Big Summer(52)

“Oh,” I sighed, when we finally broke apart. “Oh, wow.” Nick’s eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, pupils dark in the steamy air. He gave me a crooked smile. “I thought this wedding was going to be boring.”

“Same,” he said. He took my hand and guided it under the water, letting go just as I made contact with his erection, so that what happened next would be my choice. I exhaled, appreciating his thoughtfulness. Then I gripped him, rubbing with the heel of my hand, moving the cloth gently against his skin. Nick settled his free hand against the small of my back before letting it drift down to cup my bottom. I stretched my hand lower, cupping his balls, letting my fingertips graze the crease behind them. Nick groaned against my neck. He worked his hand underneath the elastic waistband of my bathing-suit bottom, and I was too turned on to think about my jiggly belly, or whether he’d be able to see my stretch marks. He pressed his hand between my legs, moving his mouth back to my breasts, pressing the tip of his index finger against my most sensitive spot. I could feel his stubble scrape my skin, and his teeth closing gently around my nipple, and his tongue flicking at it, as he held his hand perfectly still. I rocked against him, hoping to give him a hint. He pulled back to smile at me, and I growled in frustration. That was when his fingers finally started to move.

“Oh, God.” I wriggled, rocking against him as he stroked me, breathing hard, feeling his fingers curving inside of me, with my mouth pressed against the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Daphne,” he breathed in my ear, “you feel so good.”

I pressed my lips to the curve of his ear. “I want you inside me,” I whispered. He pulled back to look at me.

“Are you… is it safe? I don’t have any condoms. I wasn’t expecting to make new friends tonight.”

“There’s some in the gift basket by the bed.”

“Thoughtful.” Nick vaulted over the hot tub’s edge, reaching for a towel. Water sheeted down his back and off his shoulders, and in the steam-thick air, I thought he looked like a statue come to life, all silky skin and muscles, his legs lean and muscled, his bottom high and firm. I could see the ridges of his ribs, the articulation of his abs as he crossed the deck and went to the bedroom. When he came back, facing me, I could see his erection bobbing cheerfully in the night air and had a moment’s worth of panic. It had been more than two years since I’d been with a guy, and that had been a forgettable hookup with a colleague of Darshi’s, and Nick’s erection was sizable. He must have seen me looking, because he gave it a few lazy strokes before rolling the condom into place. “Hurry,” I whispered, and he gave the condom one last tug, with a look of intense concentration, like he was getting ready to take a test.

I decided that I wanted to make him smile, that I wanted to make him gasp and sigh, the way he’d made me gasp and sigh.

“Come here,” I said. Nick hopped into the water. I glided over to him, settled myself against him. He touched me, stroking with just the very tip of his finger. “God,” he murmured, “you’re so slippery.”

“Come on,” I said, and took hold of his sheathed erection. He waited, looking up, his eyes on mine. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and lowered myself down, inch by slow inch, until he was all the way inside of me. I’ll bet you make love like a fat girl, Alec Baldwin’s character had once said to Tina Fey’s neurotic, self-conscious character on 30 Rock, and after I’d heard it, whenever I had sex I would hear it echo in my head; the idea that fat girls tried harder in bed, that guys expected exotic tricks or above-average willingness to make up for our extra pounds. I didn’t know tricks. All I had was desire and enthusiasm. But Nick seemed satisfied as he gazed up at me, gripping my breasts with just the right amount of pressure. I waited until I couldn’t possibly hold still for another second. Just when I was getting ready to move, he groaned and grabbed my hips, thrusting, first gently, then harder. I tossed my head to get my wet hair off my face, taking him in more deeply, and as the water churned around us, Nick kissed me, and I forgot to be ashamed, or worry about how things sounded, or how fat girls made love. I could feel the warm water lapping at my back. I could hear the splashes, the tiny clicking noises of wet flesh on lubricated rubber, our breath coming faster and louder, Nick’s soft gasps. His hands slid from my breasts to my hips, but he was letting me set the pace, letting me take my pleasure, letting me use him, and that thought alone, along with the expression on his face as he watched me, was almost enough to push me over the edge.

Almost, but not quite. I took his hand off my hip and guided it down to where our bodies were joined. Nick made a strangling noise, and his hips jerked as he pushed deep inside me, and as I put his fingers where I needed to feel them.

“Oh!” I cried, as I felt it begin. He held me tight, angling his hips and thrusting hard and fast, and I threw my head back, feeling my climax ripple through me, crying my pleasure into the wide, dark sky.



* * *




I woke up at just after five in the morning, as the early-morning light was starting to spill through the floor-to-ceiling window. I’d forgotten to pull the shades down. I’d forgotten to text Darshi. My phone, which I’d forgotten to charge, was on the bedside table, flashing urgently.

I yawned, smoothing the tangled, stiff nest of my hair, smiling at how good I felt. Round One had been in the hot tub, and Round Three had been on the bed, and in between, we’d been kissing by the windows, and Nick had pushed me until my back was flattened against the cool panes.