"I woke up, and you were gone. I didn't know where you were." She turned back to the sink and sighed at the mess she'd made. She reached for the dustpan and brush hanging on the wall and began to clean the glittering shards of glass. "I thought you'd left me again."
He came close behind her. His whisper brushed her neck. "I didn't leave you."
She turned her head. His lips nuzzled her chin. He turned her in the circle of his arms and kissed her. Then he put his forehead to hers.
"I didn't leave you."
She sighed. "I overreacted."
His smile took her breath away. "You did."
She put her hands on his chest and tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder. They stayed that way for a while, content in their silence.
Gradually, she realized they were moving. Dancing to an unheard melody. In another moment, she heard first his soft hum, then the words as he sang to her.
"Oh, the summer time is coming, and the leaves are swift returning. And the wild mountain thyme grows along the blooming heather..."
Slowly, they danced, Claire safe and warm in the circle of Malcolm's arms. He kissed her again, with a hunger she matched immediately. She walked him backwards toward the living room, then turned to go through the arched doorway beyond. Heavy draperies provided privacy for the room, which had been originally been a dining room. She pushed him through the thick fall of fabric and it slid across them like hands welcoming them in.
Claire pushed Malcolm backward to the house's only queen-sized bed. She stopped when his knees hit the mattress. The kisses had become fiercer, more desperate, with tongues meeting and twisting, dancing in a mirror of how they had danced a few moments before.
Claire put her hands to the hem of Malcolm's T-shirt and pulled the cloth free of his waistband. It was over his head in a second, tossed to the floor in another, and in one more she had her palms pressed flat to the smooth skin of his chest. His nipples pebbled tightly beneath her palms. His skin was hot. She twisted her wrists to point her fingers downward and slid her hands to the tautness of his belly. The line of hair, darker than on his head, tickled her fingers.
Her hands found his snap and zipper. She opened them and pushed his pants over his hips. She stepped between his knees and pushed the pants all the way to the floor. She was urgent, yet everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, like a dream.
If this was a dream, it was one she didn't want to wake from. Claire pressed herself against his lean body. His cock rose between them, hotter than his chest even through the layers of material from his boxer briefs and her sundress. All at once, it became unbearable to have anything between them.
Without leaving his mouth, Claire got rid of the briefs the way she had the pants. Then she pushed him back. Together, they fell onto the bed. Before she straddled him on her knees, she struggled out of her panties. His hand pulled her dress into accordion folds at her waist, and she seated herself on his penis, their mouths still joined as intimately as their bodies.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Her clit pressed against the ridges of his belly, while his cock stretched her so deliciously, Claire thought she might come from that pleasure alone.
Malcolm's hands slid down to cup her ass, but he didn't urge her to move. He stroked her skin, which drove her wild. Their mouths still locked, Claire rolled her hips. She rocked gently and pressed her clit further against him. Up and down, barely moving, then in a small, tight circle that had him pulsing inside her while her clitoris throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
Claire left the bliss of his mouth for the greater ecstasy of freedom of movement. She sat up. Her hair fell down, across her back and shoulders, but her dress and sweatshirt blocked the sensual touch. She fisted the material at her hips and pulled dress and sweatshirt off together, then threw them to the floor. Now the tickling of her hair on her skin felt like fingers touching and caressing her, and Claire let her head loll back.
"You're beautiful."
His voice, the softly lilting brogue, brought her back to herself. Claire opened her eyes to stare down at him. She touched his cheek. "I've waited a long time to hear you say that."
"Not as long as I've waited to say it." He put his hands on her hips and slid them upward to the sheer nylon of her bra. Malcolm thumbed her nipples until they stood out like buttons.
Claire undid the hooks, then shrugged out of the filmy material. She took Malcolm's hands and put them back on her breasts. Cupping them, he tweaked her nipples again in a way that made the breath catch in her throat.
Claire began to move. She lifted herself with the strength of her thighs along the length of his shaft. She rolled her hips to take him as deep inside her as she could. They fit perfectly. Hand in glove, cock in cunt, the last two pieces of a puzzle that had taken too long to put together.
Malcolm thrust beneath her. Though she could move better this way, she did miss the direct pressure on her clit. As though he'd read her mind, Malcolm slid his hand between them so his thumb could press against her.
She came at once, a rippling tremor that made her belly and thigh muscles jump as her vagina contracted around his penis. He circled her bud with his thumb and sent another shock wave through her. She ground herself on his cock, helpless to do anything but follow the urgency between her legs. Again she came, a milder burst of sensation that nevertheless made her cry out loud.
In the aftermath her clit was too sensitive, and she grabbed his hand to move it away. Malcolm twined his fingers through hers, so their hands were palm to palm. Claire looked down at him, then at their hands. Yes. This is right.
He closed his eyes as she rocked on him. His jaw clenched as though he were in pain, but she knew better. The sight of his arousal stoked her own, until an incredible fourth climax built inside her and burst at the same moment she felt his entire body tense beneath her.
His cock shuddered inside her, and Malcolm let out a low, gutteral moan. "Claire!"
His hand bore down on hers so hard it would have hurt had the ecstasy racing through her not blocked out everything else. His other hand held bruising-tight to her hip as he guided her through one more stroke, two, three...and then he slammed his hips upward until his penis hit the entrance to her womb and his seed filled her.
Claire fell forward, her hair a curtain around both of them. She kissed him. Tasted more salt, this time sweat. She slid off him and moved to his side, where she curled against him and gathered the warmth of his body around her like a blanket.
* * * *
This time, Claire was the one to slip out of the bed first. The sun had already found the sky when she left him sleeping, the soft, gentle snoring still as familiar to her as the sound of her own voice. She went to the long but narrow bathroom and ran the shower as hot as it would run. Steam quickly clouded the mirror, but that was all right. She didn't need to see her face to know she wore what Dale had always called the FFG. "Freshly Fucked Glow."
I've been well and thoroughly fucked, not just freshly, Claire thought with a grin as she stepped into the curtained enclosure. The hot water helped to chase away the chill she'd felt since leaving Malcolm's side. She reached for the bottle of scented body wash settled into the wire basket hanging from the ceiling. It smelled like ginseng and orange and was supposed to "make your body come alive," according to the blurb on the back of the bottle. She didn't know about that, but it did smell good.
She squirted a generous amount onto her net sponge and began to cover all the places that were still glowing. Her body ached pleasantly in a dozen places, and between her legs she was downright sore. She touched herself there and thought of Malcolm's hands on her, and the soreness dissipated at the memory of his tongue against her clit.
She washed her hair with shampoo that matched the body wash, and reveled for a moment in the delicious scented soap. She loved the smell of citrus. A thought tickled the back of her mind, but slipped away when she tried to grab it. Something about the soap, something about the shampoo? Somethi
ng about the smell reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.
"Good morning, sunshine!"
She jumped a little and the almost-memory fled. She peeked out around the shower curtain at Malcolm, bare as birth and just as unashamed. He used the toilet, and she admired the taut curve of his buttocks and thighs. He turned and caught her staring.
"Like what you see?"
He waggled his eyebrows, then his hips and she started to laugh. Whatever had been troubling her thoughts disappeared as neatly as if she'd stuffed them in a trashcan. She laughed even harder when he whipped open the shower curtain and got in with her.
"There's not enough room in here for two," she mock-scolded.
"No?" He looked around in pretend surprise, then took her into his arms and pulled her against him. "What about if we stand verra, verra close together?"
She tilted her head so he could kiss her. "Mmm. That might work."
His tongue made a slow, leisurely exploration of her mouth before he nibbled on her lips and nuzzled her neck. "You're all slippery."
He moved his hand from her back to between her legs. "Especially here."
She drew in her breath with a hiss as his fingers grazed her clit, then slid along her folds. "I wonder why?"
Malcolm's eyes looked green now, like an emerald covered in dust. "Let's think about that, shall we?"
His kissed her again while the spray poured down over both of them. His fingers tweaked her already swollen clit and she gasped inside his mouth. Her hands gripped his shoulders. He lifted her leg to pull her even closer against him. His cock took the place of his hand, and she rubbed her clit on his erection.
The shower really wasn't large enough for both of them. Malcolm's elbow rapped the tile wall when he turned her, and he muttered a hearty, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" as Claire laughed and made him kiss her again.
"Ignore it," she told him. "The hot water won't last forever, you know."
"Think we can be quick enough about our business?"
His grin made her knees weak.
Looking at that smile, Claire thought their business could be very quick indeed. Already she felt the first pulses of climax building in her nipples and clit. "I don't know, lover. How fast can I make you come?"
His pupils grew large and dark at her words and he licked his lips. Before he had time to answer, she went to her knees in front of him. She cupped his testicles in her hand. She tilted her head to take the length of him down her throat. She closed her eyes against the wash of water as it sluiced over her.
He filled her. She sucked him, down to the base then out to the tip, where she swirled her tongue along the rim of his penis. His cock thickened in her mouth, and beat a tattoo on her tongue and the insides of her cheeks.
Malcolm put his hands on Claire's head. He pulled the sopping hair away from her face off her cheeks and away from her lips. She put her hands on his hips to help guide the pace. His thighs bunched against her breasts in evidence of the strain he was taking not to thrust into her too deeply. Not to choke her. She was grateful for the small courtesies, a reminder of how much she had once loved him and the reasons why.
She let one hand creep down between her legs to slip and slide across the top of her clitoris. It thrummed under her touch. It had grown impossibly huge, turgid, like a small cock of her own. She stroked it between her fingers like it was a cock. Up and down, the same rhythm she was using on Malcolm. The pace quickened. His hips began to move, and she no longer tried to stop him from thrusting so deeply into her. Claire fucked herself with her fingers, close to coming, ready to explode.
She toppled over the edge just as Malcolm's hand twisted painfully in her hair. He let out a low cry. His body shuddered against her. The sound of his climax made a second, smaller orgasm ripple through her. He tasted like the ocean.After that, it took only a moment to realize two things. Her knees hurt badly and the water was turning cold. It seemed impossible to her that she could ever be cold in Malcolm's embrace, but Claire knew if they didn't get out soon, they'd be frozen in minutes. He helped her to her feet and kissed her while the water rinsed the taste of him from her mouth.
"You didn't wash yourself," she said. "Here. Use my--"
Her fingers twitched on the bottle.
"Claire?"
She tilted her head to look at the hanging basket and the bottles inside it. Something about the scent...not of ginger and orange. Something else.
"Claire, love, are you all right?"
She reached for the bottle of body wash, but her fingers curved on air instead of plastic. She couldn't recall bringing any soap with her. Or anything at all, for that matter. She drew back her hand without grabbing the bottle.
"Fine." She got out of the shower and toweled off quickly. She dressed in a pair of fleecy sweatpants and her college sweatshirt, added socks, then padded from the bathroom while combing her hair.
The pervasive chill that had been briefly vanquished by the hot shower and Malcolm's kisses crept back. Claire went to the large bay window in the living room and looked out to the gray sky above. It wasn't raining. Just gray. Like her sudden mood.
"Won't it ever get warm?" she cried grumpily.
"Ah, don't complain." Malcolm, clad only in a towel, sauntered to the window and looked over her shoulder. He slipped his arms around her waist. "Gives us an excuse to stay inside and make out on the couch while we watch old movies."
His words didn't do much to cheer her. Claire turned and pressed her face to his bare chest, still damp from the shower. He nuzzled her neck.
Some things change.
And some things don't.
Again, the words echoed in her mind, but no matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn't figure out what they meant.
* * * *
Claire slid the omelet and toast onto a plate and called over her shoulder. "Breakfast!"
She turned to put the plate on the table and jumped, hand over her heart. "You scared the life out of me!"
She put the plate in front of him and bent closer to peer into Malcolm's eyes. "You don't look good. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
Concerned, she put her hand to his forehead. "You're on fire! You must have a fever. You should go--" He reached up and arrested her hand with his, then brought it to his lips and kissed it. Today his eyes were gray with matching shadows beneath. "I've no fever, Claire. Don't worry about it."
Claire took the seat across from him, her hand still captured in his. "Then what's wrong? You look sick."
He shook his head in reply. "Every day..."
"Every day what?" Claire asked when he didn't go further. "What's wrong? Can't you tell me?"
His look was naked in its sincerity. "Do you love me, Claire?"
She sat back in her chair. "Of course I do. You know I do. Haven't I always?"
Malcolm's face dropped into his hands and he sobbed. Alarmed because she had no idea what she'd done to so upset him, Claire got up and put her arms around him. His shoulders heaved. His tears wet the thin cotton of her T-shirt. His face worked against her throat. She held him as tightly as she could, not knowing what had caused his pain, but wanting to take it away.
"Tell me what's wrong? Please?"
He only gripped her more fiercely. Claire smoothed his hair and pressed her cheek to the top of his head. "Whatever it is, it'll be okay."
That made him lift his head. His gray eyes were now rimmed with red. He looked haggard. The scruff of his beard showed glints of silver, and Claire had to blink to be certain her eyes weren't deceiving her. Surely those stray strands must be blond?