I love that she calls me baby. It makes the ridiculous, emotional part of me go all sappy. I draw back and slide deep, all in one motion this time, and she gasps, and now she’s pulling at my ass to get me to move, move, and her back is arching off the bed.
“Goddamn, Kylie. You feel so, so good.” I whisper this to her, press my lips to her ear and huff the words low and mumbled to her. “I love the way you feel. You’re so tight.”
“Oz, oh, f**k, Oz, I didn’t know, I didn’t know…” Her voice is thick and emotional with awe and bliss and other things I can’t sort out. “I didn’t know it would be like this. I feel…so full. Filled with you. I didn’t know. And I’m so glad I waited. So glad it’s you.”
Our eyes meet, and she’s crying, slow fat tears sliding sideways toward her ears. I put my weight on one hand and brush the tears away. I know, somehow, that they’re good tears. Her arms wrap around my neck and pull me close in an embrace, and we’re moving together, her hips lifting to meet mine now, and there’s only Kylie, only her body and mine merging. There’s never been anyone or anything before this. Whatever I may have felt or done before this is irrelevant, something totally unrelated to what I’m experiencing now. Those other meaningless moments were a single candle flame flickering weakly in the corner of an empty room. This…this, it’s—it’s a sun. Kylie, her breath in my ear and her arms around me and her lips whispering my name in pleading awe and her legs curling around my waist to hold me deep and close, it’s not just a sun, it’s a galaxy, a whole universe of numberless stars scintillating with matchless glory.
“Oh, Oz. Oz. My Oz.” She writhes against me, breathing only to whisper my name.
“Yes, Kylie. Yours.” So true. I am hers. I’ve never belonged anywhere, to anyone. Now I do.
I feel her tightening around my cock, and I feel myself losing control, slipping over the edge. The motion of her hips becomes frantic, slamming against mine. Our hipbones crash and clash, and her arm clutches my neck with fierce strength, and I’m holding myself above her with one fist, the other hand tangled into hers. Our fingers grip each other, and I hear myself grunting, groaning, gasping.
“Oh, god, oh, god,” she’s panting, “ohgodohgodohgodohOz, oh, f**k, Oz. Don’t stop, dontstopdontstop.”
I laugh. “Why the hell would I stop?”
She laughs with me. “I don’t know, but please don’t. I’m gonna come so hard, so f**king hard.”
“Me, too, sweetness. Right now. God, I’m coming right now, Kylie.”
“Yes, yes!” Her fingernails gouge down my back, dig into my ass, and her hips slam, slam, slam against mine, and she’s shrieking a wordless wail.
Together, then, we come. It’s nuclear explosion, every cell in my body lighting up and striking nova-hot, and I can’t stop myself from crashing into her again and again, but she welcomes my hard thrusts with frantic slamming strokes of her own, and the only sound coming from her lips is my name, over and over and over again, chanting as we finally slow and go limp.
I slump onto her for a moment, unable to hold my weight any longer. Her arms slide around my shoulders and her hands circle soothingly on my back and neck. Her lips touch my ear, and she’s gasping for breath, her heels hooked around the back of my knees. I move to get up, but she holds me in place. “No, don’t move. I love this. I love your weight on me.”
“I’m crushing you.”
She wraps her arms and legs tighter around me. “Good. Crush me.”
“You’re crazy.” I laugh.
She nods against me. “Yep.”
We stay like that for a time I have no need to measure. Eventually, I roll off her and pull out of her, duck into the bathroom to wrap up and throw away the condom. When I come back, Kylie is sprawled on her stomach on my bed, the sheet low over her ass, her hair a tangle on my pillow. I open the window a crack and light a cigarette, smoke it slowly and watch Kylie sleep in my bed. I’m drowsy, too. I crush out the cigarette and slide down and lie beside her, my back pressed against the wall, giving her space, not wanting to disturb her. She murmurs something inaudible. Her eyes crack open and she sees me, shifts toward me. I pull her head onto my chest, tug the sheet over us. Another first for both of us. I sleep with her, holding her, and I sleep better than I ever have in my life.
* * *
“Shit!” Kylie’s panicked curse wakes me.
I sit up. “What’s wrong, sweetness?”
“It’s almost one in the morning, Oz. I should go home.”
“What time are you supposed to be back?”
She shrugs. “I don’t have a set time.”
“Then how about you just send your dad a text to check in?”
She taps at her phone, and I read the text over her shoulder: hanging out with Oz still. Just checking in.
A few seconds later, her dad’s response comes through: Thanks for checking in. Be home by two. ILU
K. Thx and ILU too. She sends the text, puts the phone away, and scoots off the bed.
We both see the splotch of blood on the sheets at the same time, and neither of us knows quite how to react. I meet Kylie’s eyes. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. A little…sore, I guess. But really, really good. Sorry about your sheets?” She says it like a question.
I shrug. “No big deal. They’re just sheets. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. I have to pee.” She stands up, still naked, and I simply cannot take my eyes off her. “Will your mom be home anytime soon? Should I put on clothes to go to the bathroom?”
I wave my hand. “Nah. She’s never home before two or three. You’re good.”
While Kylie is in the bathroom, I strip the sheets off the bed and wad them into a ball. I take them out into the kitchen and stuff them into the kitchen trash, which I then tie up and set by the front door. I put the single set of clean sheets on my bed and sit, thinking how strange it is that I have absolutely zero desire to get high right now. Always before, with the random girls in my past, we’d smoke before and after, to numb the sense of vulnerability. It’s easier to pretend it doesn’t mean anything, to act as if the casual, one-time-only nature of our liaisons was normal when we’re blazed out of our skulls. With Kylie, I’m sober. I’m totally me, totally aware of how significant what we just shared was. I relish the significance, admit that having it be so real, so meaningful and deeply potent, makes it infinitely better. It’s not the same act at all. Not even close.