Sick of Losing Soulmates

A dipping. One inch in, and back. Enough to make Samara feel almost deranged with desire, enough to rub himself against the sensitive slipperiness of her entrance, but not enough to enter her properly. Between her legs, her clit throbbed. Beneath her, Carter's nipples had gone nearly as hard as her own. She moaned into his mouth as she rubbed herself on them.

"Deep breath."

The two words were her only warning. Then she was arching properly, one hand clawing in the pillow below Carter's head and the other one leaving raw-looking pink streaks against the curve of his shoulder. With the same momentum as his previous movements, he slid inside of her for the first time. Behind Samara's closed eyes, white spots bloomed.

She gasped, like a woman coming up from water for air. She wanted to throw her head back, to bounce on his hips and have him stare up at her as she rode him; but she couldn't. Couldn't, because at the same moment that he had entered her, his grip had tightened further still. His arms were inflexible. He thrust again, and tiny black spots appeared in the white glow behind her eyes; like dancing bugs on a streetlamp. Then he was fucking her--fucking, because that was the only word for it. He thrust into her at a perfect rhythm, matching the beating of her heart.

"I want you to relax, gorgeous. My turn to do the work."

She would have thought it was impossible, if she'd heard the words. But she hadn't. She grasped a vague meaning from them, but mainly she felt the smooth timbre of his voice travelling down her spine, smoothing the arch of her back. She went limp, her hips collapsing onto his. As they did, she felt something new. Each thrust brought the base of his pelvis in contact with her clitoris. His breath, beside her ear, was a ripple. She could smell the musky, saltwater aroma of sweat and sex between them. His cock hammered into her, as if he were trying to make the head of it hit her square in the bottom of the stomach.

The urge to rock against him slipped away slowly. It was all Samara could do to wrap her arms around the back of Carter's neck, bending her lips against his ear so that he could hear her rising gasps--hear what he was doing to her. Her body was limp, but inside she felt like a sailors' knot; something that widened even as it tightened.

Then he was rolling her over. Samantha's legs bent, spreading further as her knees went toward the ceiling. She barely noticed; but she felt the change in the angle of his thrusting, the sweat-soaked coolness of the sheets below her, the weight of him settling between her legs. Carter thrust fluidly through her, and she heard the wet slap as his hips met the back of her thighs; the sound stomach-twistingly, obscenely erotic.

"You said," Carter's voice came as a near gasp. Every couple of words was punctuated by a chest-deep breath, "something earlier. Something about cumming on my cock?"

Samara wanted to gasp out an answer, but it was all she could do to gasp. The rhythmic rocking of his hips had reached a fever pitch, and each one ground against the mound of her throbbing clitoris. The tight muscles of his stomach and hips pressed against hers. Her head spun, delirious with pleasure. When he found her mouth with his, she gave up trying to find words.

Her orgasm came all at once. She bucked upward, rooting him inside of her as she dragged her nails down his back. Pleasure made her feel like a candle flame blown sideways by a sudden breath; bright and wavering all at once. Like columns of underwater light. She cried out over his tongue, and he seemed to drink the sound from her mouth. He sucked her tongue, lowering the angle of his body so that he was not thrusting so much as riding her hips through the orgasm in a way that left her breathless and shuddering.

She hadn't realized how hard she'd been gripping his cock, until she felt him pushing backward. Sliding out of her. Wet threads still connected them, and she could feel a mixture of liquid soaking into the sheets between where their bodies met. One hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking it quickly. There was an almost feverish cast to his brown eyes.

"Where?" He asked.

Inside of me. The temptation was enormous. She ached to feel it; to have him buried inside of her as deep as he could go. The pulsing of his cock as he filled her with hot strings of cum. But Samara drew a deep breath, cooling her thoughts as much as possible in the Kedah heat. Her living room felt like a sauna. How much of that was temperature and how much of it was sex, she couldn't say.

"Anywhere," she settled.

She meant it. His brown eyes slipped between her legs for a moment, to where the glistening pink of her swollen pussy encouraged them. Then he leaned forward, pushing himself between her legs. Three more strokes, and Samara felt the heat of his cum. It leapt out of him, three short bursts that left the soft hairs of her pelvis and the bottom curve of her stomach slick and sticky. Carter gasped, and she reached up to twine her fingers inside of his.

"You," he touched a kiss to either of her closed eyes, "are just..." he exhaled, "incredible."

"You're not so bad yourself," she replied.

It got a chuckle out of the young man. He reached down, taking hold of one of the sheets beneath them. Samara watched as he carefully wiped away the mess left on the bottom of her stomach. Even after he'd folded away the sheet, tucking it beside the mattress, his hand returned to her stomach. He brushed his fingers around the curved underside of its slight protrusion, stroking his thumb through the fine hairs beneath.

Suddenly, he reached up and drew her into his arms. Samara inhaled deeply, feeling herself pulled against him. His sun-flushed skin was nearly static against her own; like clothing just out of the dryer. In a gesture which would have been strangely tender for anybody else, but which he made feel entirely natural, he brushed his lips over her forehead.

"Sleep, gorgeous. We'll figure it all out tomorrow."

Figure what out, she wanted to ask. She didn't, though. Instead, she curled into the cradle of his arms and closed her eyes. Samara hadn't realized how tired she was, until that very moment. As the previous flood of endorphins ebbed out of her, it dragged her toward sleep. The last thing, she heard, before sleep drew her into the darkness completely, was the sound of Carter's soft humming. Bon Jovi.

Her eyes opened. He was gone. Samara waited for a moment, listening. Maybe, a part of her brain thought, he'd just gone to get water again--but a larger part of her knew that was not the case. The house around her was too quite. Too empty. She swung her legs off the side of the futon, pulling on her pants and blouse from the day before. Standing, she slipped on a pair of sandals and made her way to the front door.

For a moment, she only stood there. One hand braced against the weathered wood of the frame, staring vacantly through the mesh which covered it. She let out a breath. It surprised her--her own bitterness. He didn't owe her anything, of course. She barely knew him. So why, then, did she feel like this? Not empty, but as if her mind were a cauterized wound. It felt... tense. Painful. She drew a breath and exhaled once more, closing her eyes and leaning forward so that her forehead rested against the mesh.

It was a mistake. All at once, she felt him again. The bristles of his hair against her skin, the warmth of his skin, the shape of his hands. It was a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Maybe we'll see one another again. His words echoed in her head. Very slowly, she raised her face from the door. She didn't see what lay beyond it. She only felt its emptiness. Her eyes stared straight ahead--not vacant, but as if she were staring over the empty space of fifty miles. Like if she stared for long enough, she would see him coming down the road toward her.

Not again. Fuck this.

The door slammed open. Samara took the three small stairs of her veranda in a bound. Her sandal left a dusty footprint on the front of an envelope underfoot; Samara didn't notice. She didn't know where she was going.. She only knew that she had to find him, before he left. Her sandals were kicked off, tumbling into the long grasses by the roadside and disturbing a cluster of grasshoppers, and were gone forever. A wood-backed truck rumbled down the road, and she saw a pair of Malaysian eyes, scrunched in confusion at the shoeless white woman running down the road. The truck didn't stop.

Small stones pushed into the soles of her feet. As she ran, the unbuttoned green of her blouse flapped behind her; like the wings of some strange, earth-bound insect. Her blonde hair streamed behind her.

By the time she hit the two mile mark, her body was exhausted. The Kedah heat bore down on her. Overhead, the sun was a white circle in the otherwise cloudless orange-blue of the sky. She didn't stop. Sweat stung her eyes. She raced past the turn-off for their beach, past the metal signpost that marked where her road met the main one, past a dozen men and women gathered around a pair of lok-lok vendors and their pushcarts. She ran until the pressure of it became too much, and she was forced to open her mouth; gasping lungfuls of the scorching air.

As she ran, she choked back a sob. He was gone, she knew. He was gone--headed back to Wisconsin, and a girl whose named that she would never know. Around her, the trees disappeared. Small houses took their place, the tin rooves shining in the sun. Crushed gravel replaced dirt, making the already sore bottoms of Samara's feet feel as if they were blistering. And still she ran. Kampung Baharu. It was the only mention of where he stayed. The area was enormous; she fought her hopelesness with sheer determination.

Rickety trucks drove past her, followed by motorcycles. Like sucker-fish following sharks. A few people shouted, but she ignored the Malaysian voices. A truck horn beeped, turning somewhere behind her as she dashed past the open door of a Chamil Seafood restaurant. She could barely hear the scrape of its tires, below the hammering of her heart. It felt hard enough to shake her ribcage. Where? She scanned the street names, as she ran--not knowing which direction to go.

"Hey, crazy girl!"

She stopped fast enough that small stones sprayed out from beneath her bare feet. Her heart lifted inside of her chest, pushed up on a wave of disbelief. A Wisconsin voice, touched by Aussie laughter.

"Need a ride?"

She turned--and there he was. He leaned out of the drivers' side window of the truck that had pulled up behind her. The truck was old, showing grey-brown where the white paint had chipped off the bottom of its carriage. A small camper bore down on the truck bed, sticking out over the roof, nearly to the windshield and held in place by poles and winches. But it wasn't the truck that held her attention; it was the young man who drove it.

Sweat dimpled his forehead, small drops winking in the bright sunlight. As the door swung open, she saw a pair of angular shoulders, supporting a threadbare grey cut-off. His shorts were too small, his shirt too loose. A streak of grease made a hazy grey streak above the brown line of his left eyebrow. She'd never seen anybody look so beautiful.

He was walking toward her, separated by the space of about ten steps. She could see the edges of his teeth, behind his smile. She reached him in five.

The force of her nearly took him off his feet. He stumbled back, laughing against her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him close. Her breasts pressed against the bottom of his chest. She wasn't sure whether it was tears or sweat that made the inside corners of her eyes sting; but a moment later, she was laughing as well. He made no move to separate himself from her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her to him. As they broke away from the kiss, Samara shook her head.

"Where the hell were you going?" She asked, breathlessly.

"To pick you up," Carter stroked his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the sheen of sweat that they found there. He traced the back of it with the tip of his finger for a moment. She watched his smile become slightly rueful, even as it spread, "Actually... That's not entirely true. I was headed over to talk you into coming with me. I've got a list of thirty-two good reasons written down somewhere. Think it's tucked in my glovebox."

"Don't need them," Samara leaned close, until their foreheads touched and their noses rested side by side. Around them, the street had ceased to exist, "Just need one."

"In that case," she opened her eyes as Carter spoke, finding his. They were slightly blurry, with the closeness of them, but the sun-streaked brown was enough to make her heart leap, "I want you to."

"My bags..." she began.

"Let's go get them," he stepped backward, catching her hand in one of his. He didn't turn back toward the truck, however. He stood facing her, the tip of his thumb slowly tracing over the nail of her own.

"And then?"

She watched the smile draw up the corner of his lips. He was standing still, but Samara swore she saw the impression of a shrug enter the lines of his shoulders. She felt her mouth matching his, moved irrepressibly into the curve of a grin. For a moment, despite the difference in their ages, nobody would have guessed there was over a decade between them. They both looked equally young, and equally radiant. Samara felt excitement, answered by Carter's hand as it tugged her gently toward the truck.

"Who knows?" He pulled on the passenger side door, holding it open for her as she climbed inside. Just before it closed, one candy-brown eye dropped in a wink, "I hear India is beautiful this time of year."

Sick of Losing Soulmates ---- THE END.