One Night Only by Violet Blue Page A

like teenagers, tongues twirling and sparring, as if you’re afraid you’ll be forced to stop. This isn’t supposed to be happening, and yet how absurdly easy it is to slip over the line. It’s like the time you found a hole in the pocket of your jeans at
a party. Your finger slipped right through, and you couldn’t help but take advantage of the secret entrance to tickle the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh with your fingertip. You pulled your hand out guiltily, but soon found an excuse to go to the powder room where you forced open the entire pocket with your fist then masturbated and watched yourself come in the vanity mirror.
    You’ve always been the kind of woman who makes the best of circumstances.
    That’s when you pull away. He looks confused. You laugh and take his hand and drag him to your bedroom, knowing now he won’t pity you, quite the contrary. You fall onto the mattress together, and you’re kissing again, mouths wide as if you’re devouring each other’s face. Haven’t you’ve both been starving for this for ten long years? The heat and pressure of his hard-on against you is the sweetest feeling you’ve ever known.
    He wants me, he wants me, he wants me.
    Both of you are whimpering and panting. Four hands fumble with buttons and zippers. He has you naked before you’re even done with his belt, but you surrender gracefully, pressing your bare breasts against his hot chest. You’re in the middle of your cycle, which means you’re horny as hell and your nipples are exquisitely sensitive, already throbbing, and he hasn’t even touched them yet.
    You’re so drunk with lust, your fingers are clumsy at his zipper. Finally he yanks down his own pants and kicks them to the floor impatiently. One hand disappears over the bed. You sneak a peek at his cock, which is a good length and thick and very red. He holds up a condom in its wrapper, smiling like he’s won a prize.
    â€œThat’s not from your wallet, is it?” you blurt out, then regret it. Even one word might destroy this magic, draw you back into the ordinary world.

    â€œI bought it at the drugstore on the way over. Was it too forward of me?”
    Up close, his eyes are seawater blue flecked with gray. Your reply is a laugh, and you fling yourself against him.
    The first time you fuck that night, he’s on top. Old-fashioned, yes, but you pretend it’s your wedding night, centuries ago, when some couples were betrothed for years and years until the man had made his way in the world enough to support a lady in the manner to which she was accustomed. Of course, by that measure, he’s come down in the world, but you like that, too. If he weren’t between lives, he wouldn’t be here, with you, naked and touchable. You spread your legs and sigh as he slides inside, his shaft massaging that ancient ache inside your belly. You fit together well this way. You move together well, too. There’s something liquid about the way your hips undulate in unison. His wiry blond hair down there chafes your clit just the right way, a prickling pleasure. He’s nipping and tweaking your nipples as you fuck, and it drives you crazy, the pleasure hovering on the knife’s edge of pain. You’re going to come soon—too soon?—but you sense that won’t be the end of this crazy time out of time.
    It’s never like this your first time with a new lover; you’re always too nervous; but with him, well, haven’t you been dancing around in a teasing, masochistic kind of foreplay since you first met? His merciless lips on your nipples are just a reminder of that sweet suffering. You hook your feet around his thighs and grind your clit harder up against his belly. That’s all it takes. You explode with a scream around his cock, and he sucks your tit hard until your spasms stop, and then he croons your name and with an Oh, god, oh, god his hips