He locks eyes with me, and I savor the expression on his face—the lost look in his eyes, the spill of red-hot lust that takes over any of his common sense. Neither of us can spare a thought for the outside world now. We’re lost in each other, in this moment, in the sensation.
He angles his hips back, fucks me at an angle so that his cock drags along my front wall, his tip driving right along my G-spot with every thrust. It doesn’t take long for that to push me over the edge I was already climbing toward. I cry out faintly as the orgasm hits me, bowls me over. But he clamps his mouth to mine, swallows my cry with a kiss, and I shake beneath him, lost in the wave of pleasure as he keeps thrusting, harder now, faster, losing control as he nears his own peak.
“Fuck. Pau… I’m going to come. I can’t... Fuck you feel so fucking good.”
I do the same for him—pull him into a deep kiss as his orgasm hits. He slams into me one last time, deep inside me as he comes, and I kiss him so hard that his desperate groan won’t travel through the night air, won’t carry to any prying ears that might be listening. He moans into my mouth and I drink him in, our tongues entwined, as his cock spasms inside me. I tighten my pussy around him, and savor the jump of his cock, the proof of his pleasure.
When we finally draw apart, we’re both breathless, eyes alight with ecstasy. He rolls onto his side next to me, and I curl up against him, naked in the still-warm summer evening air, splayed across the grass.
“That was…” I can’t find the words to finish that sentence. I press a kiss to his chest instead, and run my hands across his abs to hug him against me instead.
“I know.” He laughs softly and plants a kiss on the top of my head. Angles himself down to kiss my temple, the corner of my mouth. Then he leans back, and for a long moment, we just watch the sky overhead. The stars, the millions of them that you can only see this far out in the countryside. Stars that I haven’t watched since that summer out here with him because I’m always busy, always in the city. I haven’t done this—just laid in the grass and watched the sky—since that summer all those years ago.
He must have read my mind, because after a long, quiet moment, he shifts beneath me and sighs. “This is nostalgic.”
“I know,” I agree. I turn to look at him, but he’s watching the stars now too, his face awash in moonlight. “Back then…” I ask. My voice falters, fails.
But he flashes a look at me, and I lick my lips. Find the courage to ask the question that’s been burning at the back of my mind ever since our walk to the grocery store earlier tonight, ever since he started flirting with me and I noticed.
“Did you want me like this back then?”
In the semi-dark, with only the moon and the stars for light, I can’t read the expression on his face. Can’t see the reflection in his eyes—they only look dark and bottomless out here in the night.
Then he sits up, and gently untangles my arms from around him. “We should go inside,” he murmurs. “Before someone sees us.”
He reaches past me for his shirt. Pulls it over his head, and then he’s up and getting dressed, before I can react.
I try not to let the hurt or confusion show. Try not to think about what it means, about why he dodged that question or why he refuses to talk about our past here. Instead, I just pull my shirt on, shimmy back into my jeans, and trail after him into our shared cabin, where he closes the door on his bedroom and leaves me standing alone in the tiny excuse for a living room wondering what on earth is going through his mind.
4
The next morning, I wake up with an ache in my forehead. What did I do? I linger in my bedroom, listen to the sounds of voices out on the patio, the distant slam of screen doors and the patter of feet. I wait until I’m sure everyone is awake, Dad and Susan and Josh, so that I don’t accidentally run into Josh alone again.
If I do, I don’t trust myself to stay in control. Clearly I cannot be trusted around him—my impulses just take over. So, fine, I’ll just have to spend all summer avoiding ever being alone with him. That will be fine. Totally doable.
Right?
I hear the clatter of plates in the distance, and figure it’s safe to sneak to the bathroom now. I tiptoe through the tiny cabin and slip into the single-stall bathroom that Josh and I will be sharing all summer. I turn the shower on cold, and try not to wonder whether both of us would fit in it (it would be cramped, but I think we could make it work, especially if I press up against the glass on one side, and he grips me from behind, bends me over and…). I cut myself off by plunging my head directly under the freezing cold stream.