Swept Away (11 page)

She moans again and works her throat to pull him further back. It’s been a long time since she’s deep throated and he’s a lot bigger than her previous lovers but she thinks she can get him down.

He’s surprised when she huffs through her nose, opens her throat and swallows him down, bottom lip bumping against his tight balls, so much so that he grabs at her hair too hard and her eyes are watering with the sharp sudden pain in her head. She keeps her jaw relaxed but her throat constricts around his thick cock and he yells aloud with another involuntary tug, it’s a vicious cycle only broken by her need to breathe which prompts her to pull away and expel his wet dick from her mouth.

He apologizes immediately by letting go and gently soothing the pain with his fingertips.  She forgives him, if only because his cock bobs abandoned in the air, spit and precome drying on his skin in salty thin streaks and she aches to taste him again. She moves to take him back in but he stops her.

“Hold on, wait,” he groans. “I want to come inside you.”

Amber’s eyes flutter shut on a moan, she’s throbbing again below, hungry for him.

Before she answers he reads it in her body and he’s already scooping her up, one hand behind her knees the other supporting her waist and lower back, and he’s maneuvering her onto her belly beneath his heavy bulk. He gets her on her hands and knees then rocks her ass up and presses her shoulders down so that her breasts are pressed into the soft blanket and her ass is waving in the air, exposed. She flushes but it’s not with shame, her skin feels so hot and her pussy wants his cock, wants to be filled up like it’s a literal physical need that left unsatisfied will break her apart.

She loses track of him for a moment but hears the crinkling of a wrapper and the telltale slick slide of latex rolling over naked skin.

She waits impatiently for the first penetration, her hips swaying side to side enticingly, but is instead met with hot, rough, wet.

She screams a little, muffled into her arm and the carpet. Her hands grapple at the floor seeking purchase but just managing to claw roughly at unyielding fibers.

Michael’s mouth roams from her pussy to her ass, sweeping up everything in its path and burrowing between the sensitive folds of skin like he’s settling in to stay.

It feels so fucking dirty, so fucking filthily good she can’t take it. He licks over her hole with the flat of his tongue and spreads her ass open with his face and Amber thinks hysterically thank God she takes a shower every morning.

His guttural rumble mirrors her thoughts as he presses words into her dripping cunt. “Taste so good, like you bathed in candy, Jesus fuck, I could just eat you all day.”

He draws out a long belabored groan from her with the tip of his tongue rolling around her clit. She hopes he doesn’t mean it because it’s just enough good to send fireworks shooting behind her eyes but not enough friction to get her off and she wants to come so fucking bad she can taste it in the back of her throat all mixed in with the leftovers of the flavor of his cock.

She’s muttering and moaning into her arm, drool collecting slimy in the crook of her elbow, she’s going to lose her fucking mind if he doesn’t stop playing with her and get in…

“Oh fuck! Oh oh baby, fuck,” she literally squeals. Amber has never before squealed in her life during sex.

Michael bottoms out with a sharp thrust, holds her around her waist with both arms, pulls out, and bodily slams back in again. No technique, no finesse, just a solid, pounding fuck.

She adjusts as he fucks her into the ground, cunt convulsing around his cock in contractions she can’t control. The rhythm is just broken enough she never settles into it, never gets a handle on it, just has to hold on and keep up as best as she can with her body bouncing across the bed as the headboard smacks into the wall.

Each sensation is translated into pleasure as he turns her inside out, every burning pain  flipped to shockwaves of “yes yes fuck me oh fuck me fuck” in her nerves.

Michael stutters to an abrupt stop, squeezing her tight and jerking his hips in jacking rabbit thrusts that shake through her and pounds one particular spot deep in her cunt that sends her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

And just like that she has her first ever orgasm without anything touching her clit. Which, what the good goddamn, she didn’t even think that was possible. Holy shit.

They come back down together in increments, a slow unwinding of muscles and flesh. Her head is light and she’s floating again, endorphins and adrenaline or whatever hormone swirls around in the blood after a mind-blowing fuck that makes you stupid with it. Amber feels stupid with it.

And interestingly enough, tucked tight to Michael, she’s never felt smarter either.

* * * *

The next time is soft and sweet and slow. Amber lies against him back to chest and he wraps his arms around her neck. They’re both burrowed under the covers and it feels like she’s in a warm cocoon made from soft blankets and softer skin. He gently adjusts her leg over his thigh and takes her that way, his giant hands massaging her belly as they rock against each other. He’s breathing hard into her ear, breath fluttering her hair as it puffs out of him, her round ass pressed into his groin and his cock so deep inside her she can feel him warm and hard and filling her completely.

They move together perfectly in sync. And he keeps her on the edge for what feels like hours but is in reality probably no more than twenty minutes. And they talk. He murmurs into her hair how much he loves her and she returns it, twines their fingers together and presses their hands on her breast, next to her heart, lets him feel how it beats for him. How his body and his thrusts make it pound.

She writhes against him and he holds her close so she can’t escape, she wouldn’t anyway, it feels too good to finally have him here again, she never intends to let him go.

They come a breath apart and their orgasm crashes over them both hard, washes all thought away, all inhibitions as well. Michael pours out everything to her, every moment of pain, every moment of hurt he’s felt in the last week, how he’d thought the worst when she hadn’t called back, how he wasn’t sure if he could forgive her because his child, their family, their life was gone and how do you forgive that? How he loves her with everything he is and doesn’t know how to stop loving her like that. Doesn’t know if there’s any point to it because she makes him feel good, loved in return, and it’s not a feeling he’ll willingly throw away.

They lay in bed together for a long time afterward, tangled around each other, she’s turned and now they’re face to face with Michael’s hands in her hair and her arms slung around his neck.

In his arms, hugged to his chest, Amber falls in love for the fourth time in her life. And this time? She’s more than ready for it. They’re going to be okay.

Epilogue

They get married after graduation—hers not his. Michael is still enrolled in school for one more year and he might even go to graduate school after that. The Navy pays for more of his college tuition than he’d expected so most of their money has gone into planning this ridiculously opulent wedding.

He never quite forgot the careless wealth he’d had as a kid and sometimes that memory leaks over to their current life and he’s ordering one of everything just for the hell of it and—

Amber looks around, dazed, and when exactly had he ordered an entire hall covered in red rose petals?

Her new husband tight to her side, Amber just blinks and go with it. Their biggest arguments are always because someone misunderstands something so luckily enough they don’t often misunderstand. She knows Michael better than she knows herself. If he needs a huge dripping with diamonds—and thank God that’s not literal—wedding to prove to himself he did it properly then she’s not complaining.

Amber’s parents both show up and they hold hands the entire ceremony. Amber’s brother attends with his new wife in tow—he’d eloped in Vegas without telling anybody, sometime in the middle of Amber’s mess because apparently no one in her family could have a regular relationship with a traditional pattern of courtship. She can appreciate him better now because she’s forever beholden to him for refusing to pick her up that one day after band.

Kim and Ryan come too, they’ve remained good friends and Ryan and Michael even manage to get along. To be fair it wasn’t the most auspicious of introductions and half the time they’d known each other Ryan had assumed Michael was verbally and/or physically abusive—why else would strong, independent Amber run away from him sobbing her heart out hysterically? And Michael had assumed Ryan was hot for Amber—which, to be even more fair, he was.

They’d probably never be best friends but they were got along okay without any fistfights or verbal sparring and that was probably the best she could ask of that.

Amber decides on majoring in psychology and goes on to become a family and marriage therapist, if no one else does she appreciates the irony. Counseling worked pretty damn well for her parents, she was a believer after that.

They have a good life together. Friends, family, love. It’s more than she’d thought she’d get at fourteen.

What more could she ask for?

* * * *

Amber is shaking, so nervous she thinks she might throw up. Literally, vividly in an array of colors all over the beautiful white and black color blocks laid out before her.

"What do you mean we can't?" Michael's not really paying attention half his mind is on the football game that's playing on the television, while the other half is busy trying not to fall asleep. Ever since he got that promotion to regional supervisor he's had really odd hours and it's taking him longer than they'd both thought to get accustomed to it.

Of course, their marathon nights of sex probably don't help. He really should be using his extra time to sleep as much as he can.

Especially since he's going to need it in a few months.

"I mean we can't. I know we said this would be the year we went away but something has sort of come up and September isn't an ideal month for me anymore," Amber explains. Nerves like an earthquake, shuddery, shivery, threatening to implode. Do earthquakes implode? Maybe it’s a volcano instead. Or a tsunami bring dangerous debris up to the surface on crashing waves.

"Babe, we've been planning to go to Bogota for three years," there's a soft whine in Michael's voice and she's got his full attention.

"I know. But this year just isn't the one, okay?"

He huffs like a little boy and crosses his arms, a full on pout shaving ten years from him and he's that sixteen year old boy contemplating the unfairness of the world in his parent's gazebo while his party rages on without him.

Amber smiles. It's a little tentative around the edges because even though she's sure he's going to be ecstatic; the memories this particular news claws aren't the most pleasant.

They've been going strong for the last five years. They've lived together since the moment Michael showed her his apartment, forgave her in one breath and made love to her nonstop for a full night and half a day in the next.

At first it was awkward and hard and they had to fight their way for every inch of “comfortable,” every loving touch, every moment resentment and bitterness threatened to swallow them up. It was harder still because Amber had seen what betrayal and resentment could do to a marriage and had sworn to herself that she'd leave and never look back if it happened to her. Except Michael was worth the fight and she couldn't make herself stop looking back.

He'd tried just as hard as she did. He got a job, first thing, just a security position that hardly paid anything but he'd worked his way up with diligence and dependability and gave them both a home they could be proud of.

When Amber was fourteen she'd bumped into a boy she'd known she was destined to love and cherish and be with till the end of her days. Ten years later his ring glitters on her finger and there are still times when Amber can’t stop staring at it, wondering in amazement if this is actually her life and who does she have to thank.

“I think you’ll probably like this surprise better than Bogota anyway,” Amber says. She runs a trembling finger over the next page of her magazine, pauses at beautiful golds and greens and thinks of Michael’s eyes and knows this is the one.

“Come here, would you?” Amber asks prim and polite, anxiousness hammering away in steady staccato at her heart.

Michael sighs, throwing his feet off the couch and stretching as he gets up. “I really doubt I’ll like anything better than Bogota,” he denies sullenly and despite her nerves Amber rolls her eyes.

“You’ll like this.” Or at least she really really hopes he will. She’s kind of terrified that he won’t.

Michael leans over her shoulder, planting a kiss on her cheek and glancing at the magazine she’s reading. The glance turns into a double take which rolls out and extends before them in a long, long, looooooong, unending moment.

She doesn’t think he’s even breathing.

“Michael,” she finally asks when she can take no more.

He sucks in a breath and twirls her out of her seat to face him. “Really?” His voice is high-pitched and as nervous and her yammering heart.

“Yes,” she says softly breathless.

“Really, really,” he repeats and Amber has to laugh because she’s fairly sure he’s actually stuck with no other words in his vocabulary.

“Really,” Amber laughingly confirms. And then adds when it’s clear he needs something more solid than that: “We can’t go to Bogota because we’ll be too busy turning the guestroom into a nursery. Sorry about that, but congratulations, you’re going to be a Dad.”

She’s still laughing when he swings her up into his arms and twirls her around and around excitedly, whooping at the top of his lungs so loudly that if they’d still had neighbors living above them they’d be thumping on the ceiling right about now.

The magazine, Happy Motherhood, lays forgotten on their table, opened to the page of color coordinated golds and greens, nursery decked out in extravagant patterns and textures.

Amber Westlake nee Moore falls in love for the fifth time in her life in a bright sunny kitchen on a random Sunday. She’s not new to the feeling, she handles it well. So far her plan has been to never let him go, ever, for anything and its work outstandingly.

Number six and seven happens seven months, three weeks, and two days later when after thirteen hours of labor their sons are placed in their arms. When her beautiful boys blink up at her, little brows furrowed adorably, she thinks ‘they’ve got their daddy’s eyes.’

Who would have ever thought twins?

~~The End~~