Page 116 of Touch

Unexpected homesickness overwhelms Iris. It’s a bittersweet pain. Although she cannot recall where this feeling comes from, it proves she had something in the past worth remembering.

Iris shall add these gifts to the relics stored in a trunk at the foot of their bed, the contents of which include a handwritten note folded like a star, the oversized coat she wears from time to time, a set of silken loungewear, and a black plume. In addition to the archery mounted beside Andrew’s longbow, these items chronicle their life together so far, memories that exist like vignettes, a trail of breadcrumbs to pursue.

Andrew’s heat radiates behind her. “Do you like it?”

She whirls toward him. “It’s otherworldly.”

“Then it suits you. You’re an otherworldly goddess.”

The endearment casts a spell over Iris. A goddess. She likes the sound of that. In fact—

Iris snatches his jacket collars. Jolting him into her, she hisses, “Goddesses can be mischievous.”

Which is why, two minutes later, their clothes have been stripped, and she’s riding Andrew atop her desk. Limbsclamping around his waist, Iris bucks up and down on his turgid cock, both of them watching the thick column disappear repeatedly into her cunt. His flesh is hard, ruddy, and glazed in Iris’s arousal. It’s a wondrous sight and a marvelous feeling, pleasure searing through her veins.

Everywhere, she feels the heat of him. His hand grasping her ass and bobbing her on his erection, his breath on her throat, his free fingers tracing the lines carved into her shoulder blades.

Yes. The other peculiar scars with no explanation—two incisions running down the backs of her shoulders, as if something had been cut from her. From time to time, they ache like a phantom pain.

Yet tonight, his touch soothes them, and the snap of his cock replaces the pang with tingles. Iris cries out, jutting her waist, thighs spreading wider around his hips. Andrew presses his forehead to hers and groans, his gaze a blowtorch that sets her aflame. With endurance, he lashes into her, the friction elevating her to unfathomable heights.

Her pussy clutches his cock, sweat laminates their flesh, and Andrew’s cobbled torso is the stuff of mythical legends. He belongs to her, and she to him. Yet they fuck as if searching, probing for the root of their love, as if the key to their past is just out of reach, and making each other come hard will solve the mystery.

It never does. But they try.

Oh. How vigorously they try.

The desk rocks with their movements. Sitting on the edge, Andrew burrows his fingernails into her ass, and she slices her own digits through his hair. With each pound of their waists, her tits scrape against his pectorals.

“Ah,” she moans, swiveling her pussy faster. “Andrew!”

“Yeah,” he growls, lancing his cock higher. “Come on, my Little Myth.”

Little Myth. He calls her that, though they cannot remember where the endearment comes from.

Iris arches, her eyes rolling back, her nipples erect. Andrew rumbles in approval; he loves seeing her like this, as if she’s about to launch into the sky. As if it’s truly possible.

Astride his cock, she whips her body back and forth. Her lover’s groan deepens, as does his fucking. They buck into one another, crashing like shooting stars, while draped in moonlight shadows from the windows.

Above them, the star mural hovers like an observant force.

She reels upright and pants, “The stars are watching.”

It’s less a warning and more a defiance. Andrew knows this because the ledge of his mouth curls upward. “Then let’s show off.”

He pumps up into her, the solid width of his cock filling her cunt, plying her to the hilt. Keening, Iris grinds on Andrew harder. Together, they charge, climbing that pinnacle, their bare bodies racing.

Her inner muscles constrict, his erection tenses, and they shatter as one. With a roar, Andrew clasps one hand behind Iris’s scalp, then heaves her mouth to his own, his tongue driving inside at the same rate as his body. Fastened like this, they come hard and loud, Iris’s fractured cry joining his gritty shout. She wets him to the sac, her release spilling with his, and the world spins off its axis.

Andrew pistons languidly, the gentle roll of his waist accompanying the final tremors until Iris slumps in his arms. Always, he catches her. Panting for oxygen, he tightens his grip around her, and Iris clings back, their faces burying in one another’s necks.

They’ve discovered touch in its many facets, such as when he squeezes her hand to calm her down, or when she sweeps the unruly locks from his forehead to tease him.

Kisses that sizzle, leaving a delectable aftertaste. He’s learned that goosebumps shimmy across her skin when he licks the seam of her lips. She has learned that sucking on his tongue will make him groan into her mouth.

And fucking. Their bodies have learned the pleasurable suffering ofslowand the frantic rush ofquick. She knows that clasping Andrew’s ass will make his hips snap harder. Whereas he knows the precise, sinuous rhythm to render her helpless.

Tonight, it continues with his hands. He slides them beneath her thighs, then leans back to give her a playful smirk. Iris gasps, chuckling as he stands with his cock still inside her and strides from the room.

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