VENICE BEACH, CA
It is good to be back. To step from the jeep and walk, my weight gingerly, then confidently, held by my legs. I stretch in our carport before turning to Paul, seeing him round the jeep, his eyes on me, intent, looking for some sign of physical weakness. I grin, shooting him a look he knows, a look that leads to ditched clothes and feverous hands. He returns the smile, relief crossing his features, and reaches for me.
I dip around his hands, dropping my bag on the concrete, and dart into the sunshine outside our garage, surprising him with my speed. “Uh-uh,” I click my tongue at him. “Ocean—now.”
“I want you, now,” he growls, stepping out of the darkness, his hand catching my sundress and tugging on the fabric until I am against him. “Seeing as you seem to be back to normal.”
I push against him, breaking free and move, grabbing his hand and tugging him along the alley. “First the water.”
He wraps an arm around my neck, pulling me against him and pressing soft kisses on my head as we walked down a broken sidewalk we have traveled countless times before. A block from the water, when we round a corner and see the glint of afternoon sun reflecting of the waves, he bends, catching me off guard, and swoops me into his arms, smiling down at me as he moves.
“It’s cold out,” he warns. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Don’t chicken out on me now,” I warn, the sentence causing him to laugh. That beautiful sound, that huge smile I have missed; the closer we step to the water, the less intensity his eyes carry. He pulls me to him for a kiss, then throws me over his shoulder and breaks into a run. I bounce, holding on tightly, and laugh, feeling the change in his stride when his feet reach the sand. I brace for the water.
Freezing, shockthebreathoutofyou cold. Paul hits it first, gasping, then moves in deeper and unceremoniously dumps me into the ocean. His hands pull me to him, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and squeezing, seeking the warmth of his body as I move closer.
“Told ya,” he whispers, his hands on my skin, rubbing it, warming it slightly as he gathers me against his chest and takes us deeper, the water now at our shoulders, waves rocking us every few moments.
“It is pretty cold,” I agree, the click of my chattering teeth causing us to laugh.
He kisses me into silence, sliding his hands under my floating dress, pulling my hips hard into him. “What do you say you let me take you inside? Let the shower warm us up?”
“Or something else.” I whisper against his mouth.
“Or something else.” He grins, and I squeeze with my legs.
VENICE BEACH, CA
My wet dress feels like an ice pack by the time we stumble, shivering, up the steps to our home. The house is just as I remember it, and I feel a burst of shock at how much has changed since I last walked through these doors.
“Come here,” he whispers, adjusting the thermostat, leading me into our bedroom and pulling me close, rubbing his hands over my arms, stealing a quick kiss as he yanks at his shorts and drops them to the floor.
Wow. Anyone who thinks water causes shrinkage has never met this man. At least, not this man at this moment in time. He is, despite the smile he shoots me, raring to go, and I am suddenly warm, my skin tingling, the heat between us erasing anything else.
“Turn around, baby.” His words are soft, but I hear their directive and meet his eyes, a curl of pleasure shooting through me at the look in them. Raw need. A fire burning behind his cocky smile. This is the Paul I know, the one who expresses love best through touch, and who can barely contain his emotions in this moment.
I turn, hearing him blow into his hands, feeling the warmth of his skin as he pulls at my dress, his hands gently lifting the wet material off, his fingers lingering on me as they trail down my arm, as if they want every bit of me they can get. A hand tugs at my zipper, pulling it slowly down, his hot breath on my neck as he exhales against my skin, planting a soft wet kiss there, my panties the next victims to his sure and unhurried movement.
He stays close to me, a hand unclasping my bra, his hands sliding down my back and then curving around my sides, slipping under my limp bra and cupping my cold br**sts, squeezing them, pulling my body back against his chest, the hot line of his arousal hitting the top of my ass, hot to cold, my body greedy for more contact against his skin. He kisses my neck from behind, whispering my name as his hands explore my front, running over the lines of my stomach, the curve of my br**sts, the hard tips of my ni**les. I am suddenly needy for him in ways I have never been, needing to know that this is real, that he is mine, and we have made it through this experience intact, the proof of it hard against my backside, and I want it, him, now, in every way that I can have him. His hands slide lower and I moan, pushing my ass back against him as his hands gently cup me, his mouth taking a delicious line across the hollows of my neck.
“Madd, I never...you have no idea how much I love you,” he groans, grinding against me, his hands holding me in place as he pushes the hard ridge of himself antagonizing close to where I need it.
“Please,” I whisper. “Paul, I need to feel it. I need you inside of me.”
“In a minute, baby.” Instead, I feel his fingers, their gentle exploration over and across my sex, and I push against him, groaning when they finally move inside, slowly sliding in and out, their maddening length and width not enough for what I need.
I moan, my legs weakening from the delicious touch. “Please,” I beg.
He rasps, his voice thick, at the nape of my neck, his arm wrapping around and hugging me to his chest. “Tell me, Madd. Tell me that you need my cock.”
“I do,” I pant. “I do. Please. Give it to me.” My legs buckle as he crooks his fingers, brushing them back and forth over my pleasure spot.
“Only me.” He says firmly, brushing his digits in a way that makes me moan. “Come to the thought of my cock,” he whispers. “Then I’ll show you exactly what it can do.”
I do. I push every lingering thought of Stewart out of my head, physically feel as they leave my body, and focus on Paul—my love—focus on the stiff head of him that is sliding between my legs, inches from where I need it most, so hard that it is sticking straight out. I close my eyes and think about every time he has made me moan, how his face looks when he loses control, the fire in his eyes when he watches me come. The images takes me ...
over the edge
back arching
stars forming
pleasure ripping tingling paths through my body