The mood has without doubt shifted, but the closeness of our bodies in the quietness of our place is soothing and calming. I turn her to face me, pulling her legs to straddle me. Her vagina is snug against my cock, and it amazes me that I’ve managed not to take her body in that way. She leans to kiss me gently, softly exploring my mouth with her tongue. I wait until she is satisfied and retreats before entering her mouth with my own tongue and tasting every last smooth silken surface. When our mouths finally break, her gaze meets mine in the flickering shadows of the candlelight before she leans her body against my chest and snuggles her face into my neck. We stay this way for an endless amount of time, shutting out everything else in the world.
But in the warmth of our darkened and quiet universe, where we are hiding away from anything that can reach us and part us, I start to think about our coming week. Every day takes us one day closer to being separated, so I tend to concentrate on our every moment together, planning it out in advance so that I don’t lose even a fraction of a second with her. We have to return to normal life tomorrow, classes and work, and that ever-present countdown of the calendar that will plague me daily.
The week will be busy, and our time together will definitely be limited. I want to spend every last minute with Rowan right now, knowing my clock is ticking ever closer to our deadline, so it is painful to think of losing her for even one night, but unfortunately, I will. Rowan will be staying with Sara tomorrow night as they work on their composition portfolios together, which are due before graduation. Wednesday night, we will have to face my family together for Sara’s birthday dinner at her favorite restaurant.
It is always awkward being around my family with Rowan. I feel dishonest, yet at the same time, I love the feeling of her being part of my family. It’s a haunting feeling, as though I know she belongs there with us, yet I can’t touch her in the way that feels so right to me. I imagine being able to reach for her hand the way I want to, or brush the hair from her face, or brush a soft kiss across her cheek. I ought to be able to, but I can’t. I’m trapped in this life that no longer fits, and she is the promise of what I want just out of my reach. But as real and honest as my feelings and desire for her are, I have to remind myself it isn’t real for my family. Nor would it be at all understood. And quite frankly, it feels unfair.
Thursday night, I’ll have to give her up again for her time with Anthony, and then she’ll be working all evening Friday and Saturday night. Mom and Dad have asked Sara and me to come to the lake house for the weekend to help open it up after its long winter in hibernation. I couldn’t say no, but it means leaving Rowan again, who will be working. I can’t even excuse myself for the weekend by blaming it on work at the DA’s office, because they’ve lightened my load to an almost nonexistent level with my upcoming graduation just a month and a half away. So it seems a week of struggling to be together is in front of us.
At least I will have her to myself Tuesday night. Perhaps I’ll plan something interesting for that night…
We are wrinkled prunes by the time we get out the bath, and I’m content and warm. Logan takes me to bed and spends an incredibly long time massaging my entire body down with lotion until it is rubbed in completely, and my skin is as smooth as silk. He starts on my backside. When he rubs the lotion on my bottom, he spends an inordinate amount of time kneading the skin and muscles there, allowing his fingers to run between my cheeks, pausing over the puckered skin of my anus.
I tense and freeze at the slightest touch there, and as I catch his face out of the corner of my eyes, he looks at me with all the seriousness in the world. He isn’t reassuring me or smiling at me. His eyes are hooded and dark—challenging me to pull away from him. I don’t, and as my tension starts to release, he slowly pulls one of my knees up, opening the cheeks of my bottom to him more fully. He returns to the puckered skin of my anus and starts stroking it with his fingers. He is focusing his eyes on that one part of my body, but I’m not nervous. I can see his enjoyment at the sight of my prone ass, and his rigid and swollen cock leaves no question he’s absolutely okay with seeing me this way. The gentle touch of his finger on my entry feels amazing, and my skin prickles all over at the intimacy of his touch. Too soon, he moves on down my legs, and I miss the touch of him on my most secret place.
As he rolls me over, I get a very good view of how engorged and ready his cock is. It brushes against me occasionally as he works over my entire body, leaving a trail of prickly, needy skin in its path. I’m turned on, as he must know, but he avoids touching the most sensitive areas of my sex, which only makes me crave his touch there all the more. And when he finishes, I start in on his body.
I torture him the same way he’s tortured me, by refusing to give him my touch where his body wants it the most. I do, however, allow my breasts to brush up against his bare skin as I lean over him. He inhales a ragged breath at the touch of my nipples against his skin. He examines my every movement as I run, stroke, and massage my hands over his body. His skin is warm, and his muscles flinch at my touch as his body relaxes further and further. I end with his feet, just as he did with me. But he’s far more ticklish than I am, and before I know it, I’ve found my secret weapon. His entire legs jump as I run my fingers up the soles of his feet. And I start to torture him. He chuckles at my games before he bolts upright and pins me to the mattress with his strong arms and the weight of his body. I’m trapped, and the glint in his eyes tells me that’s exactly how he wants me to be.
But rather than allowing our seduction to continue, he pulls us both up to the head of the bed where we stay in each other’s arms for the rest of the evening. It isn’t really late, so it is a long and pleasant night of TV in bed. Logan leaves only briefly, coming back with a bowl of ice cream and a couple of spoons. We devour our treat while catching a sitcom that has us both rolling in laughter. And our time together feels so real—so normal. Blocking out the inevitable end to our relationship is the only way to tolerate it. There’s that damn word again—“relationship.” And it is a relationship—however destined to die it might be.
Eventually, we fall asleep. And as I’m fading into unconsciousness, I notice the wetness between my legs still lingers from my want being unsatisfied earlier. My dreams are equally wet. They involve fingers invading my body agonizingly slow and touching my warmth there. Over and over for an eternity they blaze their slow path toward my deepest part. But as my unconscious eventually meets my conscious, I realize these aren’t dream fingers at all. And I know these fingers so well. They fit me perfectly, and they are only concerned with my pleasure.
My dreams are fraught with losing her, and it is desperately painful. When I wake in a panic, I’m almost certain to find her gone from me, but she’s still there—sleeping soundly beside me and breathing quietly and deeply. I have to have her. I have to claim her. She belongs to me, and I have to take her in the only way I can. And in the dark, my hands feel their way along her warmth. She’s wet, and my fingers slide into her easily. She’s on her stomach, and at my first invasion of her pussy, she mindlessly pulls her leg up to give me better access. She is still sleeping soundly, but the quiet moans escaping her mouth tell me she’ll wake soon enough. I move millimeter by slow millimeter into her channel, taking her slowly and gently over and over. When she’s awake enough, I roll her over and bury my face between her legs.