His warmth fills me, and as the first half of the sun comes above the horizon through the translucent distance, I start to quiver.
With his body firmly, but gently pressed on and into mine, I gasp as my body becomes so incredibly sensate that every drop of water coming over the falls, every particle and wave of light passing through grows into me.
My breasts push tight against him with every deep breath, and my eyes are watering as the surge permeates my body, making me feel, for a moment, immortal.
I hardly notice when my eyes close, I’m so aware of every tattered piece of touch.
My own voice echoes in the alcove and is washed away by the rushing torrent so close I can taste it.
When my eyes open again, Dane is smiling above me.
I move my mouth, but can barely form the words.
He leans in closer.
“Pick me up,” I tell him.
My limbs encompass him so tight, so completely and he lifts me with ease. Being a true gentleman, he turns so I’m looking at the sky over his shoulder, and I kiss his neck as this beautiful man brings my fantasies to life.
Part of me wants him to walk beneath the water, but the rest of me is so much more content right here in his arms with only my thighs and gravity to careen through this other plane.
Through the open air to the side of the waterfall, I can see the trees swaying gently in a sightless breeze.
“I want you to come inside me,” I tell him, my voice barely a whimper.
I kiss his neck and then his lips, leaning back a little, but still secure in his arms.
He gazes at my breasts as they heave with every ragged breath, and as I look out the side of the waterfall once more, I lock eyes with a woman standing on the bank.
Adrenaline soars through my body, but the woman just stands and watches us, her hands at her sides.
I don’t take my eyes off of her as I press myself again into Dane’s body, the warmth in my skin rekindled.
Dane’s erection heats my core, and I imagine the mist as steam coming off our bodies, through which I can still perceive that woman as she sits on the dry ground and leans back, taking in what we’re giving off.
It’s not an attraction that I feel for the woman, at least not a sexual one, but I lick my lips as I lean back once more, exposing more of my body to the open air.
With both arms clasping each other behind Dane’s neck, I roll my hips, wondering just how much that dark-haired woman can see of us.
It’s not attraction: it’s understanding, recognition between artist and subject, though I can’t claim to know who is who.
Dane holds me with only one arm now as with the other, he guides my breasts, one by one, into his smoldering mouth.
I tilt my head back, allowing him greater access to me and my hair hangs down, heavy with water, behind me.
The woman on the shore is still there, her eyes ever intent on mine, and I start to climb toward that threshold once more.
Dane feels the quickening of my breath and he lifts me, his whole length entering and then retreating again and again, the sounds of our love crackling against the walls of the nook.
“You’re slipping,” Dane tells me, and I immediately pull myself against him once more.
The shock of his words, any words, delays my gratification and I tell him to lie down on the towel behind me.
He turns around slowly, every step deliberate, until he can sit on the edge of the rock. I lean forward as he leans back and he rotates his body just enough for the whole of him to lie back.
Every moment, he’s inside me.
I let my hair fall to cover my face, focusing my gaze onto the man who brought me here to this place of trance and frenzy. As I rise and fall on his firm erection, I tense the muscles in my center, gripping him tight.
My hips flip and rock against him, and I can see in his eyes that he’s going to come.
I lean forward, putting my mouth to his ear and telling him once more, “I want you to come inside me,” and I ride him hungrily, the sun now well into the sky.
Dane’s chest expands and contracts quicker now, and I can only hope to meet him there.
His mouth comes open, and he gasps as I feel new warmth inside me as I skyrocket toward the stars we’ve discovered again together.
His body is still jerking in and against mine as I fall into him, hardly able to breathe, barely able to move, and our muscles contract and release in a strange rhythm as I lay my body against his, exhausted and satiated.
We lie here together for what seems like a jilted eternity, until he slips out of me.
“Gotta tell ya,” I breathe, “I don’t know if I can move right now.”
“Right with ya,” he says.
I lift my head to look for that woman again, the shore is bare.
I’m still not sure if she was there or if I just imagined her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Backsliding
Dane
Tonight is Leila’s last night before the move.
It’s not the easiest thing in the world, but we’ll make it somehow, I’m sure of it. These last days have been phenomenal.
After bringing one fantasy of hers to life, we agreed to try again with another. I’m still not a fireman, but picking her up in a bar should suffice for now.
I’ve been waiting here a while, though.
That’s not wholly unexpected. She said that she had some errands to run before she’d be able to make it, but that anxiety over her leaving so soon after we really found each other is starting to grip my veins.
“You good over here?” the bartender asks.
“How about a tequila sunrise?” I ask.
The guy gives me a bit of a look, but shrugs his shoulders.
I’ve never actually had one, but they’re Leila’s favorite. It might prove to be a good icebreaker for when she arrives.
The bartender makes the drink and hands it over. I pay him and take my first sip.
It tastes good, no doubt, but it’s a little fluffy for me. I’m one of those assholes that likes to taste alcohol when I’m drinking alcohol.
“Could I get a shot of vodka, too?” I ask before the bartender finds someone else to inebriate.
He smiles and brings me the shot.
I drink it down and take a look out over the dance floor.
I’m looking for Wrigley just as much as I’m looking for Leila.
Wrigley promised that she’d back off, but I know better than to simply take her at her word.
I sat down at the bar next to her and ordered a drink.
We just kind of sat there for a few minutes, neither one of us even looking at the other. It was awkward, but finally she broke the silence.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Have you finally come to your senses and realized that your Vestal Virgin doesn’t have all the appetites that you require?”
“She’s not a virgin,” I said. “That’s really not the point, though.”
“Hold on,” she said. “I don’t think either one of us is anywhere near intoxicated enough for this to be a comfortable, pleasant conversation.”
“I’m really not planning on staying that long,” I told her, but she insisted.
She ordered up a couple of shots and, before I could start talking again, she ordered up a couple more.
We were about five shots in when the bartender told us to slow down, but that was the wrong thing to say to me. I have a tendency to take warnings like that as a challenge.
In retrospect, I probably should have listened, but as soon as Wrigley told the bartender, “We’re not children. We can handle our shit. Now, pour, fucker!” I was set on not only out-negotiating Wrigley, but out-drinking her as I did.
The next couple of shots came and went so quickly I don’t really recall whether there were two or three of them.
Finally, as the liquor started to really sink in, I decided that I’d better say what I went there to say and get the fuck out before I started losing IQ points.
“We need to talk,” I told her.
“Yeah,” she said, “you mentioned that.”
“What are you doing? It’s not very dignified, is it?”
“Dignity’s overrated,” she said. “I’m just a woman who knows what she wants, and you just happen to be the man that has it hanging between his legs.”