Falling for Summer (6 page)

My heart is pounding in my throat as I cross the space between us.

Summer heard me coming.  She breathes out now, her shoulders going down, her fists opening and her palms pressed against her legs. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers.  But it's a soft whisper, her words gentle. 

What are you doing
?  I don't know.  I just know what I want and what I need, and in this storming night, the storm roaring all around us, I'm alive with the possibility of attaining it.

I bend forward and brush my lips gently over the curve of her shoulder and neck, the sweet, delicious dip of a curve that is shockingly warm against my cold lips when I press a kiss there. 

Summer shudders beneath that kiss, but she doesn't move, doesn't turn.  Instead, she inclines her head toward me, glancing out of the corner of her eye at me. 

“Amanda,” she says, the word cracking in her mouth, strained.  “Amanda,” she groans again as I reach out and slowly curve my fingers over the curves of her hips.  “Are you sure?” she asks then, the perfect words, the words I needed to hear, to know...

Yes.  Yes, I'm sure.

But I don't tell her that with words.  Instead, I use the language of my body.  I step forward, and I press my breasts, my stomach, my hips, against her back, her rear, wrapping my arms around her tightly, pillowing my cheek against her shoulder.  She is so warm, so very warm.  Even though we were out in the same torrential downpour together, she's still warm, and I'm so very cold, but together, our temperatures almost seem to even out.  I absorb her warmth, and I press another kiss against her muscled shoulder as I trace my fingertips down the curve at her waist, over the swell of her hips and down to her muscled thighs.

She breathes out, and it ends with a soft groan, which makes the need rush through me even stronger than before.  I brush my fingertips up and under the hem of her tank top, grazing them across the hot small of her back as I hiss in an intake of breath.  I trace my fingers around her ribs to her stomach, her well-muscled stomach.  It's strange—I've never felt abs before.  Every woman I've ever been with hasn't been the workout type, so this is something new.  I like it, as I drag my fingers up, up over that gorgeous muscle, and cup her breasts. 

Summer is leaning back against me, her breathing coming fast now, almost panting, as my both of my thumbs gently flick across her nipples that are already peaked, standing at attention, hard against my palms. 

That's when I can't take it anymore.  There's too much blood pounding through me for this to be a slow seduction.  I need her, and I need her now.  I turn her around, and she obliges just as quickly, and then we're crashing into each other, her arms around my shoulders, drawing me to her so quickly, so hard, that when we kiss, it's as electric as the lightning arcing outside, the lightning dancing across the sky.

Her mouth is hot and soft and velvet as she kisses me deeply, curling her hand around the back of my neck so that I'm drawn to her.  I have my fingers hooked around her hips, and I'm pulling her to me, hip to hip, mine bare, hers still within the pajama bottoms and panties, and a rush of delight goes through me, feeling her clothing against my bare skin. 

Her cot is directly behind her, so I push her backward softly with my body, and she takes one step, two steps, responding to my signals.  Summer bends away from our kiss for a split second to take a gulp of air, to glance backwards to see if the cot is there, and in that split second, I see the desire so apparent on her face that a fire is beginning to roar between us.  And then it's over.  I'm pushing her onto the bed, and she falls perfectly onto the center, and I'm immediately climbing on top of her, straddling her hips, as I plant my hands on either side of her head, dip low and claim her mouth with my own.

Summer's hips rise up beneath me and press against my center, eliciting a low moan from me, a low moan that comes out between us as I lift my head back, arching against her, trying to find more friction against her hips.  Summer lifts her head, sitting up on her elbows as she pulls me closer with an arm, her mouth devouring my left breast, her teeth dragging across my nipple.  But then her teeth close around it harder and harder, her tongue flicking against it, and I hiss out my breath, waves of pleasure rocking through me as loudly as the thunder that shakes the cot beneath us.

I urge Summer back down, my hands against her shoulders, and then I'm kissing her again, pushing my center against her hips, her hips thrusting against my center.  I wrap my fingers lightly around her wrists, and then I'm dragging my kisses down from her mouth, my wet kisses, my electric kisses as I taste her skin, her muscles, and I find my mouth against her shoulder again.  I pull down the shoulder strap of her tank top, and then I'm already too wanting, desire rocketing through me as I taste her, the sweet sweat of the day mixed with the ozone of the storm all around us, and the rain.  I tug the tank top up, up, until finally it's bunched around her shoulders, and I'm dipping low to capture her right breast with my mouth. 

Her breasts are beautiful.  They're small, with dark nipples that are hard and peaked for me.  I brush my thumb against her left breast as I pay attention to her right one, kissing it, tugging at the nipple gently with my teeth as she moans beneath me, sighing out, her hands tracing up my body and beginning to twine in my hair.  Her fingernails brush lightly against my scalp, and I shiver against her as I trail kisses over to her other breast, now cupping the right one with my hand.

My fingertips make a quick, heated trail down the front of her stomach and dip below the band of her pajama bottoms.  Instantly, Summer's hands are at her waistband, and together, we're tugging her pajama bottoms and panties off, discarding them just as quickly over the edge of the cot.  She's up on her elbows again, panting, as she stares down at me with glazed, dark eyes full of need. 

I'm crouching between her knees now, and I look up at her through my eyelashes, smiling soft as I bend down, brushing my lips against her bellybutton.

“C'mon,” Summer groans, reaching down, working her fingers into my hair.  “Please, Amanda,” she murmurs reverently, desperately, as she arches her head back, her neck a sweet curve.  She said my name like a prayer.  I shiver as I bend my head, pressing kisses down from her bellybutton to the arch of her rich hip, to the hollow of it, drawing kisses, more kisses, wet kisses, tracing my tongue down, down, until I plant a sweet, soft kiss against her pubic mound. 

Summer is sighing out, her fingers wrapped around my strands of hair, pressing me down, down hard, and I respond, trailing my own fingers up and along the insides of her thighs, tracing spiraled patterns over her skin until my fingertips are resting against her center.  God, she's so wet, so deliciously wet, and as my fingers push through her folds, she hisses out again, bucking her hips, asking, wanting, with every inch of her body, for me to enter her. 

So I do.  I press my fingers up through her slickness, and into her, and Summer groans, moving her hips in a rhythm that almost instantly matches my strokes.  I hover my mouth above her clit, blowing air against it gently, pursing my lips, and she groans again, reaching down, pressing her fingers against the top of my head.  “Please,” she growls, ending that one exquisite word with another groan, breathing out, her voice catching. 

So I bend again, flicking my tongue gently, tantalizingly, across her clit.  Her hips buck so hard against me then, so desperate, that I finally give in.  I cover her clit with my mouth, a total kiss of longing as I tongue that nub gently at first, then firmly, harder and harder, as she rides my hand. 

I know now that—like me—she's been wanting this for hours, too.  She's so wet, and it takes such a short amount of time for her to contract around my hand, for her to cry out, her fingers digging into my scalp, and for her to come against my hand and mouth.  She quivers beneath me as I draw out the orgasm as long as I can, until she's shuddering beneath me, and then I slowly pull my hand out of her, trailing my wet fingertips up her thighs to curl around her hip again, and planting a kiss against her right thigh. 

She lies panting there for a long moment before she's up on her elbows again, her eyes dark with need and trained on me.  “God, you're beautiful,” Summer says then, rising, our limbs tangled, to pull me up beside her, under her as she straddles me, climbing easily on top of me and then kneeling between my legs.  She kisses my wet face, kisses my chin, my jaw, my neck, my earlobe as I squirm beneath her, twisting around so that I can wrap my arms around her shoulders, drawing her down to me so that I can kiss her fiercely. 

She tastes me gently, carefully, breathing steadily as she's still coming down from that orgasm, but her moves become stronger, quicker, as she traces her fingers down my front, cupping my breasts with her hands, flicking my nipples and pinching them gently with her fingers.  She traces her fingers down, down, until they're wrapped around both of my thighs, and she's pressing my legs apart, wide, so that her bare hips can settle against my center.

God, that feels so good...  I whimper beneath her as she pushes her wet sex against mine, and I throw my head back, wrapping my fingers in the sheets beneath me as I moan.  She's using her right hipbone against my clit, rubbing against me there, sliding against me, her rhythm building, and she's so good at this—or maybe it's because I've been wanting her for hours, too.  But as the thunderstorm rages outside, a pressure begins to build inside of me, a dazzling of pleasure that is mounting closer and closer to the surface as she rocks her hips against mine and stares down at me, the end of her braid dropping over her shoulder to brush against the skin of my neck.  The sensual slide of that satin hair over my skin makes me shiver beneath her as she bends down again, capturing my mouth with her own. 

She moves her hips aside, but just a little, and then, with a practiced, confident stroke, her hand is moving up my thigh and into me.  Two fingers at first, and I'm so wet that I can take her easily as I breathe out in a shudder against her shoulder.  I wrap my arms around her so tightly, and then she begins to move her hand in and out of me, brushing her thumb with practiced grace against my clit.

I think I'm going to come there and then, but I don't.  She's completely over me, pressing against me, and I'm covered by her tan length, her muscles against my skin, and it's so sensual, that feeling, of her hardness against my softness.  I never thought it could be this sexy, the disparity between someone who physically works for a living and someone who can't be bothered to go to a gym—but, my God, it is. 

Summer tastes of exactly that: summer. She tastes of green grasses and lake water and the sweet salt of sweat and everything that makes you glad to be alive.  As she kisses me, as she presses her tongue between my lips and I taste her, taste her deeply, I find that I'm hungry for all of these things.  I'm hungry for the freedom of an afternoon swim at the lake, and I'm hungry for the carefree life that Summer seems to have had.  My life hasn't been carefree, but as we move together, she and I, a small part of her freedom seems to be gifted to me.

It usually takes me a very long time to orgasm, and I often don't do it at all.  And I don't know whether it's the energy of the storm, the energy of my wanting her...  I don't know.  But I come against her hand so quickly that the strength of that blissful explosion moving through me is such a surprise that it seems to make the orgasm even better, the waves of pleasure radiating through me like light.

I pant against her shoulder as I ride through those moments of surreal bliss, and finally, completely spent, I'm panting against the sheets as Summer falls beside me, propped up onto her elbow as she grins down on me in the dark of the room, the only light the wood stove crackling merrily away in the corner, but it's enough light to see her outline, those perfect muscles, that tan skin that I can't help but reach for, tracing my fingertips over the warmth of her curves.

  She brushes her mouth against my collarbone, and then she, too, is lying down on the bed, staring at the ceiling companionably beside me, our shoulders against each other.

Summer reaches between us and threads her fingers through mine, holding my hand tightly.  As I try to get my breathing to steady, as I push my hand back through my hair, Summer is turning and pressing a soft, warm kiss against my neck again.

“I knew,” she said then, her low voice a growl.  “I saw you with her.  That night.”

That night.

The euphoria of the orgasm begins to fade through me as I think about that night.  That night.  The night that my life changed forever.  The night that my sister's life was taken away from her.  The night that I should have been there but wasn't...

I stare up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.

I wasn't there when I should have been...

Because of a girl.

---

That night, twenty years ago, Mom and Dad made me
promise
that I'd be there for Tiffany's slumber party and that I'd babysit the whole affair.  They were going to a work dinner, and to have that many ten-year-olds in the house without intense supervision was going to “bring chaos,” my mother had warned me, with a wry smile, twisting her hair up into a bun on the top of her head as she got ready for the dinner. 

“I know you wanted to go out with your friends tonight, Mandy, but there will be plenty of other nights for that.  I mean, my God, you have the whole summer stretching in front of you.”  She sighed happily, thrusting another bobby pin into her updo.  She pinned me to the spot with her reflection in the vanity mirror.  “We don't ask much of you,” she reminded me, one brow up.  “Just promise me that you'll stay around and watch the kids and make sure they don't get up to any mischief.”