We Are Us

Changing locations won’t change who we are or how we feel or what we want.

“Come here,” I whisper, needing to feel more than Gavin’s eyes on me. I want his weight, I want his kisses, I want his love.

And I want to be his. In every way.

Gavin shucks off his clothes as I watch, then drops back to his knees to crawl over me. His elbows land at the indent of my waist, his head lowering to my belly button, his tongue sneaking out to lap at the shallow groove. “Gavin,” I beg, writhing beneath him. It feels ticklish, but not ha ha ticklish. His tongue is awakening an illicit, furtive sexuality in me, bands of desire curling and coiling, spreading throughout my body.

And those unfurling threads are making me needy and wanton, greedy and desperate. I plunge my hands into Gavin’s hair, tugging on his head as he moves across my stomach to tenderly nip at my hip bones, then lower still.

There’s no rush to Gavin’s pace, he is slow and thorough, ensuring that every inch of me is treated to the wet lap of his tongue, the enticing pressure of his teeth, the roughened abrasion of his chin and jaw.

This is the first time we’ve been naked together, instead of just exposing pieces of ourselves, one at a time. It feels different somehow. Deeper. But the hours we’ve spent exploring each other’s bodies has taught us what brings pleasure and what doesn’t. What leads to rapture and what just makes us laugh. I’ve climaxed from Gavin’s fingers, from his tongue. His sticky wetness has coated my hands, covered my breasts, slid down my throat.

Gavin knows exactly what it takes to make me lose control, abandoning all thought and reason and worry to exist solely in us.

And now he pauses, gently resting his chin on the rise of my pelvic bone. “Look at me, Poppy.”

I do. I stare intently at Gavin, my eyes roving over his wild hair and fevered eyes and the impossibly sexy smirk tugging at his kiss-swollen lips.

“I see you,” I say.

“Yeah.” He shifts down another two inches, his tongue licking the already damp lace between my thighs. “You always have.”

A whimper falls from my open mouth. Then another as he moves the fabric aside and his tongue meets my skin directly, without any barrier between us.

Electricity shoots through me, jagged and white hot as it burns away the last of my already tenuous hold on reality. My panties disappear and I barely blink as Gavin opens his mouth over me, ravenously devouring me.

I climax with my eyes trained on Gavin, this broken boy who’s somehow always been a man, whose wounds and scars align so perfectly with mine that we’ve healed each other.

He draws out every last delicious pulse of my orgasm, my thighs pressed tightly around his ears, my heels tapping out a staccato drumbeat against his back as waves of pleasure crash over me. And when they finally recede, when he finally pulls a condom out of seemingly nowhere, I watch him roll it over his length with hands that aren’t quite steady. “I love you, Poppy. I’ve loved you since the moment you looked like you were going to cry when there were no raspberries on that damn bush.”

Gavin’s weight settles over me, pressing me down into the pile of blankets and pillows he must have made countless trips to carry though the forest, along with the candles and snacks and drinks and even the damn poppy petals. I wrap my hands around his neck, pulling his face down to mine as I feel the tip of his sheathed crown knock at an entrance that hasn’t yet been entered. “I felt awful. Well, at least until you said you didn’t like raspberries.”

He chuckles, his thickness stretching me wide, then impossibly wider. There is a pinch of pain, and then a deeper wrenching sting. I cry out and Gavin captures my mouth, hungrily swallowing my hurt. He kisses me with deep, claiming strokes of his tongue and then, when the pain has faded into a murky fog hovering just at the edge of pleasure, nebulous and indistinct, Gavin releases my mouth and gently, reverently, kisses my cheeks and neck, my eyelids and the tip of my nose. He kisses me until I’m rolling my hips, wanting more of him, more of us. Wanting to feel full, so very full.

Later, after Gavin gives one final surge of his hips and bellows a deep, satisfied growl, his head dropping into the curve of my neck, his breath a heated gust over my dewy skin… only then does he whisper, “Poppy, I love raspberries.”