After years apart they had drifted back together the way that former lovers sometimes do, only this was something different.
Tate Bohaven and Molly Knight had been total sexual freaks for each other back in high school. They'd been very experienced by the time their Senior year relationship had started, and while some people can take your virginity away, others can take your kink virginity away, and the latter can be far more powerful a thing when handled properly.
The relationship whirl-winded over the course of a year, but separate colleges in separate towns decided different life paths.
They kept in touch the way people do, social media being an ever-present way of keeping tabs on the special ones who had entered their lives at various points and written significant chapters. They weren't fully unaware at any point of the other's status and location.
It wasn't until numerous failed experiments in the world of dating other people that they happened to fall back into each other's lives, quite accidentally, at a New Year's Party that they both ended up attending in Brooklyn. Eight years had passed but it was amazing to see just how well they fell back in with each other.
They were both drunk. Both recovering from recent breakups. Molly saw him first from across the crowded loft party and it was like a surge of something familiar and new all at the same time.
It took Tate a few minutes longer before his eyes finally glanced across the room and saw her.
His mouth opened. Molly had been staring at him the whole time. She couldn't believe how good her high school boyfriend looked some seven years removed.
She walked towards him with a smile and he couldn't help but do the same. She squealed a little in her happy, boozy state and jumped into his arms, just like she had done every day their senior year before the school day had gotten started. He spun her around, just like he had done then. Parallels never die.
After the spin had come to a stop Tate dropped Molly as she bounced cutely in her tiny black cocktail dress that flared out above mid-thgh. Her collar was white with sewn-in pearls and she wore her hair up, her face covered in various sparkles to fit the theme of the evening. She looked like a sexy snowflake. She even had a stupidly sexy white choker tied loosely around her neck. Tate was immediately taken just like he had been in high school. She was so comfortably sexy it was unnerving.
If she was vibrant and fresh in high school, she certainly hadn't lost it. Only now she was smarter. There was a certain knowledge and city worldliness that emanated off of her like a powerful energy. It was sexy. She was sexy.
And Molly noticed all the same things about Tate. He was more muscular now. A smoothly shaven face with a more defined jaw. In high school he'd been a cute guy—fun. . .though now he had a presence and. . .arms. And, well, she had to admit. He was sexy and handsome and commanding. He was a catch. She was smitten all over again.
They told a hundred stories a mile-a-minute and neither could remember a time they'd laughed so much in one night. What had started as a possibly depressing evening for both parties quickly turned into a New Years they'd never forget.
They felt like kids again, so excited to share everything with each other. They touched each other a lot. Hands found arms and knees pressed against knees as they found a nearby bar-top and used the countertop as an excuse to get closer to each other. Everything felt so right.
By the time the countdown arrived it was all too obvious what was going to happen.
Molly leaned in on the number two, and Tate pulled her to him as they kissed with the passion of two people who can't wait the final two seconds. What started as a magical make-out session at a killer New Year's party quickly extended into a naughtier make-out in the backseat of a cab racing through the rain, which quickly turned into an even sexier variety against all the walls of an elevator, and soon, they were back inside Tate's apartment. and soon clothing was coming off and soon Molly was pushing Tate's marvelous cock deep into her mouth at the same time that Tate was tonguing the entire length of his ex girlfriend's beautifully waxed pussy and it was as juicy and as perfect as he remembered it. And then Molly had sat up on top of him and placed his cock at her entrance and they were back in a place they hadn't known they had missed so badly.
They fucked for the rest of the night.
On every surface.
In every hole.
They fucked like two lovers that were hungry and thirsty for all the years they had missed. It wasn't gentle or subtle or smooth. It was sloppy and needy and desperate and undeniably based in a place of intense want and closeness and memory.
They both cried that night with each other. It was something that had never happened in any other sexual scenario they'd experienced. Molly stayed over with Tate that night and they fell into one of the deepest sleeps they had ever had, fully wrapped up in a feeling that neither of them had ever had.
After that she never left.
They spent the next few years building a glowing-hot relationship based in trust and communication.
It was a fast love—the type of thing that is so obvious when finally presented in the correct light. And they were incandescent.
Eventually the inevitable happened and the two were engaged. A small, but beautiful wedding quickly led to a long honeymoon.
They were in Amsterdam, two days removed from their stateside ceremony.
The luxury hotel sat along one of the many romantic canals running through the old city. The honeymoon suite sat on the third floor and faced the water. You could see the nighttime bicycles and small dinies where drunk revelers passing by—stumbling shadows in the streetlights.
Their bed as positioned in the middle of the room, while a giant, jetted spa tub ran along one of the two, front windows. Everything was exotic and warm. Purples and reds and satin blacks. Glosse lavender and grey wallpaper striped the walls while exaggerated light fixtures gave the room just enough of a vibe to be exactly where you wanted to be. And that's where they were.
Molly was wearing dark red Agent Provocateur lingerie that was mostly sheer, but lined with a pink sparkle trim. She wore sexy lingerie socks to boot with bows at the mid shin. The room was hot and their desire was unending and the sheets were as soft as an Egyptian Cotton truck spill-over.
They fucked like two people who know they've begun a journey. It was thirst-quenching—like a halftime water bottle or the coldest drinking fountain in the middle of an August park. It was the kind of sex that reconfigures your wires into something more advanced—a Radio Shack hack of G-spot algorithm. It was the kind of sex you don't ever want to end.
When it finally did, sometime around 3:00 AM that morning, they found themselves naked and cradling each other. The edibles they'd eaten around midnight that they'd purchased during an earlier Red Light District window-watching stroll, were perfectly massaging their brains into the most relaxed and happy of spaces.
