One Last Thing

I’m watching Will across the room as I sip at champagne. He is using his wit, sarcasm, and impeccable charm to warm the cold hearts of my man-hating friends. They all flew in for the wedding.

He was right about his mother, she’s a fantastic woman. I think it worries him how close she and I have become. Right now she is by the buffet, debating Darwinian Theory with my republican uncle. By the looks of things, she’s winning.

My mother is dancing with my father, a smile on her face the size of Texas. She admitted in a drunken ramble at my bachelorette party that she never thought this day would come. After my terrible ordeal with my first love, and the lengthy time I’d spent single, she was convinced I had sworn off men forever, and just hadn’t told her yet that I was a lesbian. I’d kissed her on the cheek and refilled her glass. I really never thought this day would come either, though for different reasons.

He was true to his word. We’d started with dinner and a movie, and eventually he’d given me a ring, and I’d bought a dress, and we did buy a house together. We got a little cape-cod style cottage, close to the city, but far enough away that the property taxes weren’t too high. Most of our belongings are there, aside from the things we had that were doubles, like coffee makers and toasters, and the clothing we’d be taking on the honeymoon.

He’s making his way back over to me now, shaking hands with coworkers and relatives, receiving pats on the back and thumbs-up signs from his buddies.

“Hi,” he says, and grins that devastating grin at me. It belongs to me now, that grin.

“Hi,” I say back.

“Dance?” he asks, and I nod, putting my champagne glass down on the table and scooting back my chair.

He takes my hand and leads me through the maze of tables to the dance floor.

Splaying his right hand out on the small of my back, he takes my right hand in his left and tucks them both against his chest. I sigh, and lean into him. Before I walked down the aisle, I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. We had decided to go traditional. And aside from the quick embrace and kiss that we had shared after the vows, this is the first time I have been in his arms for a while. I close my eyes and smell him. I have grown to love the way he smells, he’s spicy and musky and totally Will. He pulls me closer to him with the hand still on my back, and kisses the shell of my ear gently.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes, and I feel a tickle on my neck as the hairs there rise in response.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I smile at him, though he can’t see it. He nuzzles my ear for a moment with his nose, then lowers his head and nips at my neck.

I start to shiver, just a little, and then tremble as I hear “I can’t wait for tonight” in a low groan against my neck.

“God, Will, neither can I,” I whisper, as he reaches out a couple of his fingers to tease my nipple through the bodice of my gown.

“Will,” I sigh as a warmth spreads itself deep in my belly. We had decided to wait. Early in courtship, I wasn’t willing to sleep with him, didn’t trust him not to break my heart. After three years of respecting my wishes, he finally proposed, and in one conversation not long after, he said we should wait, and I agreed. And so here we are, married and looking forward to our wedding night like a couple of teenage virgins.

He kisses my neck again; lips parted slightly to allow his tongue to caress the skin between them, and then pulls away and blows on the damp spot. I shiver harder.

“Cold?” he enquires in mock concern.

“Too hot,” I say in a low whisper, and then scratch lightly at his neck with my fingertips.

“Mmmm,” he says, as he nuzzles the tender skin behind my ear, “I’ve got champagne chilling in my room. If you wanted to come back there with me, I bet I could pour you a glass. It might cool you off.”

I chuckle and feel his hips buck slightly.

“I don’t know, I don’t make a habit of going into hotel rooms with men, especially not those that are married,” I say, my voice laced with teasing hesitation.

“Well, I don’t often proposition married women, but you are so beautiful I just can’t help myself.” He pulls his face away from my neck and grins at me again. Then his face goes serious. “Janey, I don’t know how much longer I can wait to make love to you. Let’s go to our room.”

I can feel my nipples harden at the thought and the look in those honey-brown and green eyes. My brain is starting to fog up with desire for him, memories of what his lips and tongue and fingers can do to me, of the taste and feel of his skin, are all contributing to lower my concentration level dramatically.

“We have to say goodbye to our parents,” I manage to gasp out, as I feel his hand drop from the small of my back to caress my buttocks lightly. I watch as he purses his lips slightly, his brow furrows, and then he resigns himself and smiles at me.

“Of course we do, it is only polite.” I hardly know what is happening; I hug my mother, kiss my dad on the cheek, and then give his mother a huge hug as well. And then suddenly, he is leading me through the open elevator doors, hand still clasping mine tightly. He turns to me after pushing the button for our floor, and then reaches up and pushes a lock of hair out of my face, his fingers then tracing down to sit on my bare shoulder.

I smile shyly at him, and then the door slides shut quietly. Without warning, his hands are on my waist and his hips are pushing against mine; he is backing me against the wall of the elevator.

“Will!” I gasp as my gut plunges to the floor.

“God, Janey,” he groans against my neck and then his lips are crashing on mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth.

I grab the lapels of his jacket and pull his chest closer, my hips pressing back against him as my tongue swirls with his. I can feel his grip tightening and loosening on my waist rhythmically. He tears his mouth away from mine and kisses lightly on my jaw as I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. His kisses are moving lower; he is nibbling and licking at the tender skin of my neck, the bare skin at my collar bone. I catch my breath and nibble at my lower lip when I feel his lips meet the juncture of my cleavage, revealed to him by the off the shoulder bodice. Just as the tip of his tongue presses fire hot against that same skin, the elevator dings and he pulls away as the doors slide open.

“Fuck,” he groans, running his fingers through his hair roughly as his other hand reaches out for mine. I chuckle at him and entwine my fingers with his. He mock growls at me and then leads me out the doors and down the hallway.

As we arrive at the room, he pulls me closer, wraps his arm around my waist and kisses me lightly on the corner of my mouth. “I love you,” he says, and then turns to unlock the door.

I follow him in, and the door shuts behind us with a soft click. Our suitcases are sitting on the low table at the foot of the bed, and someone has taken the time to sprinkle rose petals; red, yellow, white, and pink. Our eyes meet, and he smiles at me again.

“Could you?” I ask, and turn my back to him, lifting my hair off and pulling it over one shoulder. He moves in and begins to unbutton those tiny pearls that look so lovely and yet take so very long. As he does this, I feel his breath hot and gentle at the nape of my neck, and then it is replaced by his lips. With every button he undoes, he places a soft kiss somewhere on the skin on the back of my neck, tracing a map of his desire for me there. I close my eyes and my breath speeds up. I don’t even realize he has the whole thing unbuttoned until I hear a low rumble from behind me, the sensation reverberating straight to my groin.

“All done, babe,” he says, kisses my neck, and then steps away.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and then disappear into the bathroom.

I remove my dress and hang it on the hook on the back of the door. I’ll have to take care of it tomorrow. Then I turn, and examine myself in the mirror. I haven’t slimmed down, my breasts and hips will always be to large for that, but being with Will, and going on outdoor excursions with him – cycling, hiking, kayaking – has trimmed me up a bit, given my muscles a little definition. The off the shoulder dress and the size of my breasts forced me to have a corset, instead of a strapless bra, and so I purchased one with garter attached, and splurged on expensive thigh high stockings and lace panties. My sister tried to talk me into a g-string, but I think of those much like I do high heels; who needs it? Instead, I bought bikini underwear and white Converse. It is my wedding, after all. I do remove my shoes before rinsing my mouth with water and going back into the room.

When I come back in, I see Will pouring two glasses of champagne. He has removed his jacket and vest, and is standing by the window in his tux shirt, the bowtie undone and hanging loosely, the top two buttons open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Good God, this man is beautiful.

I shut the door behind me and the sound alerts him of my return. He starts to speak, grabbing one of the glasses and turning toward me.

“Jane, I poured you a glass of…” and he stops talking. I watch his eyes rake over my form, from my head to my feet and then back up.

“Fuck,” he says, then swallows, then draws in a deep breath. “I poured you a glass of champagne.” He holds the glass out to me.

I begin to walk over to him, slowly, nervously. I’ve never considered myself a sex symbol, and so this is foreign territory for me. I grin at him, take the glass and sip lightly, then chew at my lower lip. He swallows down his glass, sets it on the table, and then takes mine from me and does the same with it.

“Jane,” he whispers, and reaches out a hand. He caresses my face lightly, fingers hinting over the skin of my cheek and then ghosting over my lips. I feel his fingers go around my head to the back of my neck, gripping slightly and changing the position of my head before his lips are on mine again, this time gently, soothingly, almost reverently. I moan in response and open my lips slightly, the tip of my tongue going out to caress his lips. He groans and his tongue meets mine. He moves in closer to me, and begins to back me toward the bed, one hand still on my neck and the other on my hip, playing with the lace at the bottom of the corset.

Me knees hit the edge of the bed, and the hand on my hip grips a little firmer, guiding me until I am sitting, his lips following mine the whole way. The hand on my neck comes around to cup my cheek, and he gives me one gentle kiss before backing away from me and beginning to unbutton his shirt. I watch his fingers as he opens his shirt, button by button. My breath is starting to speed up now, in anticipation of what is to come. He pulls the bottom of his shirt out of his pants and finishes unbuttoning, then tosses his shirt on the ground as he toes off his shoes. He bends down and pulls off his socks, and I watch the ripples of his muscles as he does so, marveling at the lines and contours of his back.

He straightens, and I look into his eyes as his fingers go to the fly of his pants. My breath hitches at the heat in his eyes, the determination and longing on his face. I look back to his hands, then my gaze returns to his face. I grow nervous again. Since that first day in my office, we have limited ourselves to caresses and light touches that accompanied heavy kisses, often turning each other on so much in the process that I suspect he did what I would do; go home and relieve the pressure. Not since that first day in my office has he seen me, and I have never seen him.

I finally settle on watching his fingers, and anticipation hits my belly as he lowers his pants to the floor and steps out of them. He is wearing black boxer briefs of the low-rise variety, and his abdominal muscles look gorgeous, highlighted by the dip just before his hip bones, which are just hidden from view by the fabric of his underwear. It is my turn to take in the whole of him, and marvel at his thigh muscles, the definition there, so well developed by years of cycling. I briefly wonder if his cycling endurance will carry over to this activity. I lick my lips at the thought, and I hear him suck in a breath at that action.

“Come here,” I say, holding out one hand and patting the bed next to me with the other. He silently complies.

We look at each other for a moment; the only sound our slightly rough breathing. I realize he seems unsure of what to do next.

“Will,” I say softly.

“Hmmm,” he responds, just as softly.

I reach up and stroke his face, his cheek, his lips.

“Make love to me.”

“Yes,” he whispers. He catches my hand in his, turns it over and kisses the palm lightly, and then lowers it down to his lap. He leans forward and presses his lips to mine again. Though our kiss is passion filled, it is slow and languid. This time, we know we don’t have to stop. This time, we know we have forever. This time, we know this is just the start of our journey.

His tongue comes into my mouth again, and I taste the coffee and cake we had at the reception, the champagne we’ve just shared. His tongue is fire hot against mine, warm and smooth and demanding. My eyes are closed in joy and pleasure. I feel his hands against my thighs, and hear the soft clicks as he undoes the clasps on my garter, first one leg, and then the other. I moan into his mouth as his hands move around to start unhooking the back or my corset, inch by tantalizing inch. I reach up and stroke his chest, fingers playing lightly with the hair, and he groans in response.

Finally, I feel him grasping the back of the corset and peeling it away from my body. He tosses it lightly to the floor, where it joins his already discarded clothing. He pulls away from my lips slowly, and then lowers his gaze to my torso.

“Janey, you are so beautiful, so sexy,” he says as he reaches up one finger and tickles the dark mark just under my ribs, then his hand slides up and he cups my breast. I moan at the sensation of his hot flesh against mine, not separated by layers of clothing, and tip my head back, arching into his touch.

“God, I love that moan,” he says, and his thumb flicks over my nipple, his other hand coming up to knead my other breast. He leans forward and presses a kiss to my jaw, to my neck, to my collar bone, and then he nuzzles the skin between my breasts, kissing and licking slightly. I feel a tightening in my belly, deep within the core of me, and my lace panties are starting to get wet.

Suddenly, there is a flick of something hot and wet against my nipple, and I realize it is his tongue just before the entire nipple is engulfed by his burning wet mouth.

“Ugh,” I manage, just before I feel like my spine is leaving my body. He puts one hand on my upper back and manages to lower me onto the bed, his mouth never leaving my nipple. I am vaguely aware of being impressed by that move before I feel a cool draft against my saliva slicked nipple; he is blowing on it. I gasp at the shock of the temperature change, and then his palm is over it, warming it and stopping the ache that has formed, and his mouth is on my other nipple, sucking and nibbling, his tongue swirling around it, before he releases it and blows on that one too.

I am desperate at this point. I must have more; more touches, more caresses, more of him. “Will,” I gasp out, and then, “Please.”

He chuckles against my chest and then shushes me gently. He is kissing his way down now, his hands leaving my breasts to snake down my sides to my hips, and then he grasps the waste band of my panties as he blows on my belly button, eliciting another moan from me. He gets up from the bed, pulling my panties over my stockinged legs and then off. They follow the path of his clothes and my corset. He then lifts me up, one hand under my knees and the other around my shoulders, and deposits me gently on the bed, my head on the pillows. I have enough presence of mind to scoot over and make room for him.

He removes his underwear, and through hooded eyes I glance down at him. He is beautiful, every part of him, and I groan again, licking my lips and then chewing on the bottom one. He slides onto the bed next to me, on his side, and cups my cheek in his hand again.

“I’m so glad we waited, Janey. So glad we both did. This is so much more special now. I love you so much.” And then he is leaning forward and kissing me again, his tongue darting over my lips before pushing into my mouth again, his hand leaving my face to brace himself as he moves over me. He trails hot kisses down my neck and then back up to my lips. I kiss him back, groaning and wrapping my fingers in his hair, gripping it tightly and holding his face against mine.

He rests his weight on one elbow; balancing and keeping his chest above mine, not touching. His other hand snakes over my shoulder and down to cup my breast, kneading lightly and then flicking at the nipple with his thumb a few times. I groan again and my body arches in response. I nibble at his bottom lip, and then suck his tongue into my mouth and caress the tip of it with the tip of mine. He lets out a groan and lowers his hand, stroking at the skin on my belly before moving lower, running his fingers through the trimmed curls at my apex. I buck up against his hand, and release his mouth as I let out a gasp. He moves his fingers lower and rests them lightly against me, pulling his head back slightly to watch me.

We are both breathing heavily at this point, looking into each others eyes and reading the emotions and lust at play there. My eyes fall shut as he runs one finger down the center of me, teasing apart my labia and causing a deep, hot need to grow within my gut. He pushes his fingers in further, past my labia to where my hot moistness is waiting, and my eyes flicker open and closed rapidly, the sensation of his touch there causing a fire to build within my body. He is watching my face intently.

His fingers enter me, first one and then the other and I gasp again at the feeling. God, I love those fingers. His thumb reaches up and rubs circles over my clitoris, and I begin to raise my hips, dying to have more. He develops a rhythm, slow and sweet, and he gently pushes me up and over the cliff of orgasm. My breath is coming out in gasps and I am whispering nonsense at him. By the look in is eye I know he understands.

He slows the caresses of his thumb, removes his fingers from within and me and brings them up and into his mouth. I reach up on a whim, taking his fingers from his lips and sucking them into my own, my tongue swirling around them to wipe them clean. His pupils dilate, and he groans loudly at my actions. I chuckle around his fingers and his hips buck against the side of mine.

I release his fingers and grip his shoulder tightly, pulling to indicate I want him on top of me. He shifts and settles his himself between my legs, his hips cradled in mine. We both groan at the contact of naked skin on naked skin. He kisses me, and I reach between us to wrap my fingers around him, sliding my hand up and down him a couple of times. He moans against my lips and then gasps out my name.

I position him where I want him, and then pull my hand out from between our bodies.

“I love you,” I say, tracing the contour of his bottom lip with my tongue.

He shifts slightly, so that his weight is distributed between his hips and his elbows, then reaches his hands up to my face, stroking the hair back from my forehead. He kisses my forehead, then my cheek, and then my lips lightly.

“I love you too,” he whispers, and then moves his hips ever so slowly, pushing himself into me. I gasp loudly and he moans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. And then there are no more words. Our movements are slow and gentle at first, his hardness and my softness, our heat together creating a slow burn of desire in my belly. We develop a rhythm all our own in this timeless dance. We are kissing, and licking, and biting at each other’s necks and shoulders lightly, soothing any sharpness with our tongues after. And then our hips are crashing against each other, and soft pants and moans have turned to groans and whimpers and finally to shouts of pleasure.

I am gasping out a language no one has ever defined, though it is universal; his name, my love, my pleasure, the feel of him. And he answers in the same language. I can feel the rush coming over me, wave after wave of hot fire pleasure; faster and harder and more insistent. And then the tidal wave crests and breaks over me, inside me, knocking me senseless and waking me fully all at the same time.

“Will! Oh, God, Will!” I gasp out, as my hips arch entirely off the bed, my body tensed and balanced on my heels and my shoulder blades. My head is thrown back and my hands are clutching at his back roughly.

I feel my vagina clench and release around him spasmodically yet rhythmically, and then I am aware of him tensing above me. He clutches my chest to his, arms wrapped under my arms and hands gripping my shoulders.

“Jesus, Janey. Oh, Fuck!” he moans against my neck. I can feel him pulsing inside me.

We both lie there a few moments, catching our breaths and coming down from that most magnificent peak. He lifts his head up finally, rests his forehead against mine, looks into my eyes and then smiles tiredly. I grin back, and he kisses me softly.

He rolls to the side of me, onto his back, and pulls me into the crook of his arm. My head is resting on his shoulder, my fingers playing with the dark hair on his chest, and I lift a leg up and rest it over his.

“See,” he pants softly, “I told you we marry them.” Then he chuckles softly.

And he’s right, sort of. I have come to realize that there are no “guys like him”. And for him, there is no such thing as “women like me”.