Page 43 of Somewhere Along The Line
“Yes,” she whispers, and I push in slowly, her hands gripping me as she inhales and holds her breath.
“Breathe, Piper.” I smile into her skin as this refrain I’ve said so often comes to life in a new context. She adjusts beneath me, changing her angle to let me in fully.
“It’s so good,” she chokes out, and now I’m the one who can’t breathe, the sounds of her pleasure short-circuiting my brain as I fill her.
“So good,” I echo. It would take fifty thousand words to describe how incredible she feels, a tome dedicated to Piper and the experience of being inside her. I can only manage two, so I say them again. “So good.”
We settle into a rhythm, our mouths in sync with our hips as we push and pull.I could die doing this, I think to myself. Maybe it’s because this level of pleasure could kill me, or that I would be happy to do nothing else for the rest of my life.
It’s both.
“What do you need?” My words come out as a whisper, goosebumps erupting down the side of Piper’s neck where my mouth is lingering.
“Can you go faster?”
I’m there in a heartbeat, increasing the pace until her breath catches, her fingers clench against my skin, and I keep it there, steady.
My control is slipping, and I tell her as much. She grips my neck with one hand and slides her other between us, adding pressure where she wants it. We’re breathing in unison, our hips anchored together as we push each other higher.
“Please, please, James, I’m so close.” She comes undone a moment later, her body pulsing around me as she shudders beneath my chest. I let myself go as she starts coming down, jerking through a last thrust until I’m empty inside her.
I collapse onto her, cradling my hand behind her head as we lay there together, my heart flying against my ribs and hers doing the same.
“That was…,” Piper says hoarsely, turning her head to look at me as she tangles her fingers in my hair, a smile curling her lips, “Exactlywhat I wanted.”
“Happy to oblige.” I chuckle before noting the opportunity to meet her vulnerability with my own. It’s not a skill I have much experience with. Piper makes me want to try.
“Giving you what you want will always be what I want,” I reply.
My fingers tuck a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear before giving her another slow, lingering kiss. She greets it with a soft giggle.
“Well, Mr. Newhouse, I’ve gotta believe an examination won’t go down like this in court,” Piper jokes, burying her face in my neck.
“What’s that about going down? Because, believe me, I’m up for another round…” I laugh and she bites at my collarbone lightly before digging her nose into the divot where it meets my shoulder. Piper’s head fits there like the spot was made for her.
“I’m just saying, I’m not sure I'm any more prepared for a hearing than I was before. Which is not to say that this night was a bust...”
The cackle that splits her open tells me she’s noted the innuendo. My own chuckle joins hers and soon we’re both laughing, trying to catch our breath like we did the day of the smoke bomb and only making it worse.
It’s full circle, holding her now and laughing this way, just like I held her that day and we laughed just like this, except now everything is different.
Because this time I know her, and if I’m willing to be honest, I think I could love her if I let myself. And while I don’t know for sure, I’m starting to believe that she could love me too.
After spending a minute cleaning up—a towel for her and a bathroom visit for us both—I roll onto my side and pull her into my arms, wanting her as close as she can possibly be and thankful the width of the sofa leaves her no other option.
We become a tangle of arms and legs as we talk and then doze, adjusting occasionally due to tangled limbs or trapped shoulders. The thought I failed to catch once before runs across my mind, but this time instead of fear, it prompts hope.
Piper fits here.
Light pours into the room, and I’m aware of two things upon waking. One, I can barely rotate my neck after sleeping on this couch, and two, Piper is still here, curled up between my arms and legs, the two of us sharing a space smaller than a twin bed and touching absolutely everywhere.
I also realize I’m hard, which isn’t surprising and shouldn’t be embarrassing after last night… but it still feels awkward given the zero centimeters of space between us.
I extricate myself from her—a herculean effort both physically and emotionally—and pull on my pants before heading to the kitchen for a drink. Glancing back to the living room, Piper looks so small and so peaceful, like everything in the world is exactly right.
Maybe it is.
Scanning the counter, I find my phone, which was happily abandoned to die overnight. It’s so bright, too bright as it powers up; 8:17 a.m. flashes on the home screen before I can even swipe in. I blink and then blink again. No, that can’t be right. The microwave reads 8:18.
