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“Never with leggings,” June replied. “Too much fabric.” And honestly, at this point, any remaining clothes on her body felt like too much fabric.
“I’m never going to complain about that,” Colin said, and June didn’t miss the expectation of more, of longer, of something between them that he had slipped into that sentence in the heat of the moment. Usually, that would terrify her, make her run, but in this case, it only made her burn up even more, her skin hot to the touch. Colin’s hands gripped the sides of her hips, the part of her body June spent the most time checking, and he groaned again. “These fucking hips haunted my dreams last night,” he muttered. “Woke up hard, June, dammit.” She flushed, knew that her blotches had spread down from her face to her chest, and hoped Colin didn’t notice and think she was dying.
Colin’s fingers crept closer and closer to where she needed him until finally, his middle finger swept over her clit. Now it was June’s turn to moan and send a prayer of thanks to the Vulva Gods that she had chosen to maintain her waxing over the past couple of months.
“So smooth,” he whispered into her ear, pressing his finger further. He slowly drew circles around her clit, building even more wetness, though his hands were still trapped in her leggings. June made the decision to assist him, and lifted her hips up and shoved her leggings down to her knees. June felt Colin grin against her neck, then he playfully bit her shoulder. “Thanks,” he said, sweeping his tongue over where his teeth had just been.
June had loved it when Colin was supporting her, making her laugh, building her confidence up, but it turned out that June loved it even more when Colin’s dedication and focus lasered in on her body, on her pleasure. With one last huff of laughter, Colin began to work her in earnest, using two, then three fingers to rub her clit in rough circles. He had a sense of her body that surprised June, who usually encountered that men were too soft with her on their initial journeys down south. Her breath began to come in small gasps, as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs.
While Colin’s right hand was busy between her legs, his left hand tracked a tantalizing path up to her breast and began to gently roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, adding to June’s building orgasm. When was the last time she had honestly been given an orgasm that wasn’t from her own hand or a vibrator? When was the last time she was fully in the moment with another person in control of her pleasure, the tension building from the press of their bodies together, rather than from a story or a video?
June gulped in a deep breath as Colin shifted his palm, slid his middle finger inside of her, and began to glide that finger in and out of her, his thumb sweeping broad swipes across her clit.
“Shit,” she hissed. “Colin, I’m really close.” Her breath came in tiny gulps.
“You can be a bit loud,” he replied. “We’re across the lake from everybody.” With that, June let out a louder moan that she had been holding back for minutes. “Yes, perfect,” Colin said, adding his forefinger to his strokes. “Let go, June, this is for you.”
On a cry, June broke open, but her hips continued to move against his fingers. The orgasm was sharp, almost painful in its intensity, crashing through her entire body as Colin remained steady behind her, one hand persistent in between her legs to draw out the last drops of pleasure, the other hand moving up and down her arm in a soothing gesture. Finally, June’s body stilled and Colin slid his fingers out of her before tugging her leggings up around her hips. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“There’s now definitely evidence on this couch that a blacklight could find,” June mumbled drowsily.
Colin laughed and shook his head. June turned her head around and, without talking, kissed him. Gently, without heat, without expectations of the kiss leading anywhere, just gratitude with her lips for making her feel safe, sexy, treasured in that moment.
“How are you doing?” Colin whispered as he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Amazing. Exhausted. Thirsty.” June said. “My Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is all fucked up.”
“Only you would be joking about Maslow post-orgasm,” he chuckled. “I’ll grab your water bottle and fill it up.” He slid out from underneath her, and June rested her head on the throw pillow that had been behind Colin’s back. She adjusted her leggings again, pulled the woolen blanket up and covered her breasts, as her body began to cool with the fading remains of her orgasm leaving along with Colin’s bodily warmth. She heard him walk into the kitchen, flip the light on, and run water in the sink.
Before he could return with her water bottle, June was asleep.
