I Want To Fucking Cum

"I want to fucking cum," I whine, the pleasure rushing up but never even coming close to cresting over.

Beside me Rachel nibbles on my earlobe before she drips acid stained honey into my ear, "I know you do. I want to give it to you. But I think I want it to be special. If I can't give you a man, I want to at least make it close."

My brow furrows and I whine because I don't want any of that. I just want to have a moments peace. I just want to have a taste of what she has had tonight.

What she told me I deserved.

"Anything," I breathe out, "I'll do anything I need to if you just give it to me."

"Oh I want to baby," she promises me, sliding in close and sliding her hand between my thighs and when her fingers brush against the inside of my thigh I realize she's impossibly driven me to this state and she hasn't even touched me properly yet.

"I think I'm wet," I moan, spreading my legs and begging for her to touch me.

"I'm sure you're positively dripping," she giggles, "And I think we should take full advantage of that. Where are your toys?"

My mind is a riot of sensations and it takes three times asking that question for it to register with me. Over and over and all I can think is how much she's not touching me and how much I want her to touch me and all I can do is try to shift and buck my body into a position where she will touch me.

And all she does is deny me until she finally snaps me out of it.

"Emily," Rachel says with practised patience, "Your toys."

I roll my head in the general direction, my arm lazily following afterwards. One finger extended as I point at the pile of boxes still unopened in the corner.

"The one with the number four on it," I say dreamily, "Be fast."

I have questions but they're barely substantial at this point. Instead the sensation of her leaving me is all I can focus on, my skin so cold after she was pressed so warm against me.

I am slick, softened and almost wet and I don't know if it's sweat or passion or just that lotion she'd rubbed all over me. That massage she'd given lingering on my skin with the memory of it loosening my muscles that were tensing now, twitching in anticipation of her return.

Through lidded eyes I watch her move, awed by her graceful strength. Rachel is not a strong woman but she still steps with surefootedness and her body tenses just right when she puts her effort into a task. I notice that not an ounce of her jiggles unnecessarily and I remember, for a brief instant, the way that she'd looked in a future.

One we'd had together.

A part of me, the part that exists in the present, kept on forgetting that I'd seen glimpses of the future. I'd even felt the pull and allure of those forks somewhere along the line.

And I'd not forgotten that I was only happy, but not happy enough. I'd not forgotten that in each of those futures something had been missing, absent from my life. Something hadn't felt quite right.

But one thing that was right was the timeless look of Rachel. Hell even the timeless look of me as well.

With Eddie I was tired. With Blake I'd softened around the edges and gone a little grey. With Lucas I was beautiful, but mature. But with Rachel in spite of the years we'd both kept ourselves in perfect shape.

Still beautiful. Still timeless. Still caught in a moment just like this as she flips open the top of the cardboard box she'd taken down and reaches inside to pull out the treasure that lays within.

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