stroke him, slightly more slowly than she'd been doing previously. It brought him a small, involuntary shiver, "How about when I say, like... I want you to cum for me, baby? I want to taste your cum?" She licked the curve of his ear, releasing her grip on his penis and leaning upward, so that it was pressed against the front of her underwear, "How about when I say I want to cum on your cock? How about when I say I want you to cum inside of me?"

His breathing went a shade shallower beneath her, "Really?"

She laughed quietly, "No--yes, no. God, yes I want to feel that so badly. But we can't. No condom."

He nodded. Then he surprised her once more, reaching up and gripping the back of her neck with one hand. It wasn't hard; only tight enough to tell her that he wanted her to remain in place. His other hand ran down the side of her body, finding the hem of her underwear and pulling them down. Keeping her upper body still, held under his cupped hand, she wriggled the rest of the way out of them. She was wet, and gasped into the hollow of Carter's neck as she felt the head of his penis stroke between her bare lips for the first time. She could feel her heartbeat echoed in her clit; a hot, heavy throbbing. The lips of her pussy were swollen with arousal.

"What if," his voice was a husky whisper just behind her own ear, "I told you you didn't have a choice?" The hand tightened slightly around the back of her neck.

The breath left her in a rush. Heat flooded from the top of her body to the bottom, swirling in her stomach and the cleft of her legs. She knew, by the tone of his voice, that he was testing her; that he'd taken a terrible chance--and he'd won. She reached up, wrapped one hand around his nearly-shaved head, pressing down with the heel of her palm. She could still feel him, sliding between the arousal-wet lips of her pussy. Her own breathing was the crashing of waves in her ears.

"Oh," she exhaled, "you're dangerous."

"Sometimes," she felt his smile, at the same moment as his hand slid upward from the back of her neck to the tangle above it.

As she felt his fingers slip through the blonde threads of her hair, Samara stopped thinking. It wasn't a conscious decision. She felt her thoughts whisked away, like flotsam on the surface of a swift-flowing river. She brought the weight of her breasts down, pressing them against his chest. She could taste the ocean on him; not just on his skin, or his tongue, but in specific places--the cleft of his neck, the hollow of his shoulder, the small indent in the bottom of his chin. Her mouth explored him, licking the salt from his sun-scorched skin.

His wetness wet her in turn. The head of his cock stroked slowly between the lips of her labia, making her wriggle. Samara wanted nothing more than to sink down onto it, to take him inside of her so deeply that she could feel it in her chest. But she didn't. His hands tightened on her hip and the base of her hair, and she deepened the arch of her back. Inviting.

Any time that she had been on top of a man, in the past, she had been in control. That's why it was such a strange sensation, as she straddled Carter's body with her own, to feel the opposite. His left hand flattened her against him, sliding from the curve of her hip down to the cheek of her bum and gripping her there. The other held her in place, like a small ships anchor on a storm-swept sea. Even the smell of him had changed; deepening and sharpening all at once. Below her, his hips had begun to thrust ever so slightly. A teasing, thought-wrenching in and out that made her thighs tighten against the side of his body.