scrambled to his bedside table, where he usually kept a few condoms, then realized he’d packed everything up. Wallet. Where’d he put his wallet?
Maribel moaned. He dropped to his knees, cock bobbing in front of him, and scrabbled through his pockets to find his wallet. There, between his Visa card and his video-store punch card, sat one lone condom.
Maribel was kneeling on the bed, watching him anxiously, when he arose, now fully sheathed. She looked so beautiful, her sunset hair a crazy tangle, her hazel eyes foggy with desire, that he wished he had an ounce of artistic talent so he could attempt to capture a tiny portion of her glory.
“I love you, Maribel,” he said with sudden soberness. “I’m not doing this casually, just so you know. This means everything to me.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I understand.” She reached for him and drew him against her soft body as if welcoming him home after a long, dangerous journey.
They moved against each other with none of the usual first-time awkwardness. When she slid her legs apart, still kneeling on the bed, he put both hands on her ass and pulled her hard against his hips. With a gasp from her and a groan from him, they joined in a burst of star-spangled joy. When he thrust into her body, the warmth rushed through him like hot brandy on a cold winter’s night.
Long, luscious moments passed as he immersed himself in the wonder of Maribel. He felt suspended in a world with no time, where all that existed was the feel of her body, the quick beat of her heart against his chest, her hot, panting breath in his ear, the scent of aroused woman, then the frantic, triumphant cries as she tilted over the edge into release. The butterfly tremors of her inner channel around his cock pulled him along with her and he surrendered, helplessly, to the shocking joy of exploding inside her body.
He muttered her name as he came, he who never said much during sex. Now he couldn’t stop babbling things like, “So good . . . Maribel . . . sweetheart . . . oh God . . .” and probably other goofy nonsense stuff. She didn’t seem to mind, holding him tight and laughing breathlessly as he poured himself, heart and soul, into her sweet body.
M ARIBEL DRIFTED HAPPILY on a magic carpet through a sunshine landscape of golden sunflowers and capering clouds. It seemed absurd that such bliss could exist without her having known about it. She’d had sex before—obviously. But she hadn’t had this before. This . . . insanely beautiful, heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul experience. It felt as if she and Kirk had somehow exchanged parts of themselves as they’d made love. Essential parts, parts that meant they now belonged to each other in some basic kind of way.
She sighed happily. She was a fool for love, that’s what she was. Six years of trying to be smart, to be careful and make good choices, gone in a burst of gloriously orgasmic impulsiveness. But to hell with it. This was right. She knew it with every singing cell of her satisfied body.
Next to her, Kirk lay equally stunned, or perhaps asleep. She blew on his ear. “Kirk.”
“Shh.” He lifted a hand abruptly. She drew back, confused. That wasn’t a very romantic afterglow kind of response. Then she saw he was listening closely to the low murmur of his police scanner.
“Sounds like there’s some sort of fire out on Highway 90.”
“Highway 90?” She sat up. “Where that warehouse is?”
“Yeah. A lot of other buildings too. Hang on.” He got up and walked to the scanner, which sat balanced on the windowsill in the absence of a bedside table. With absolutely no apparent concern for his naked, scarred state, he leaned over and turned up the volume. Maribel experienced a wave of sheer awe at his physical condition, at the body that had withstood an assault of cancer and chemicals. The hollows of his pelvic bones probably dipped deeper than they used to. He probably moved with less energy. She hated
Maribel moaned. He dropped to his knees, cock bobbing in front of him, and scrabbled through his pockets to find his wallet. There, between his Visa card and his video-store punch card, sat one lone condom.
Maribel was kneeling on the bed, watching him anxiously, when he arose, now fully sheathed. She looked so beautiful, her sunset hair a crazy tangle, her hazel eyes foggy with desire, that he wished he had an ounce of artistic talent so he could attempt to capture a tiny portion of her glory.
“I love you, Maribel,” he said with sudden soberness. “I’m not doing this casually, just so you know. This means everything to me.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I understand.” She reached for him and drew him against her soft body as if welcoming him home after a long, dangerous journey.
They moved against each other with none of the usual first-time awkwardness. When she slid her legs apart, still kneeling on the bed, he put both hands on her ass and pulled her hard against his hips. With a gasp from her and a groan from him, they joined in a burst of star-spangled joy. When he thrust into her body, the warmth rushed through him like hot brandy on a cold winter’s night.
Long, luscious moments passed as he immersed himself in the wonder of Maribel. He felt suspended in a world with no time, where all that existed was the feel of her body, the quick beat of her heart against his chest, her hot, panting breath in his ear, the scent of aroused woman, then the frantic, triumphant cries as she tilted over the edge into release. The butterfly tremors of her inner channel around his cock pulled him along with her and he surrendered, helplessly, to the shocking joy of exploding inside her body.
He muttered her name as he came, he who never said much during sex. Now he couldn’t stop babbling things like, “So good . . . Maribel . . . sweetheart . . . oh God . . .” and probably other goofy nonsense stuff. She didn’t seem to mind, holding him tight and laughing breathlessly as he poured himself, heart and soul, into her sweet body.
M ARIBEL DRIFTED HAPPILY on a magic carpet through a sunshine landscape of golden sunflowers and capering clouds. It seemed absurd that such bliss could exist without her having known about it. She’d had sex before—obviously. But she hadn’t had this before. This . . . insanely beautiful, heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul experience. It felt as if she and Kirk had somehow exchanged parts of themselves as they’d made love. Essential parts, parts that meant they now belonged to each other in some basic kind of way.
She sighed happily. She was a fool for love, that’s what she was. Six years of trying to be smart, to be careful and make good choices, gone in a burst of gloriously orgasmic impulsiveness. But to hell with it. This was right. She knew it with every singing cell of her satisfied body.
Next to her, Kirk lay equally stunned, or perhaps asleep. She blew on his ear. “Kirk.”
“Shh.” He lifted a hand abruptly. She drew back, confused. That wasn’t a very romantic afterglow kind of response. Then she saw he was listening closely to the low murmur of his police scanner.
“Sounds like there’s some sort of fire out on Highway 90.”
“Highway 90?” She sat up. “Where that warehouse is?”
“Yeah. A lot of other buildings too. Hang on.” He got up and walked to the scanner, which sat balanced on the windowsill in the absence of a bedside table. With absolutely no apparent concern for his naked, scarred state, he leaned over and turned up the volume. Maribel experienced a wave of sheer awe at his physical condition, at the body that had withstood an assault of cancer and chemicals. The hollows of his pelvic bones probably dipped deeper than they used to. He probably moved with less energy. She hated
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