He held his finger to my lip and I was hit in the gut with an overwhelming urge to bridge my tongue the tip and lick him. He kissed me hard and deep, though his lips felt like pillows.
He motioned for me to follow him up the stairs. I echoed his steps on the hardwood as we climbed to his bedroom. We were two adults, acting like sneaking teenagers for the sake of sin. His bedroom was smaller than my closet. Filled with minimal essentials that found their way into milk crate shelves and substandard filing systems. His bed was immaculately made and the room smelled like laundry- a mix of clothes soap and dryer sheets.
I tripped over my own feet trying to turn around and our bodies were forced together- the closeness of space closing in lust. He kissed me. Hard and powerful as he clawed at my ass. My sweater. My breasts. I bit him. I couldn’t help it. His skin was so sweet. He smelled fresh, his cologne was full of bright scents that reminded me of spring.
I moaned and he quieted me with his mouth and a breathless whisper for silence. We moved to the bed, squeezing next to each other and braiding our bodies together. My too-long legs got caught in the hamper and I giggled. More fingers on my lips. We stood up to undress and he hooked his phone into the speakers and let the trumpeted tones of soul music fill the negligible space. My clumsiness was embarrassing and I was more than eager to let him take the reins in removing the last wisps of my clothing.
His smile spread like butter, making him look younger than his age. Younger than me. I wanted to trace him with my tongue and imprint the landscape of his muscles to my memory. Like my first kiss. Like losing my virginity. Like all those times when I was too young and serious to know I shouldn’t forget.
He made love like he was making pancakes. Full of joy, smiles, and the energy of a bright Sunday morning. He doted on me like I was a princess. Like my nipples were diamonds he could polish with his tongue. I didn’t even care that we had to stop between songs so no one would hear the rocking of the bed as he fucked me.
I wanted to remember it all. Every lyric that filled the tiny space. Each touch he laid against my clit. The dirty words he whispered in my ear. My lip was bloodied from holding in my screams. All the rest rushed down to my cunt to beat time to the rhythm of his cock and Ray Charles.
I wanted to remember it all. But all that really stayed was the taste of his finger between my lips and the way his dimples moved as his own pushed out another “Shhhh.”