Some time later, a hand gently jostles me awake and I shoot upright, glancing around at the clock behind my head. Five minutes until midnight.
“Sorry,” I tell Sig as I stretch, trying to wake up.
“Don’t be,” he whispers, sliding one hand behind my back, the other under my knees and lifting me into his arms. “I’m kidnapping you.”
I smile, hoping very much that this would happen.
“Travis?” I ask.
“Fell asleep in his gaming chair. I put him in his bed. He’ll be fine.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling more content than I have a right to, all things considered. “Then kidnap away. As long as you have me home by morning.”
“As you wish,” he mutters, carrying me out the door.
********
The hours run together like the muted colors of an abstract painting. I’m blissfully unaware of time. I flow through it like a ship through water, rather than stopping to engage in the ever-present battle of wills that I normally experience. Instead of dreading the morning when I have to go back to Lance or counting the minutes until I can get home and be away from him, I find myself enjoying the passage of every single one of them.
When Sig and I are alone, his hands are on me. His mouth, his body, his attention–they’re all mine. And I’m all his. And when we’re not alone, there’s an easy thread that seems to float invisibly between us, tying us together. Whether he’s talking to Travis or throwing the Frisbee with him in the park or the three of us are eating hot dogs from the rarely-used grill in my back yard, there’s always this awareness that we share. Sometimes when I’m watching him, he’ll sneak a glance my way, like he can feel it. Or sometimes when he’s midsentence with Travis, his head will turn toward me and he’ll wink, never missing a beat. It’s as though no matter what else is going on, we are at the forefront of each other’s mind.
After we eat, I pop some popcorn and we sit down for a viewing of Anchorman one and two. According to Travis and Sig, that fact that I haven’t seen either one is a travesty of epic proportions and must be amended immediately. I laugh at several things in the movie, but I think I laugh more at the two of them quoting lines and adding their two cents, undoubtedly having seen the films numerous times.
When Travis makes his way to bed, Sig sits with me on the couch, his hand making lazy circles on my thigh until Travis’s soft snoring can be heard. Then, although I’m exhausted from so little sleep, I come instantly to a strange alertness and I let him sweep me away again.
He doesn’t drive me straight to his house, though. He goes past it and on to the park we visited earlier. “What are we doing back here?” I ask, anxious to feel his skin against mine and not really very enthused about any side trips that will delay it.
“You’ll see.”
Sig takes my hand and leads me back to the bench that I sat on while watching them play Frisbee today. It’s bathed in moonlight rather than bright sunshine now and it looks hauntingly beautiful, sitting here all alone in the night.
When he stops in front of it, I look up at him in question. He sits down and spreads his legs, pulling me between them.
“Every time I looked at you today, all I could think about was what you’d look like naked, with the sun pouring over your beautiful breasts, your face tipped up toward it, riding me, coming on me. And letting me come in you.” He reaches beneath my short, ruffled skirt and pulls my panties down. “Tell me, Just Tommi, are you on the pill?”
When I feel his hand travel back up my thigh, I reflexively spread my legs. “You don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant.”
“Mmmm,” he says when his fingers find my center. “That’s what I thought. And I’m sure you’ve been tested, right?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my breath already coming shorter. “Regularly. You?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nothing to worry about here. So how about this?” he asks, driving two fingers into me. “How about you let me love you in the moonlight instead?” As he speaks, he withdraws his fingers and urges me toward him until I climb onto the bench and straddle his hips. He unfastens his jeans and then reaches for the laces that hold the front of my shirt together, loosening them enough that it slides easily down my shoulders. He unhooks my lace bra, baring my breasts for him. “Damn, you’re even more perfect than I imagined you’d be. Skin like silk.” He strokes the skin of my chest, teasing the swells of each breast, bringing my nipples into throbbing points. “Nipples like candy.” He draws one into his mouth, his free hand moving the head of his cock between my folds. I feel my body squeezing, a silent plea for the penetration that I know is coming. “A pussy like nothing I’ve ever had before.”
At the end of that sentence, like punctuation, he pulls me down over him like a human sheath. The feel of him sliding into me, smooth as glass, is indescribable.
“God, you feel amazing. Like I knew you would.”
Gently, he urges me up and down in him. Slowly. So slowly, it’s maddening. When I would rush, he won’t let me. When I would drop harder, he won’t let me. He continually moves me on top of him in a deep, languorous rhythm that pushes me steadily, infuriatingly toward release.
Sig leans forward, worshipping my nipples, my neck, the curve of my arm, like he can’t get enough of me. He murmurs words about how beautiful I am, about how he loves the way I taste, the way I feel, about he could never tire of being inside me.
When climax finds me, it finds us both. We move together in a rhythm that never changes, only intensifies, until I am breathlessly calling his name over and over and over, and he’s jerking in my arms, spilling every last once of himself deep within me.
We sit, motionless, for several long minutes after the last waves have passed. Sig doesn’t release me, doesn’t lessen his hold one bit. And I don’t want him to. Something about the way he’s keeping me folded against him makes me think that I will remember this night long after I might’ve forgotten the others. Even though another voice mutters from the far recesses of my soul that I won’t be able to forget a single moment of my time with him. But somehow I know that there will be a significance to this time that I’ll carry with me forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX- SIG
It’s Sunday and, despite the easy smile she’s wearing, I know Tommi is as aware of Tonin’s return tonight as I am. The fact that we don’t have an exact time is unnerving as hell. I feel like we’re both just waiting for the axe to fall.