Page 77 of A Vine Mess
With a laugh that was quickly becoming my favorite sound, Ella lifted herself almost completely off me and sank back down, all thoughts but her, but this moment, but the fucking vise-like grip of her pussy around me vacated my brain.
Her hands gripped my shoulders, nails digging sharply into my skin as she leveraged herself up and down, and I’d be damned if I didn’t love the sting, didn’t fucking revel in the way her tits bounced in my face. There wasn’t anything else in the world as good as this—as good asher.
The water sloshed around us, mingling with our heavy breaths and our moans of pleasure.
“Nothing has ever felt as good as you,” she said as I filled her again, as she wriggled her hips atop my lap to get closer. Then she circled them slowly, saying, “Oh, yes, right there,” as her clit rubbed against the trail of hair at my lower abdomen.
“That’s it, Wildflower,” I said, grabbing a fistful of hair at her nape and holding her to me. “Take what you need.”
“I’m close,” she whimpered, though I already knew from the way her walls pulsed and clamped around me.
“Let go.”
“Need a hand,” she breathed.
I was far too happy to oblige, reaching between us and deftly finding her clit, angling my hand so I could circle it with three fingers. I fucking relished the way her hips moved faster as she bucked against me, how her thighs quaked like her clit was someon switch for her vibration setting. Her hands at my shoulders gripped me tighter, fingernails surely puncturing my skin, but I didn’t give a fuck. Not as long as she got there.
I met every one of her downward thrusts with an upward one of my own, the water stirred up violently around our bodies like we were caught in the center of a tempest.
My balls drew up tight to my body, that pressure at the base of my spine nearly unbearable as I held myself off, refusing to go down unless she went with me.
“C’mon, Wildflower,” I said through gritted teeth, punctuating my words by circling her clit faster. “Come for me.”
A low, almost keening sound left Ella as I used my free hand to grip her tit, roughly pulling at the piercing, giving her so much sensation, forcing her orgasm to surface.
I was rewarded a moment later when she fell apart, that low sound building into a full-volume screaming of unintelligible words as she climaxed, the pulsing of her cunt triggering my own. I unloaded inside of her, hoarsely shouting her name, murmuring praises as I worked us through it, forcing her to feel every ounce I could wring out of her.
Exactly like the first time, fucking her—coming with her—was a goddamn out of body experience where I felt like I was floating, my flesh and bones unable to contain the sheer amount of ecstasy we made together.
What felt like hours later, I returned to myself, my limbs deliciously limp in the water and Ella collapsed against me. We merely embraced each other and the silence, neither of us willing to burst our blissful little bubble.
It was Ella who spoke first.
“You think it’ll always be like this?” she asked, turning her head to look up at me.
“I fucking hope so.”
She laughed then, the sound vibrating her entire body and reminding me I was still buried inside her but rapidly softening. Shifting us slightly, I slipped free, and Ella reclined across my lap rather than straddling it.
“Sex isn’t everything,” she began, cutting me off with a sharp look when I opened my mouth to retort. “But I’m fucking glad you blow my mind every time.” Leaning in, she gave me a gentle kiss, then two more in quick succession. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For taking the time to learn what I do and don’t like. For your patience with me. For…just being you.” Her shoulders twitched in a little shrug.
Before answering, I rose to my feet, Ella still cradled in my arms, and began wading toward the steps leading back up to the deck.
“You never have to thank me for that,” I told her. “But what do you say we go back to the cabin and I spend a few more hours doing it anyway?”
Ella grinned. “Deal.”
Several hours later, after doing exactly what I promised and learning new ways to get Ella off, we were a spent and sweaty mess. She was at my side, a leg hooked over my thigh, head resting on my chest with my arm around her, tracing the raised lines ofthe tattoo on her side. I was surprised that most of the skin of her back was free from ink.
“How come you haven’t filled this in yet?” I asked, brushing my broad palm down her spine.
“Haven’t found anything I loved enough to put there yet,” she said, almost sleepily.
And I knew I should let us get some rest, but as I followed the line of one of the flower petals along her ribcage, I decided I needed to know the stories behind each of them—or if some of them didn’t have a story at all. I had a feeling Ella was more sentimental about what she put on her body than I was, though.
