The wind blew brisk and stinging over Lake Erie; May had still not brought the promised warmth of the spring in spite of the hints of green evident on every tree. His eyes teared up as he scanned the horizon, spying the superstructure of some distant steel carrier making its' slow progress towards a distant mill in Buffalo. He was nervous; and in spite of the secure heat that enveloped him from his wool bridge coat, he felt a trickle of sweat race down to his tailbone, tracing the outline of each vertebra as it went.
"I've got to be out of my mind" he mumbled, yet he knew his ability to reason had been lost long ago on some distant Mayan beach. He had dreamed of this meeting for over a decade and in some deep recess of his mind had always known that it would happen with the Newtonian certainty of gravity; a force invisible to the touch, but omnipresent and certain.
The last two days had been a whirlwind of emotion. He was sleep deprived, edgy, couldn't concentrate. His mind wandered incessantly to her face, what her skin might feel like, if they would still have the same electricity between them, if he would again feel the hungry pressure of her lips on his own. He worried that the connection that he felt was something that had been lost to time, that the intervening years had robbed them of the spark that had burned so hotly.
"Not a chance" came the answer from deep inside him; there's few times in a lifetime when one is question-less of a path, or a decision, or an emotion, this was one of those times; of that he was certain. Whatever road they traversed would be difficult; the realities of their current lives would make for some very complicated situations. However he knew that whatever the day would hold, his one desire was to rekindle an ember that had never quite gone out; and his one hope was to hold in his arms once again the source of that light and heat making one pure, untainted flame.
Taking a long breath and holding it, he felt the sting of the cold in his lungs; it centered him. He knew this was something he had to do, was something that was somehow pivotal in his life. The internal chatter of right and wrong, possible ramifications and uncertainty had been debated and quelled; he was stoic in his decision. Taking one last long look at the horizon distinct in the crisp air, he turned on his heel and nearly ran with purpose and joy to the small house on the water.
The rented Chevy sat in the gravel driveway, and he could tell it hadn't been there long from the slight heat he felt from the engine as he past it. Opening the door and eagerly stepping inside, he could immediately make out her scent; a powerful memory lodged deep in his subconscious. It brought him back in time like a whipsaw, making him shudder with the range of hormones suddenly injected into his veins. He remained motionless and savored the moment; closed his eyes and tried to slow down time to completely take in the depth of his feelings and taste the anticipation. Yet suddenly, the atmosphere became more electric, almost as if he could feel the air around him get warm and moist in an instant. He knew suddenly she was in the room. Unable to stifle the silly grin plastered on his face, he opened his eyes slowly and saw her for the first time in way too long; framed in the doorway by the bright afternoon light suffusing from windows in the bedroom. The light played on her face and filtered through her cotton dress revealing the lithe form of her body, the right leg over left in repose as she leaned against the door frame, the allure of her neck, the outline of her breasts. "Hi", he stammered.
"Hi" she said through glistening teeth, barely audible over the sound of the ceiling fan.
Their eyes locked for a long moment, searching for any hint of change; for some subtle reflex that things were not as they had expected. Yet none of that came; and in the course of those two seconds, years of pent up wonder and longing evaporated; leaving the vulnerable shells of two people who desperately just wanted to be together for whatever time they could steal from the world.
She let her weight fall on her right foot and soundlessly walked towards him on bare feet, sinking into his eyes. When she finally broke her gaze, she softly put her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist underneath the thick, unbuttoned coat. The heat from her body enveloped him, and the faint smell of lavender mixed with the scent of her obvious arousal gave him goose flesh on the back of his neck. Laying his head on top of hers, and enveloping her shoulders with his own arms, they held each other for long minutes, rocking softly back and forth. Finally pulling away, she took his hand and led him to the couch... pushing him down gently, then laying on top of him. He wrapped his legs around her, and she let the full weight of her body press gently into him. He covered them both with a blanket, closed his eyes, and smiled.
They didn't say a word, they didn't need to; their bodies were speaking for them, and their arousal was palpable; but the ground rules were set and they knew they must behave (for now). His fingers found their way to her face, her eyelids, her lips, her hands; he could see the hair on her skin stand erect as he lightly brushed her skin.
The thick, syrupy afternoon light coursed across the opposing wall. He watched as small bits of dust played in the sunbeam on invisible columns of convection; at that moment he felt light enough to be one of them. Yet in the serene moment, he could feel her heart racing through the thin material of her dress, his own heart echoing her rhythm. They were not at rest, not by any imagination, as the flushness of their skin and unnatural quickness of their breath belied the enormous heat that was rising deep within them.
Lifting her head off his chest, she turned around in his embrace so that they were face to face, her lips mere inches from his, her taut nipples poking small exclamation points in her bra-less dress, her pelvic bone pushing powerfully into his erection. Her lips were engorged and full of hot blood; she licked them, creating a wet veneer. He raised his head in response and ran his hands through her hair, pulling her towards him; gazing into her eyes, noticing his own reflection as it played on her irises. Their lips brushed slightly and they stopped; both of them held their breaths. Their lips met again, with greater force this time; she then opened her mouth to accept him, and he obliged.
Her breath was hot and wet on his neck as slowly and methodically kissed the angle of her jaw. He could taste the tang of lavender and soap and sweat, the heady flavor sticking hungrily to the back of his tongue. He loved the flavor; relished it, and in spite of the time that had passed remembered vividly the feeling of her skin on his lips as he lightly licked, kissed and sucked her neck, her ears, her lips, her throat, her tongue.
He took his time; liked it that way. The quiver her skin made as he touched it, the slickness and warmth as he left it. But in spite of his slow and methodical exterior, he was fighting the raw urge to throw her on the floor and bury himself between her legs; to bury his tongue deep inside her body and taste the slick stickyness of her coursing down his face and neck. He could feel her wetness as she ground on his leg, could feel the pulse of his own heart in the head of his cock.
