Georgie, All Along (64)

When we get to the back door, I slide it open and let Hank go before us both. I point to the fancy bed he’s got and toss him his favorite antler, telling him to settle in. I’m newly grateful for the time I took to get things straightened in here—my furniture back in place, everything tidy. But I don’t think Georgie notices, because she doesn’t look around.

She looks only at me.

And it feels so good, that look—nothing tentative, no suspicion or judgment or misplaced curiosity. She looks at me like I’m exactly what she wants.

My hands are back on her hips, my mouth back against her skin, and I walk her toward the bedroom, a short distance given the small size of this place. Our skin is damp, our remaining clothes soaking wet, and Georgie reaches around long enough to unsnap her bra, letting it fall to the ground between us as she presses her bare breasts against me. My brain is still short-circuiting from that when she gets her hands on my wet waistband, rolling my boxer briefs down over my rock-hard dick, and it’s so fast, getting naked with her. The other night, I was fully dressed with her for hours in the dark of night, and now here we are, stripped totally bare in the broad light of day. It’s so hard to believe that I have to stop and ask her, stop and make sure of her.

“You want this?”

“Yes,” she says, then repeats it after she kisses me again, “Yes,” breathy and insistent. I love the way she says that yes. I decide I ought to find out everything in life she wants to say yes to, so I can hear it over and over again. Ice cream, a vacation, a piece of jewelry, a night out, a new house, whatever.

You want this?

Yes, yes.

Once we’re on the bed I’m wild with it—her naked body and the wanting written all over it in the flush along her perfect, dappled neck, the peaked tips of her pink-brown nipples, the wetness between her legs against my thigh. I’m so overwhelmed by it all I hardly know where to start. I duck my head, licking a path down her neck.

“Levi,” she breathes, writhing against me. “Everything is so good. I want everything.”

“You can have it,” I say against the skin of her stomach. “Anything you want.”

She gazes down at me, and then she smiles again, setting her hand on the top of my head and gently pushing down.

Thank God.

She tastes perfect between her legs, like the clean salt tang of the river, like Georgie—fuss and chaos and fun, and holy shit, if I thought she was expansive before, sitting across from me at a table or grinding herself to orgasm on my lap or forgiving me for a fuck-up, I had no idea what I was in for when I got her like this. She opens her thighs and keeps her hand on my hair, guiding me right where she wants me; she moves against my face and sounds out her pleasure to me; she soaks me. I take everything, starving for her—I lick at her and inside her; I suck softly at the place where she’s most sensitive, the place that makes her fist her hand in my hair and gasp my name as if it’s the only one she’s ever heard or said or thought of.

When she comes it’s different from before; it’s not the kind of rolling, sweet orgasm where I can stay steady and stable for her. It’s a wave, the kind I imagine comes from that ocean she spent all those years near—big and pulsing and loud, nothing like the mostly quiet placidity of the river outside. I’ve got to concentrate to keep from getting swept away with it, from pulling away from her too soon and levering my body up to anchor myself inside her. She hasn’t asked for that yet, and I can stay under here in the pounding aftermath of her pleasure until she asks me for something different.

I rest my forehead on her stomach, breathing hard. Her hands push through my still-wet hair, and I expect she’ll need a minute. Or longer, given the way she’s panting, too.

But after what only must be a few seconds, she speaks again, her voice rough and reedy, but I can tell, somehow, ready. Still ready or ready all over again, it doesn’t matter.

There’s a smile in her voice, an invitation.

“You said I could have everything.”





Chapter 15


Georgie


When I tell Levi I want everything, I know what he thinks I mean. He thinks I mean sex, and I definitely, definitely do, especially now that I’ve felt his bare, hard erection against my skin. And when he pushes himself up from where he’d been between my legs, and I get my first good look at what’s between his, I admit—that everything does narrow down, pretty much, to things having to do with him inside of me.

But I meant something more, too, and when he leans down to kiss me, my taste still on his lips and tongue, it comes back to me—the everything meant the last hour I’ve spent with Levi made infinite somehow, that apology he made to me on the dock giving way to all the stories he hasn’t yet told me about himself; that wild and unrestrained jump off the dock unspooling into days and days of laughter together; that kiss in the water becoming the kiss between my legs, the kiss he’s giving me now, the kiss he’ll give me tom—

“Georgie,” he whispers against my lips. “Wait.”

I freeze beneath him, hoping I didn’t say any of that stuff about infinity out loud. But as it turns out I’ve gotten so lost in the thought of it that I’ve wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him bare against me. Almost inside me.

“Let me get something,” he says.

“Oh God!” I exclaim, loosening my grip on him and tipping my hips back. “I’m sorry.”