Lumbersexual (Novella) by Leslie McAdam

breasts wet from his kisses, my nipples hard and at attention, my pussy plump and soaked—and just looked at me.
    Looked at me.
    In the dark.
    Those eyes on me.  Still hovering.
    “Maggie, you are so beautiful.”  
    Then he positioned himself at my entrance, closed his eyes, and sunk into me, slow, wet, deliberate, and profound.  I gasped.
    Ohmigod.
    Yes .
    He wrapped his arms around me, pressed into me, and I grabbed his hair, needing to pull it, feel how thick it was.  He thrust in and out, in and out, and made a noise in his throat like a bear.
    Knees up on either side of him, he bore into me, but it was the most amazing feeling in the world, like I was complete.  Like I’d found myself, and I’d found myself with him.  My head buzzed.  My body throbbed.  I felt alive.  I wrapped my legs around him.  
    He ran a hand down my side.  “You have the most magnificent body with the most gorgeous curves.  Stunning.”  
    As he fucked me, I started moaning again.  I’d never been fucked like this before.  I was bursting from it.
    “Come on top.  Wanna see you.”
    Without breaking the connection, we rolled over, and I leaned back, straddling his cock. God, yes.  Every inch of him in me.  Making me hum and moan and my God, there was no one here, and I could make all the noise I wanted.  Sounds came out of my mouth I’d never made before.
    “This way,” he ordered, and somehow I ended up flat on my belly, with him behind me, at his mercy.  His hand snaked down and rubbed my clit and that was it, that was enough to make me come again, hard, shattering, pulsing, nerves prickling, waves crashing through me.  A moment later, he thrust up hard and groaned so loud, so sexy. “Fucking fuck, yes .” And he collapsed on my back.
    I carried the weight of a contented bear.
    He kissed my throat, ran his hands up and down my torso, and flopped onto his back.  I curled up next to him, my knee flopped over his thigh.
    “Ohmigod,” I whispered.
    “Yeah,” he whispered back.  He leaned toward me and kissed me softly, almost a butterfly kiss.  So gentle.  “I found you, Maggie.  And now you’re mine.”

I snuggled into Court’s neck, my dark curls flopping all over his white pillow.  Slowly, I traced a line down his arm.  He turned his head and kissed my forehead.
    “Tell me about your tattoos.”
    Raised eyebrows.  “‘kay.”  He held up one arm.
    “Traditional Japanese style, but they’re Miwok legends about Yosemite.  Stealing fire here.  Origin of thunder and lightning here.  Story of the bear and the deer here.”
    Holding up the other arm, he gestured.  “Heart with mom.  Here it says, ‘Like Father Like Son.’  And I’ve got designs marking each summer I worked here.  Half Dome for when I climbed it.  A mountain lion for the time we had to capture one, tag it, and release it in the wild.  Snowshoes for winter in Badger Pass.”
    “If you were making a tattoo for this summer, what would you add?”
    “Yosemite Falls.  No question.”  I suddenly felt very funny.  “With the Big Dipper pouring into it.  Kissing you.”
    “You’d put something to remember me on your body?”
    “In a heartbeat.”
    That was pretty intense—telling me he’d tattoo something on him that reminded him of me made me question what I knew about him.  Where was this casual reputation everyone thought about?
    I yawned.  “I’m so tired.  It’s been a long day.”
    “Then sleep.  I’ll take you home in the morning in time to get to work.”
    “My roommates might worry about me.  I can’t call them.”
    He smiled sleepily.  “I’m pretty sure they know exactly where you are.”
    And cuddled in his arms, I drifted, naked, into a deep and restful sleep.
    The next morning, Court woke me by kissing my neck with his bristly beard.  “You sleep good?”
    Waking up to that voice and those lips on my neck reminded me of the mountain next to Half Dome with the ethereal name, Cloud’s