“Part of me wants to believe in it. How they held the Romans off with thunderclaps and lightning at this very spot.” Bette had whispered close into my ear, as she’d finally slid inside me.
Into her ear, “Babe, I can’t focus on ancient history right now,” I had told her, as she had begun a rhythm. Up and down her back, I had scratched her, as she had looked into my eyes making love to me. So slow the time between us became. One beat inside me had joined with the next finding of me, and had become longer and stretching.
She had watched me, between kisses and beats of our bodies. “I’m very in love with you, did you want that to happen?”
“Yes, Babe, of course, I do.” I had touched her face, and traced her lips, that I’d wanted back against mine. “Be closer with me now,” was all I had to say.
“I can’t let you go.”
“Oh God. . .” My back had arched, as she became more focused and intense inside me. She had smiled slyly, and I had felt her tongue lick inside my mouth, as she had fucked me.
When lovemaking has doorways, and twisting castle passageways that lead off into unknown places, it becomes different from skillful fucking, leaps way over horny lovers, it becomes a knowing. Lying exposed to winds with her that afternoon, I had felt the question, ‘how far out of my mind, but still connected to my body could I possibly feel?’
Then I had sensed her change.
It wasn’t like a switch had flipped and suddenly a new part of herself had mixed with our chemistry, our exposure to the elements, and our rocking car sex. It was a charge of something pent up, and whistled out of its cage. Let loose to run free, it had come into me, and had made me gasp. Her kiss had captured my breath, and she’d held me to her and wouldn’t let me go, until I had matched her finding me overwhelmed by her. . . by muscle and ache and moan.