Lumbersexual (Novella) by Leslie McAdam Page A

Rest.  Cocooned in white sheets and a plaid comforter in a cabin, early morning light streaming in, I could easily be convinced to never leave.
    I nodded and turned to kiss him good morning.
    “You look pretty as a picture,” he said.
    “We should take a selfie.  I like the idea of the first picture on the camera to be us in bed.”
    He got out of bed, grabbed the camera, and came back, tucking the sheet under my arms to cover my boobs.  Spooning behind me, arm under my neck, he extended a tattooed arm and took a picture.  He reached to set the camera on the bedside table, came back, and ran a finger down my arm, his chin by my neck, his lips on my ear.  “We’ve got time before we have to get to the station—”
    “Yes, please.”
    One arm under my neck, another holding my boobs, he bit my neck gently, then kissed his way down my shoulder.  I reached behind me and grabbed his cock, which was hard because, of course, morning wood.  As I stroked him, his hand made its way between my legs.  My body hummed.  Gentle pressure.  Rubbing each other.  Enjoying the intimacy of hitting his spot as he hit mine.
    I couldn’t wait any more.  I started wiggling against his body, and he groaned the sexiest groan of denied pleasure.  I wanted him in me now.  I wanted sleepy spooning morning sex.
    “Get a condom,” I whispered.
    “Not until you come first.  I’ll take care of you.  That’s the way it works.”
    Okay.
    He rolled me to my back, leaned over, and nudged my thighs apart with his face.  Beard tickled my thighs.  Hot tongue on my clit.  I gasped at the contact.  His fingertips brushed my wet skin, pushing aside my folds and stimulating all the nerve endings.  The most generous pressure, lighting a match on my skin and making my feet burn, my hands clawing the sheet, my head thrashing on the pillow, all the focus and all the attention on increasing my need, making it so I headed to a cliff—the kind that wasn’t scary—and was getting there and getting there and getting there and then—
    Yes.
    Fuck.
    Off the cliff I dove, but instead of freefalling I soared, riding thermals of air and enjoying the hell out of the ride.
    He looked up at me and grinned.  “Now I get a condom.”
    I nodded, weightless, gummy.  He got one and put it on, then climbed between my legs, and again looked at me.
    “You like to look at me?” I asked.
    “I do.”
    Gathering both of my hands in one of his again, and pinning them over my head, he entered me, and I arched back, alert, and it felt so fucking good.
    “Let me feel your back.”
    He nodded and let go of my hands, and I made my way down his broad shoulders, his spine, his ass, as he pushed into me.
    “Put your legs down flat,” he ordered.  Both of us lying straight, I realized that the friction from him was amazing, and I could come like this, again.
    I told him.
    He nodded, so totally intent and focused on fucking me, that it was hard to talk.  And fuck, he got the right spot, he made me feel so alive.  Present.  Here.  “That’s the idea.”  And he punctuated his next sentence with his thrusts, propping himself up on his elbows.  “I.” Thrust. “Want. To. See. You. Come.”  Pause.  “Again.”
    I did.
    My pussy walls shrunk around his cock, my core so wet, my muscles tensing.  And I spasmed, writhing under him as he kept thrusting, making me shriek in pleasure, pulse around him, suck him in, tighten up.
    “Oh, God,” I moaned, my chin up, my hair all over the pillow, and he grabbed my mouth and kissed me hard, tongue shoved in my mouth, smelling of my arousal and passion and sex, and after an initial shock, I kissed him back just as passionately, riding out the orgasm, all the feelings.
    After I climaxed, I whimpered, “Let me see you come, too.  I didn’t get to last night.”
    He stared at me, still moving his hips into me, and I felt seen .
    Then he nodded.
    He changed the angle, hitching my knees up, shoving a pillow under my