Inventing Herself

by Marsden, Sommer

  ‘Wet,’ he said, nipping her ear. ‘So very wet. And might I say, you smell perfect.’

  ‘Perfect?’ she murmured.

  ‘Cold air, sunshine, sex …’

  ‘Perfect,’ she echoed. Then he did let her turn in his arms. His contact with her nether lips broke and she felt sad for it, but he was peeling off her top and her bra and his tee. They were finally – blissfully – crushed flesh to flesh and she could feel the wild beat of his heart against her bare breast.

  ‘I know it’s stupid to say this. I shouldn’t care –’ she started. He kissed her quiet.

  ‘Then don’t care,’ he said.

  ‘It’s just I don’t run around picking up men in the park is all …’

  His lips travelled down over her clavicle, calling forth shivery sensations and prickling goosebumps. His big hands settled on her hips and just the heat bleeding off his skin was enough to make her melt.

  ‘I wouldn’t care if you did. The point is that you and I ended up here. Me and you.’ He held her tighter to his body. She felt the weighted slide of his cock against her pussy lips.

  ‘Take my pants off,’ she barked and then a crazy laugh escaped her.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ He pushed her jeans down and Sophie realised her skin was still cold beneath her clothes. His lips warmed the way, kissing gently over her hipbones, along her belly, so she had that freefalling sensation that made her clutch at his shoulders and hair to keep from plummeting.

  Tate chuckled, pushing her back on the bed so that she could lift her hips to accommodate him. He paused, her pants half over her hips, and Sophie had to repress a cry of frustration.

  ‘You know, I’m very thankful I met you this morning.’

  The sentiment and the look in her eyes startled her. She blinked, not moving. ‘You are?’

  He nodded, and then pulled her pants down the rest of the way, his fingertips playing along her smooth mound, the tops of her thighs. The strokes left ghostly sensations along her thighs. ‘I’d just about given up on a connection and then poof …there you were.’

  ‘Poof?’ She laughed, but then Tate’s mouth was following the route of his fingertips and the laugh died on her lips.

  ‘Yes, poof. Like magic,’ he said.

  ‘I’m hardly magic,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Sophie,’ he said.

  That shut her up and he sealed the deal by pressing his lips to her pussy. His tongue parted her, nudged her. He licked her clit softly at first, and when her hips shot up to show her need he licked harder, his tongue wet, flattened perfection. A finger slid inside her, curled, teased her to the brink of orgasm. The feel of him touching her, this new person, this person who seemed to have fallen out of the sky into her life, was mesmerising.

  Sophie forgot herself, her hang-ups and her worries, and it suddenly did not become very important to her that they had just met. They were connecting, and as odd as it sounded, it was an intense union. Fresh, maybe. New, yes. But a union nonetheless and she was going with it. She could worry later.

  She touched his skin, anywhere she could reach it, and when he sighed – clearly relishing the contact – the warm breath rushing across her skin had her on edge. When his tongue returned to the perfect spot and he sucked, she came. She felt her body go loose and warm and wet. She curled her fingers into the bedding as he cleaned her with his tongue before moving up between her thighs. She reached for his button and he smiled that half smile and pushed her hand away.

  ‘Let me.’

  ‘Drawer,’ she said in answer.

  He nodded once, found the drawer, and pulled out a condom. When he pulled his jeans and boxers down, she sat up quickly, grabbed his lean hips, and ran her lips along his shaft in an open-mouthed kiss.

  ‘Sophie,’ he said. His voice so intimate it sounded as if they’d known each other for ever and not just hours.

  For ever …

  She pushed that thought away and sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth. His skin was silk and salt. When he thrust just a little, then a little more, a thrill shot through her. She gripped his hips tighter, digging her fingers in, shoving her mouth down the length of him to get him as deep as she could. To fill her throat with him before he filled her pussy. The small rush of a gag made her eyes water and she sighed happily. She loved that brief out of control feeling. He must have sensed it because he didn’t try to pull back or stop her. He looped his fingers into her hair and tugged just hard enough.

  The pulse of pain added to the thumping arousal between her legs. He thrust against her parted lips, taking her mouth, blue eyes trained on her as she sucked his cock. The thrill grew in her and she wanted so badly to have him between her thighs, yet was hesitant to move from where they were now, the scent of him filling her head, the hard length of him buried between her lips.

  ‘Now,’ he said, taking the decision from her. ‘I can’t wait any longer. If I have to watch you suck me once more I’m going to come.’ He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and stroked her brow. It made her skin tingle, that gentle touch. ‘And I don’t want to come that way, not the first time.’

  When she held her hand out, he put that condom in her palm and watched intently as she rolled the length of latex onto him. It seemed like a million years since she’d shared her bed. Sophie knew that was almost laughable given the other night, but that was how new this felt. How captivating.

  Tate smiled down at her, pushed her chest with tented fingers, and tipped her back. Crawling between her legs and parting her thighs, he stared down at her. ‘What a pleasant surprise you were,’ he said.

  She damn near came with the words. If that made her girlish, so be it. She was a girl. She felt girlish. She felt connected, and yes … alive. Suddenly, her stupid assignment didn’t scare her at all. Obviously, that would pass, but for now, she went with it.

  ‘Spread your legs a bit more for me, Sophie,’ he said and Sophie did what he asked. She thought she’d do damn near anything he asked.

  Chapter Eight

  She held her breath as he entered her. Somehow doing that made everything brighter, sharper, more intense. Her body wanted to arch up to meet his, but Sophie held herself flat, let him take her in his own sweet time. She always acted – always did – and in this instance she wanted to just be. It was almost laughable. Her Zen sex approach. But something in this man inspired her to let him do it his way. To experience what he was offering.

  His hands found her wrists and he braced himself there. Holding her down but also touching her. He had her trapped, in a sense, and yet the touch felt more of an embrace than anything. It stole her breath. When she gasped from it, he found her mouth with his and kissed her, his tongue still tasting of his sweetened green tea.

  ‘I love that sound you make.’ He chuckled. A half grin played across his handsome face. She knew it only because her eyelids kept refusing to stay shut.

  ‘It’s because –’ She broke off her statement as Tate rotated his hips a bit to the left, paused, shifted to the right. The sensation – the insane friction – of that moment stole her words, not just her breath.

  He watched her face – reading her – and knew what he was doing to her. She could tell by the way his smile broadened and his face grew darker with desire. Tate shoved his hands under her bottom, levering her just so. That extra bit of incline pushed him right to the flush and tender places deep inside her that made her gasps turn to moans. She sounded like a cliché, but fuck, that was so not important at the moment.

  His fingers curled to her backside, his fingers sinking deep into the curviness of her ass. He thrust hard, and Sophie tried to take a deep breath. Failed.

  His rhythm grew faster, but it was more the dark attention of his gaze that did her in. When was the last time a lover had watched her that way – studied her reactions and her pleasure?

  Maybe never.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she muttered without realising it.

  He gr
inned down at her, hiked her a bit higher, drove in a bit deeper. His breath washed over her breasts, warm like a summer breeze. Everything about him was warm, from the breath in his lungs to his gaze.

  ‘I thought that’s what we were doing.’ He laughed, rotated his hips, and watched her face as she came. He watched every bit of that orgasm rush over her, kept his gaze on her as she arched up involuntarily into his grasp, her nipples pebbled and her skin following suit. Watched her sink her fingers into the white sheets and toss her head. He watched it all, she noticed, as her eyes opened and closed of their own volition, propelled only by her sudden pleasure.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, nonsensically.

  He let himself crush down on her. His chest smashing to her chest, the breath rushed out of her in a delicious flood. He kissed her gently, then rougher; his hands skated over her shoulders and slid down her arms.

  ‘Yes,’ he echoed. ‘Turn over for me, Sophie. Will you do that? Hands and knees?’

  A rush of excitement plummeted to her stomach. She nodded, realising – and Jesus, almost saying – she was pretty sure she’d hang from the ceiling naked if he asked her to. He put his hands on her, big, strong hands that inspired lust inside her, and helped her turn. He groaned softly as he touched her. Her lower back, the backs of her thighs, her calves. His fingers tickled over the arch of her food and then smoothed back up her leg to caress the swell of her ass. He pressed a finger to her back hole and she bristled, both with arousal and a touch of fear.

  He murmured to her and she felt her body relax, go soft again. Not that, he was just touching, exploring. This was him getting to know her body and she realised she did not feel self-conscious or worried or any of that stuff she normally felt with a new lover.

  ‘Magic,’ she said to herself. Not realising at first that she had spoken aloud.

  ‘You are pretty magic.’ She heard the smile in his voice, turned to see him. His face grew serious again, though, as he angled his body to get up close behind her. Tate stroked his cock along her slick split. He teased her until she was humming, pushing back to try and tempt him in.

  ‘I meant you,’ she said, her words a rush of air.

  ‘And I meant you,’ he argued good-naturedly. The tip of his cock breached her and his fingers dug into the flesh at the flare of her hips. He slipped into her with great patience. So much patience she thought she might scream.

  Instead, Sophie pushed herself back, parted herself a bit more to take him. His cock stretched and filled her, leaving her on the brink of another orgasm. If she touched herself – even briefly – she’d come again. There was no doubt. And Sophie did not want to come yet. She wanted to come with him, wanted them to climax together. For some reason that was so important to her. The realisation was so unnerving she chose to ignore it.

  Tate paused, leant in to kiss the back of her shoulders, the tender brush of his lips a nearly phantom touch. His grip spanned her ribs as he held her tight. When he straightened up a little, rocking into her, warm, heavy pleasure spread through Sophie. Invading her pussy, her pelvis, her womb. She tried so hard to hold on as he traced a finger down the knobs of her spine.

  ‘Go ahead. Let go for me, sweetheart.’

  The “sweetheart” did it: too much, too overwhelming. Sophie came with a loud cry, her hair swinging in her face, her cries floating through the late morning stillness.

  He kept thrusting into her. Kept moving in and out of her so her breath couldn’t return. When Sophie thought she’d simply drop, he came, yanking her back to meet his driving cock. Holding her still so he could empty into her, his fingers stroking along her ribcage, the underswell of her breasts. Her belly.

  His forehead dropped to her back and she felt it – he was shaking. With the force of his orgasm. With the force of their experience.

  They hadn’t come together the way she’d wanted. The importance of it confused her. She pushed the thought away again, quickly. It really wasn’t important. What was important was keeping the light and gorgeous feeling of this moment. She turned to him, stealing a fast and heady kiss before asking him, ‘God, are you starving? I am starving.’

  He looked down at her. A quick flash of soberness before he broke out into an infectious smile. ‘Sophie … I am starving.’

  They went in search of food.

  ‘China!’ Sophie cried, her heart sinking.

  Steak sandwiches and iced tea. Somehow it was the perfect food. Tate took a hearty bite and nodded. ‘Yeah. Weird, right? We meet today, I leave tomorrow.’ His blue eyes grew serious. ‘But only for a week, Sophie Calhoun. Just to see Marcia get married.’

  ‘You like my name, don’t you?’

  He nodded, smiling. ‘I do. It’s refreshing.’

  ‘Who gets married in China?’ Sophie asked, biting into her sandwich. Despite being oddly upset he was travelling tomorrow, the food lulled her. Really good sex followed by really good food. It didn’t get much better than that. ‘I mean, besides Chinese people, that is,’ she said with a shrug.

  He laughed, finishing his sandwich in one big bite. He chewed thoughtfully. ‘Women like my sister, who went there just to travel and unexpectedly met the love of her life there.’

  Unexpectedly met the love of her life there … The words echoed through her. She shook her head, reminding herself not to be that girl. Not to find something just because she was looking for it. If she’d been searching for the perfect black handbag she’d most likely have found it today. Only to discover in a week or so that it didn’t suit her. That was the biggest risk – finding something just because you were looking for it. She’d been searching her soul for that something more and had stumbled over Tate. It didn’t mean he was the answer. She had to keep that thought, that logic, forefront in her mind.

  He touched her forehead and she startled. ‘You in there?’

  ‘I am.’ She tried on a smile but it felt false – stretched too tight. Too wide, maybe. Like something from a horror film.

  ‘You overanalysing our morning together?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She forced a laugh. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s written all over your face.’

  ‘Ah, I didn’t know I was that readable.’

  He shrugged. ‘Only to someone who’s been the book before.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Me.’ He took another swig of iced tea. ‘I hung my hopes on a person. It didn’t work. Right after Marcia met Glenn. I thought that’s what I should have. That’s what I should do.’

  ‘And?’ Her stomach turned a little.

  ‘And it failed miserably. I found a woman who was all about what I could give her, what I had to offer.’

  ‘You have a lot to offer.’ She found she meant it, despite the fact that they’d just met. Despite the fact that she was flying on instinct alone.

  ‘I do. But not money and jewellery and –’ he chuckled ‘– riches.’

  ‘What? You’re not a pirate? I am so let down.’

  His hand covered hers and the worry fled some, leaving her with a warm, pulsing attraction.

  ‘She would list to Marcia all she wanted. A white gold engagement ring, a ruby for our one-year anniversary, a Jaguar …’

  ‘So she didn’t want much,’ Sophie joked.

  His eyes twinkled. ‘Nah. Just the normal everything money could buy.’

  ‘Ah, that’s not too much to ask, right?’

  He stroked the back of her hand absentmindedly. She tried to recall ever being so comfortable with someone she’d just met touching her. She couldn’t. Even as she considered it, she turned her hand up to take his. He gripped it, squeezed, let it go.

  ‘Right.’ Tate sat back, away from her. She felt the absence. ‘I should give you space. You’re clearly weirded out. Just because I was there on your moonlit search for your something more, and maybe I said some Zen magic words, doesn’t mean anything in the long run. I don’t want to –’ he looked around as if searching for the word ‘– crowd you.’

  ‘Spe
nd the day,’ she blurted. ‘I mean, you are leaving for China tomorrow, right? Not as if you can influence me from there, can you?’

  Tate twisted an imaginary moustache. ‘Oh, I have my ways.’

  ‘Shower?’ she said, changing the subject – tempting him. Thoughts of getting him naked and wet and bubbly pushed all other worries and thoughts from her mind. He was leaving tomorrow. Totally safe. Totally fine.

  ‘You twisted my arm.’

  He was muscular. Even more muscular than she really realised until her fingers were skating over his body. His cock responded to her gentle touch, so she stroked him in a loose fist to feel it harden and lengthen in her palm.

  ‘I like the way you touch me,’ he said, softly. His eyes drifted closed and something in her chest crimped. He looked so vulnerable that way. Wet and willing, eyes shut, at her mercy.

  Without pausing to consider it, she angled the spray onto his body, watched the suds roll off and the water drop from his skin. Sophie sank to her knees, her hands smoothing along his hard thighs. His eyes opened but he said nothing, just watched her. He touched her wet hair, pushed it back off her brow, keeping his gaze on her as she leant in to lick beads of water from his cockhead.

  Blowjobs weren’t as enticing to her as they were to some women. She needed to feel a real connection with a guy, an enticing something, to take him in her mouth. It was, in a way, to Sophie, more intimate than sex. Doing this twice in one day surprised even her.

  She felt his fingers delve into her hair, tugging just a touch as her lips slid down his shaft. He made a noise. A humble noise, she thought. The sound of it tugged at that thing in her chest.