Sam is caught off guard when her ex lover returns and from the moment he arrives they can’t keep their hands off each other.
I languish in the bath, my body surrounded by bubbles. In the air hangs the scent of coconut and mint. I’m a sucker for candles and bath oil. Music drifts into the room, my desktop computer with its high quality speakers cranking out song after song from my Spotify playlist. My hands slide up and down my legs. I’ve just finished shaving them so I’m admiring my handiwork. The feel of the smooth skin makes me smile.
It also makes me horny.
Leaning back, my head resting against a rolled up towel, I take a couple deep breaths and sigh. This is one of my favorite parts of the day. My fingers traipse up my leg, up over my stomach, and then down. My unoccupied hand slithers up to take hold of a breast. I pinch the nipple, feeling my body react with a small spasm. I’m overly stimulated, aching after a day full of classes and no sex. On a normal day I would have slept with at least two students and maybe a colleague. Today, though, has been different. No office hours. No time after work either because of meetings.
Slipping between my closed legs the fingers of my right hand tease my clit, drawing small circles around the small bundle of nerves. I bite my lip and tilt my head back. The water is hot, the steam heavy, and I find myself lost to the desire I have for release. One leg I lift to hang over the edge of the tub. The water drips to the floor, its soft pattering making me giggle. I feel like a teenager again, sneaking self-pleasure while my family does their thing somewhere outside the locked bathroom door.
I hear my phone buzz, the sound barely audible from where I’ve tossed it on a side table in my bedroom. Ignoring it I close my eyes and focus on what my fingers are doing. Lifting my hips I slide two fingers down my folds. Even though I’m sitting in water I’m a little bit dry down there. Another inch and that changes. My entrance is well lubricated. My middle finger follows the rim of the hole once, twice, three times. The beat of my heart picks up its pace, fueled by my anticipation.
Finally I bury two fingers in as deep as they can go. I just sit there like that for a seconds before I start pumping those digits in and out of me as hard and fast as I can. I lift my head, hunching over so I can get better leverage. I’m panting now, sweat beading on the parts of my body not under the water. Still keeping my eyes closed I add a third finger.
In and out.
In and out.
It’s coming. Soon. I can feel the build up of the orgasm behind my spine. Like tentacles its warmth spreads through my lower extremities and up my back.
“I’ve always liked watching you climax.”
My eyes shoot open and my hand comes flying out of me. I fumble, slipping around as I try to orient myself with where I am and what’s going on.
Someone is in my house. Not only that but they’re in my bathroom and they’re talking to me.
“What the fuck?” I yell. Grabbing for one of the towels I keep near the edge of the tub I cover myself and stare at the door. At him.
He chuckles and leans nonchalantly against the sink. “I called.”
My heart is racing and I’m trying to calm it down. I know him. Intimately.
“Well I didn’t get the call.” I use my foot to flip a switch and the tub starts to drain. I stand, the half-soaked towel no longer necessary. I squeeze it out, drop it, and leave it in a heap on the bathmat.
“No shit. I think I figured that out when you didn’t answer the door,” he says.
I reach for a clean towel and dry off. I don’t care if he sees me naked. Again. We’d been lovers before. An item, even. We’d almost gotten married. Twice.
I finish with my legs, hang that towel up on a hook, and grab a small one to wrap my hair in. That done I step out of the tub. He’s in my way. “Move,” I tell him.
He does and I sweep by him, heading towards the bedroom. Of course he follows me but I ignore him. For a few minutes he just watches me, not saying anything, and then he can’t help himself.
“Damn it, Sam. I came back to apologize. To apologize and make amends.”
I slip on a nightie and a pair of panties. I like to be very comfy in my own home. The less clothes the better. I don’t want to answer him but just like he can’t help himself, neither can I. It’s the game we’ve always played. Turning towards him I cross my arms, pushing up my breasts in the process. They nearly pop out of my nightie. His eyes glance down, lust in his eyes. He’s always been attracted to me, always wanted my body. If only he wanted more than that.
Arching my brow I look at him. “Amends? What kind of amends can you have for running off with a stripper?” It wasn’t the fact that she was a stripper that offended me. No, I’d slept with a couple myself. I’d even considered the profession. No, it was the fact that he’d run off.
He steps closer to me, arms out. “Please, Sam. I came back for you. I miss you.”
I shake my head and lick my lips. Swallowing over a lump in my throat I take a step back. If he gets too close to me I’ll be a goner. I’ve never had self-control when it came to Jared. Never. I hold up a hand. “No. Don’t,” I tell him. He pauses and tilts his head, looking at me like a wounded puppy. His dark hair is cut military style, not his usual. The dark blue eyes, however, are the same. They hold a mystery, a depth, I’ve always found hot. He’s got on a tank top and cargo pants. There are no shoes on his feet, just black socks. I don’t have to guess where his shoes are. Boots, actually. Black ones. They’ll be just inside my door. That’s one of his quirks. I smile, that one personal detail, that intimate knowledge, threatening to destroy the wall I’ve built up.
The light is dim in here, the lamp on its lowest setting. Even so I can see the tattoo on the inside of his left arm near his wrist. My name. I’m staring at it and don’t realize that he’s moving. Before I know it he’s standing in front of me. I can nearly taste him, the scent of him is so strong. Sweat. Beer. Dirt.
His hand reaches out, touching my waist. I inhale sharply, the intense heat of his skin against mine, even that little bit, like water on a hot griddle. He smiles and looks down at me, his other hand reaching up to pry my arms apart. “You still want me, Samia,” he whispers.
He’s right. Samia wants him. Samia, the name I’ve only ever used with him. Not my real name but a pet name born from an intimate night spent on a rooftop. I shiver as he touches me, the man like drugs to my always sex crazed body. He slides my nightie above my head and I don’t stop him. I even raise my arms to make it easier. We don’t speak. I just let him lead.
After he’s got me naked from the waist up he leans in. I tilt my head and what would have been a kiss on my lips becomes a kiss on my neck. A soft moan escapes as he repeatedly nips at my skin. I’ve rarely taken charge when it comes to this man. That’s a strange thing since I tend to pride myself on the authority and strength I bring to my sexual escapades. This is about more than sex, though. This is about two halves of a sexual whole.
Without thinking I reach out and begin to unbuckle his belt. I can feel him grin against my skin as he begins to kiss his way up to my ear. I get his pants undone and push the material down. “Take them off,” I mumble. I know I say it quietly but of course he hears me. Letting go of me he steps back and undresses. I watch him, still in my panties, staying perfectly still as I do. That little patch of hair on his chest is still there, a small triangle of dark curly hair. His other tattoo, the one near his belly button, is as vibrant as ever. A butterfly, small, put there as a reminder of his younger sister lost to a car crash when she was barely eight. Once again I’m struck by the frustration of knowing so much about him.
Once he’s naked, save his socks, he moves in. Both hands cup my face as he kisses me. It’s sweet at first and then it’s merely hungry. I can’t fight it, I know that, so I don’t even try. My blood boils with sexual heat and I kiss him back just as emphatically.
Soon we’re grasping at any part of one another we can get a hold of. I can’t get him close enough. I want him in me. Now. “The bed,” I tell him. His hands turn me and I laugh as he picks me up and tosses me onto the bed. Breathless I land with a bounce. My breasts jiggle and my stomach growls. He grins down at me then joins me on the bed. Reaching out he grabs the edge of my panties and pulls them off with a few well placed jerks.
“I didn’t want you to come back,” I tell him. I’ve never been afraid to be honest. With anyone but especially with him.
“I know,” he says as he holds my leg in the air and kisses the back of my calf.
I bite my lip, staving off a whimper, as I watch him. Involuntarily, my body shudders under his attention.
He brings up my other leg to join the first and kisses it, too. Peeking at me from around them he grins. “You won’t want me to leave,” he says to me.
“We’ll see about that,” I tell him.
Dropping my legs he reveals my extremely wet pussy. It glistens even in the low light. His cock is at attention, long and thick. I’ve sucked that thing dry more times than I can count and how he wields it could please even the pickiest of lovers. No one has ever complained to me about him and on those occasions when I’ve willingly watched him fuck someone else it was plain for all to see that they were being given an experience they would never forget.
He lowers his hand, trailing his middle finger along my labia. I tremble under his touch. As he strokes he speaks, his voice so low I can barely hear him. It’s a poem, one he wrote about me years ago. It’s a commentary on my body parts, an explicitly sexual commentary. I smile, my teeth gritting, as he continues to stroke my pussy. Jared’s voice is deep. There’s strength in it, the kind that commands attention and obedience. I’ve missed him, thought about him every day, but that doesn’t mean I want him here in my life.
One finger enters me and my hips lift, asking for more. He gives me just that one, the middle one, moving it in and out of me far slower than he should be. His eyes raise, meeting mine, and we exchange a look. I’m not sure what it means. Perhaps acceptance.
“Fuck me,” I mouth.
He inserts a second and then a third finger and my eyes close. My body moves, meeting each shove of those fingers, and I’m soon lost to the sensations. Reaching up I grasp the headboard, thankful its the kind with bars, the kind that has many practical uses when it comes to sex. He continues finger fucking me until I’m coated in sweat and growing ever so close to climax.
Then his fingers slip away and I’m left gasping, my eyes shooting open. He’s grinning, poised over me. I spread my legs wider and he lines himself up just right, the tip of him pressed lightly against my entrance. Leaning forward his dick slides in about an inch, then stops. He’s going so slow it’s almost painful. He’s doing it on purpose and I both hate and love him for it. I wiggle my hips and shake, encouraging him to move faster, but he doesn’t. He bides his time, gliding into my well lubricated vagina over minutes instead of in seconds.
But when he’s sheathed in me I must admit it’s well worth it. He fills me up completely.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“Fuck me,” I cry out, every fiber of my being lit up like a roman candle. “Just do it, damn you!”
Laughing, he pulls almost all the way out before ramming himself back in. The feeling makes me delirious. I’ve been so horny all day and this, though unexpected and unplanned, is welcome relief to my sex starved bones. Once he’s developed a rhythm, fast and poignant, he breathlessly begins reciting the poem again. It sends me over the edge and I’m tumbling down, legs tight and pussy clenching. He keeps pounding into me and soon, before I’m recovered from the first one, a second orgasm hits. Overcome I feel the tears, the trembling, and the unstoppable pleasure spreading throughout my entire body. It’s maximized when he shoots his come into me like a fire hydrant with its cap ripped open.
He goes rigid, having waited till the poem finished to release, and stays that way until he’s emptied himself. Only then does he go quiet, save his heavy breathing. I can’t move, I’m too sore, but I look up at him and smile. I say the one thing I know he wants me to say.