Do Me Again

This story was written for the 750 Word Project 2024, below this line are exactly 750 words:

Do Me Again

Tracy Chapman music came out of the speakers...

She moved to the music, oblivious.... She ground the Brazilian coffee beans, poured hot water into the French press. Closed her eyes, moved to the music.

He came behind her, un-noticed; her lost in the moment, singing the words... He touched, first her hips; his hands following the motion, the dance. She leaned back into him, pressed her hips against him. Moved against him.

**-**

A week earlier he had walked into the stringed instrument shop.

"There's a rumor out there that you might have Martin N-20," he said.

"A 1969," she said. She had Ann Margret hair -- Kelly O'Donnell, Reba McIntyre

Hair.

"Ah! -- just like Willie's?"

"This one doesn't have a hole in it," she told him; watched his eyes. She chuckled in keeping with her own joke. Her eyes twinkled.

"I'll take it," he said.

"Don't you want to play it first?"

He laughed. "I do; and, I'll take it."

He paid the asking price; didn't even bargain.

He held the closed case in his hand, headed for the door. Turned, "Tracy Chapman's in town tonight. I know a guy; can get tickets." His eyes asking the obvious question.

She nodded; gave him a phone number.

She told her friend the next day. "I met a guy. He bought a guitar."

"Oh... " her friend said. "Is he good? Is 'IT' good"

"Both," she said.

Her friend smiled. "He'll have you naked before the week is over. When it's good we get naked pretty quickly."

And, she was: naked before the week was over. In his loft apartment. He had divested her of her clothes. There hadn't been many: only three -- skirt, blouse, and panties. He had then licked her, sucked her, fucked her.... She screamed like a banshee in the night; left fingernail marks on his shoulders, down his back.

He told her, later, "I have a beach house.... What are you doing for the next week?"

She looked him, held his gaze. "I think I'm going to said beach house."

Then: "... oh! -- You're getting hard again!!"

She straddled him; sank down onto to him. Rode him like any good cowgirl should.

**-**

They shared a single pair of pajama, she the bottoms. She had slept naked, had earlier slipped the soft cotton up her legs, over her hips... gone to make coffee. Left him sleeping.

He moved his hands to her front: one inside and down into the boy-short bottoms; the other across her torso, his hand closing over her bosom. He pulled her tight again himself. Moved his body to her rhythm. She felt the protruding hardness of him, below the too-short pajama top he wore, move against her, push its way into the juncture of her legs, her lower body.

"I want you," he said.

"You are insatiable," she said. "You just had me."

"That was then," he said.

His hands moved on her, felt both the firmness of her and the wetness, the softness of her. Tracy's guitar played... the piano played. His fingers played.

"Anyway, it's your fault," he said.

Her hair rubbed against his face. She reached behind herself, encircled him, held his hardness in her hand, the vermillion head-ed charger.

"Oh!!" she said.

He pulled the tie at the front of the cotton bottoms, eased them off her hips, down her legs. "You exude... ooze even... sensuality."

She stood, naked, in the kitchen. Watched the early morning sun break through; felt the warmth of the first rays on her body.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "It's your fault. All that... unrestrained indulgence in sensual pleasures, I think Webster says.... What am I supposed to do?"

"Lick me... suck me, fuck me!"

Sexy, driving music came over the speakers.

He lifted her, laid her back on the island top, the granite cool against her skin. He knelt between her legs, lifted her ankles onto his shoulders. Covered her with his mouth, his tongue entered her.

Rapturous screams filled the morning. Early beach walkers stopped their trek up the water's edge; cocked their heads, listened. One said to the other, "... somebody's day is off to a good start."

She asked him later, her sitting naked, feet up on the coffee table, legs spread. "That look in your eye?"

"Your pussy," he said; reaching for her. "I think I'll fuck you again."