Chapter 3: Slow and Deep
The smell of garlic and tomatoes bloomed in the steam from the pot on the stove. Ethan leaned against the narrow counter, watching her. The mundane act of her stirring, the concentration on her face, was more intimate now than anything that had happened in the dark of her bed. He was wearing his own clothes again, dry and warm from her radiator. She had on a clean, oversized sweatshirt and leggings. The physical evidence of what they’d done was a dull, pleasant ache in his muscles, a phantom sensation clinging to his skin.
“It’s just jarred sauce,” she said without looking at him, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m not a wizard.”
“It smells good.” His voice was rough, used. He cleared his throat. “Can I do anything?”
“You can get plates. Top cupboard.”
He moved around her, the kitchenette so small his body brushed hers as he reached up. He felt her still, then exhale slowly. He set the plates on the small table, the clatter loud in the quiet. The rain had stopped, leaving a damp, reflective silence outside the window.
She ladled the thick red sauce over a pile of coiled pasta, topping it with a dusting of cheese from a green canister. It was a student meal, simple and cheap. It felt like a sacrament.
They ate without speaking for a few minutes, the only sounds the scrape of forks and the rhythmic hiss of the radiator. The food was hot, bland, comforting. He felt starved in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.
“So,” she finally said, pushing a piece of penne around her plate. “That happened.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you…” She trailed off, her gaze fixed on her food. “Are you okay? I mean, physically. It was… a lot.”
A flare of heat rushed to his face. He remembered the shocking, deep pressure, the way her body had gripped him, the sounds she’d made. “I’m fine. More than fine. Are you?”
She nodded, a quick, tight movement. “Yeah. Just… sore. In a good way.” She finally looked up, meeting his eyes. There was a wary openness there, a question. “You said you wanted to make it last. Then you… didn’t.”
He put his fork down. “I couldn’t. The second time. What you were doing… the way you felt. I lost my mind.”
A faint, proud smile touched her lips, then faded. “No one’s ever… reacted like that to me before. Like they were starving.”
“I was.” The admission was stark, naked. “I am.”
Her brow furrowed. She looked down again, her voice small. “Even with… all this?” She gestured vaguely at her own body, a gesture he’d seen before, full of reflexive disdain.
He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped. He came around the table and knelt beside her chair, just as he had hours before. He took her hand, the one holding the fork. He didn’t speak. He just lifted her hand and placed it, palm flat, against the front of his jeans.
He was hard. Again. A thick, insistent bulge pressed against her fingers through the denim. He’d been semi-erect since he’d gotten dressed, a constant, low hum of arousal that the sight and smell of her only stoked.
Her eyes widened. Her fingers flexed, feeling the shape of him. “Jesus, Ethan.”
“All this,” he said, his voice low and fierce, “is all I’ve thought about since I first saw you sketching in the library. The curve of your wrist. The way you bite your lip. The sound of your laugh when you think no one’s listening. And your body, Lily… Christ. Your body isn’t something to be seen despite. It’s the fucking reason. Every soft part of you makes me want to…” He stopped, breathless, his own vehemence surprising him.
Her eyes were shiny. She dropped the fork with a clatter and used both hands to fumble with his belt buckle, her movements urgent. She got his jeans open, pushed them down over his hips just enough. His cock sprang free, fully erect, the head already glistening with a bead of pre-cum. She wrapped her hand around him, her grip firm and sure.
“On the floor,” she said, her voice thick. “Now.”
He didn’t hesitate. He shoved his jeans down to his ankles and lowered himself to the worn linoleum. It was cool and hard under his knees. She stood, yanking her leggings and underwear down in one rough motion, kicking them aside. She didn’t remove her sweatshirt. She just stepped out of the puddle of fabric and stood before him, naked from the waist down, her sex glistening and swollen.
She put a foot on the seat of her chair, opening herself to him. “Taste me,” she commanded, and it wasn’t gentle. It was raw need. “I want to feel your mouth on me while I can still feel you inside me.”
A groan tore from his throat. He leaned forward, his hands gripping her bare hips, and buried his face between her thighs.
The scent was immediate and potent—musky, sweet, layered with the smell of their own combined release from earlier. He licked a broad stripe through her folds, gathering her wetness. She cried out, her hands clenching in his hair. He found her clit, a hard, eager pearl, and circled it with the tip of his tongue. She tasted of salt and skin and something profoundly her.
“Yes, fuck, right there,” she moaned, her hips pushing against his face. He licked and sucked, learning what made her legs shake. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them, feeling the incredible, slick heat. She was so tight, still stretched from him, and the thought made him dizzy. He fucked her with his fingers in a steady rhythm while his mouth worked her clit.
Her thighs began to tremble. Her pleas became a ragged, filthy chant. “Don’t stop, eat my pussy, you fucking virgin, make me come all over your face—”
The crude words, coming from her, shattered any last remnant of his shyness. He devoured her, sucking her clit into his mouth, his fingers pumping hard and deep. Her orgasm hit suddenly, a violent clenching around his fingers. She ground herself against his mouth, a raw, guttural sound tearing from her throat as she came, her wetness flooding his tongue.
He didn’t let up. He licked her through the shuddering waves, gentle now, until she pushed his head away, oversensitive and gasping.
She slid down from the chair, onto the floor with him. Her knees hit the linoleum. She pushed him onto his back, her strength surprising. She straddled his hips, but instead of guiding him inside her, she leaned down, her breasts swinging heavily in the sweatshirt. She took his cock in her hand, stroked him once, twice, her grip slippery with her own arousal. Then she lowered her head.
Her mouth was hot and wet, a shocking contrast to the cool air. She took him in slowly, her tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft. He shouted, his back arching off the floor. She swallowed him deeper, her lips stretching around his girth. He felt the head of his dick bump the back of her throat. She gagged softly, pulled back, then went down again, taking more this time.
“Lily… oh god…” He was babbling. The sight of her, on her knees on the kitchen floor, her lips stretched around his cock, her hair a curtain around her flushed face, was the most obscenely beautiful thing he would ever see.
She sucked him with a frantic, messy hunger, her hand working the base in tandem with her mouth. Saliva dripped down his shaft, onto his balls. The sounds were lewd, wet, and desperate. Her eyes, locked on his, were dark with a power he’d never seen in her.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice strangled.
She pulled off with a loud, wet pop. Her lips were swollen, glistening. “Not yet.” She rose up, positioned herself over him
“Not yet.” She rose up, positioned herself over him, but then shifted her weight. She turned her back to his face, her knees framing his shoulders, and lowered herself slowly.Her damp, swollen pussy met his mouth first. He licked instinctively, tasting her again as she settled her full weight onto his face. The world narrowed to dark, musky warmth and the sound of her breathy moan. His nose pressed against her ass as she ground herself against his mouth, demanding pressure.
She leaned forward, her back arching, her hands braced on his thighs.His cock stood straight up, rigid and aching. He could see her shoulders tense, the curve of her spine under the sweatshirt. She reached down with one hand, took his shaft, and guided it between the soft, heavy swell of her breasts.
She pressed them together around him. The heat was incredible, the softness a shocking contrast to her tightness around his tongue.She began to slide up and down his length, her slick skin creating a tight, warm channel. Pre-cum smeared against her sternum.
“Fuck, Ethan,” she gasped, fucking his face in a slow, deep rhythm. Her hips moved against his mouth while her breasts milked his cock.The dual sensation was overwhelming, obscene. He groaned into her, the vibrations making her cry out.“You like that? You like my tits around your dick?” Her voice was guttural, transformed.She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes glazed. “I can feel you throbbing. You’re gonna come all over my chest, aren’t you?”
He could only grunt, his hands coming up to grip her ass, holding her to his mouth as he licked and sucked.His hips bucked upward, driving his cock deeper between her breasts. The slick, squeezing friction was unreal.“Do it,” she commanded, her pace quickening. “I want to see it.I want to feel it.”
The tension snapped. With a raw, choked shout, his orgasm ripped through him. Thick, hot stripes of cum shot upward, splattering across her collarbone, her throat, the underside of her chin. She kept moving, milking the last pulses from him until he was spent, twitching, gasping for air beneath her.She finally lifted herself off his face, turning to sit beside him on the hard floor. They were both panting, covered in sweat and her wetness and his spend. She looked down at the mess on her chest, then at his wrecked face. A slow, shattered smile spread across her lips.“Well,” she breathed, her voice returning to its normal softness, edged with wonder. “There’s my jarred sauce.”
He laughed, a weak, breathless sound that felt like salvation.He reached for her hand, lacing his sticky fingers with hers. The radiator hissed.Outside, a car splashed through a puddle. The ordinary world resumed, but it was irrevocably changed.Her phone, abandoned on the table, buzzed loudly.Then buzzed again. And again. Her smile faded as she looked toward the insistent sound.