I extend my arms to your sheepish form, grad robes and mortarboard slightly askew. You’ve worked hard, I think, to finish your degree., and I’ll miss you, I think, staying on to get my M.F.A., and I’m probably sweating from the sunshine, I think, as you pull my lips to yours all too suddenly, grinning all-too-wide.
We haven’t kissed since the first time. Since you told me you couldn’t see anyone on your course—even if you really, really wanted to.
Winter turned to spring turned to fall and it’s winter anew and I’m suddenly melting in your arms, shocked beyond surprise. You’re still grinning when you pull away.
“I’m still on course,” I gasp, wondering if I’ll laugh or cry when this ocean of adoration I’ve kept raging for you tips over. You reach up and move your tassel over, a cheeky afterthought, and say, “I’m not.”
This time I kiss you, launching up against your chest, taking your head in my hands, tugging too tightly at the auburn twists springing up from your scalp. All this time, I thought I was the only one holding on to these little butterflies, but the way you wrap your arms around my back and pull me up closer tells me you’ve been saving the feelings you once told me you shoved deep down in a box in your heart.
It’s falling open, and you’re laughing, and I don’t mind. I never minded your laughter when we kissed. That we could have waltzed into this universe and bumped into each other out of all the lives in all the places is, after all, ridiculous.
This kiss is deep, devouring, and when your tongue runs over mine I’m hit with flashbacks of hammered nights at bars, telling you I don’t want anything (a lie), only to suck you (a truth); flushed and frustrated evening tutorials taking notes of all the places on your body I’d like to lick. I try and fail in this dress I can’t afford to not grind up against you, and I can’t even be embarrassed because I want this, I want you, so, so, so much.
God, I want you. God, I missed you. From five feet away, every day.
“We are in *public,*” you grit, because some things don’t change, and I slide back down to Earth. “We don’t have to be.”
And then we’re on the train and your gown is bagged up and this suit is so gorgeous and far, far too fetching to be covering you up, and I’m holding your hand on your thigh and trying not to combust. I have nowhere near cool; I have no cards to hide from you. For your account, you bring my knuckles to your lips every two minutes, punctuating your jiggly-kneed counting of the stations passing by turning to me and shoving your tongue down my throat.
God, I think I love you.
Twenty-three kisses later and I’ve backed into my door, keys in my hand. It’s so like me to start asking questions just when it gets good: Will you mind the stuffed hedgehog on my bed? Where did I put the condoms? What will I do if you undress me and are disappointed?
“Are you going to run away again?”
I hear myself ask it at the same time you do, and though I cringe, I wait—because, the thing I’ve realised rumbling along the tracks is, I do love you.
Your eyes are a bit sad but your voice understanding. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”
Then the ocean has fallen and you have to take my keys because I’m crying and laughing, and you unlock the door and throw me over your shoulder and haul me into the foyer. All the nights we’ve spent with our friends, you’ve stopped at the edge of my door, and now you skip over it, laughing with me as you tuck me down on my bed.
“You’re gorgeous,” you breathe, unlacing your belt.
“I want to kiss you everywhere,” I stammer, throwing my heels to the ground.
“I should probably ask—” you wheeze, pausing from removing your far-too-gaudy trousers, “—may I please have sex with you?”
I grab your face and pull your forehead to mine. “Yes. Please. Immediately. Can I have sex with you?”
“Not gonna lie, I’d be really put out if you didn’t.”
You rest your newly-naked chest on mine and as your mouth comes to my neck (you remembered) my voice falls in a stream of *wantyousobadwantyousobadwantyousobad.* You nod and grunt a bit as you flip me over and wiggle my dress down my shoulders, exposing my tits and my stomach and my thighs. I crawl off you to toss it aside and I’m taken aback by the sheer worship in your eyes when I turn to you once again.
“I—lucky,” you manage. “Want, now, please.” My inhibitions are lost as I mount you once more, not pausing before reaching inside your pants and curling my fingers around your warm, wetting cock.
“Finally,” I whisper, leaning over to kiss your forehead as I stroke, soft as I can possibly be. I don’t know what you like yet, but I want to, and when I say so, you choke out, “I like this, please keep doing this.”
You allow me to wring my wrist around you a while longer before gasping out, “Wait,” and pushing me up so that you can wiggle out of your boxers. You lean back to me and leer, running a finger under the lace at my hips. “It’s only fair.”
I smile, nodding, and you nudge me onto my back and peel the thing away, revealing my spongy snatch of curls.
“I didn’t shave for you,” I tease, recalling the time I laid out my shaving habits in detail. “Wouldn’t want you to,” you smirk, licking into my mouth as you lower down over me, running your fingers through my bush. “It *is* soft,” you whisper—to yourself, almost as an after thought—and I’m laughing again, at your little lovely moments, but then your finger is parting my labia and I think I’m choking, or having a stroke, or dead. It’s like all the blood in my body has flooded south and I can feel myself dripping out onto your hand.
“Hello there,” you whisper, lips to my ear, thumb swirling until you catch on my clitoris. “Hello *you,*” you chuckle, preening at the way I nearly double up, putting one gentle hand strongly on my shoulder. “There, there,” you coo, “I’ve got some time to make up for.”
You hum in study at my whimpers, my gasps, my little noises, running that hand up my thigh as you work one, two, three fingers inside me, eventually leaning down to suck on my clit and nearly catching my knee in your eye.
“You’ve got to stop,” I beg, pulling you up to me by that silly, gorgeous head of hair. “I’m not coming without you.”
Even with only my sheets to rut against, you’re standing firmly at attention, red and angry at being neglected. “I don’t know how long I’ll last,” you admit, forehead falling on my shoulder. I can feel the heat from your cheeks. I plunge a finger inside me and bring it up to your lips. “Me either,” I promise, offering up the evidence of just how close you’ve brought me to the edge. You’re still for a minute and I think maybe I’ve misjudged the moment, but then you pull my hand to your mouth and wrap your lips clean around my digits, licking them spotless, moaning just a little, just enough to get me pulsing.
You raise up on your forearms, gorgeous and steady, and I think I might faint if I wasn’t pressed back against the bed. “How—what—“ You’re searching my eyes for your own question.
“You don’t have to be gentle, baby. I’ve been craving this for so long.”
The storm in your gaze clears and you wait as I pull your prick to meet my opening, earning a keening, broken sound from your throat, and then you’ve pushed straight home all the way inside me, and tears are pricking at the edge of my vision, but I couldn’t have waited any longer, either. I claw—I never claw—to hold on as you drive into me so relentlessly both of us are bouncing off the mattress with each withdrawal, you falling back into me as we both fall to the bed.
I feel you thick and weighty and *with me* for just long enough to finally believe this is happening between us when I hear you grit out, “I’m not— I’m, I’m coming—“ and then I feel you twitch inside me, pressing home one final time so that even your balls pulse against me. I wrap my legs up and around you as you keep grinding, tangled with me, moaning through your overstimulation to beg me to follow you, and then I clench every one of my limbs along with my cunt as I come, too.
We’re still intertwined, my fingers in your hair, your palms warm over my bare breasts when I toe the blanket up and over us and kiss you goodnight. I fall asleep to your breath ghosting against my face, your arm tightening around me, thinking, “God, I’m lucky.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/myheym/congratulations_love_getting_together_finally_f4m
This is so sweet!! And hot!