Bill's apartment had been tiny, the bed a single. It had been a hot, muggy August that year and he left the windows open, the ceiling fan providing a lazy breeze. Moving from the creek bank to the bed made everything feel more…deliberate. Pragmatism trumped passion, at first.
You've seen me before, she'd said.
This is different, he'd said. This is all of you. And me. And you're so beautiful.
So slow…they'd lain still and marveled at the artistry of his dark arm over her pale stomach, the pink and white glimpses of her breast between his splayed fingers. His fingers had moved then, working in her folds and opening her as his tongue and teeth teased from mouth to neck to nipple. She'd lain there, catching her breath after her first orgasm as she watched him roll a condom over his thick cock, her eyes wide and nervous.
The first time, he'd stopped when she winced and bit her lip, and he stroked her hair and made gentle shushing sounds, kissing her eyelids, her temples.
The second time, she'd grabbed his ass when he pulled back at her sharp groan, drawing him back into her. She trapped him with a leg around his thigh and they rode his finishing wave, her shoulder accepting his tears and whispered love-talk.
The third time, it was finally as glorious as her mother's trashy books had promised. She felt free to roll and arch and buck against him, pulling her own pleasure from his tongue, fingers, cock. Her cry had floated out the window, his muffled roar following.
**********************************************************
The tall, lean-muscled man on top of her paused, touched her face, asked what she was thinking. His look was confident, sure the loving smile was for him.
"Just happy thoughts," she said.
Old ones.