Still of the Night III

Bill kissed Laura, wanting more than anything in that moment to feel her mouth beneath his, the softness of her breaths against his cheek, and the natural molding of her body to his.

She wanted to make love with him, had freed him to do whatever he desired to that end, making him ache for her in whole new ways.

In a day, he had gone from frakking her wildly without knowing her name and now was going to make love to her, because she needed it, because they both did, because their respective experiences had left them both starving for something more than they’d shared so far and they hadn’t found anywhere else. But they had a chance here at it, and neither of them was going to pass it up.

He was smart enough to not label it love. He knew what it was to feel that and this was different. This was need, the fundamental human need for caring contact, for reverence and tenderness, a connection that went beyond sex.

It was possible for love to grow out of that, yes, but they weren’t there, and it wasn’t what they were seeking, or even needed.

No, they needed freedom, to give themselves to someone else knowing it was safe, that hearts weren’t going to be broken or persons misused, knowing that needs were going to be met without hesitation, question or judgment. They needed peace, understanding and acceptance within the bonds of intimacy that encompassed more than the physical.

It was heady to be on the cusp of that. It made the heart skip and insides flutter. It made sensitive flesh heavy with anticipation. It made the simplest of kisses divine and caresses blessings from the gods, even for the unbeliever. It shut out the worlds.

Feeling her mouth open beneath his, he breathed into her but declined the invitation to deepen their kiss in favor of caressing each of her lips with his. So gently, he worried each, top then bottom, making her moan so softly he could barely hear it. But he did hear it and it was a sweet sound, the kind that he loved to hear a woman make because of him.

“I want to call you baby,” he whispered, rising to kiss her temple as his hands slipped back into her hair. It was thick and soft, wild after a few strokes of his fingers through it. He loved it, raked his hands through the long strands.

“You already did,” she breathed, bliss cascading over her features at being petted.

He did not remember, asked, “Did you like it?”

She nodded.

His heart thumped harder. “So it would be all right?”

“Yes,” she said on a thready breath.

“Thank you, baby,” he sighed softly, brought his hands around to her face. He stroked her lightly, brushing fingertips across her brow and cheeks, down her neck. She trembled, smoky eyes opening to watch him as he touched her.

Gently, he tugged at her bottom lip with his thumb, eyes holding hers. She shifted, kissed the attentive digit then closed her eyes and nuzzled into his palm, head leaning slowly toward him. He slipped his hand to the back of her head and guided her to him, bringing her brow to rest against his chin as her fingers found the buttons on his shirt.

Closing his eyes, he held her gently, massaging her neck as she undid one after the other, pushing them through their holds, touching his skin as it was it revealed. He moaned softly when she unfastened his trousers and pulled the shirttails free, and when she finished the buttons and pushed the garment from his shoulders. He dropped his arms so that she could take it all the way down and off.

Her hands slowly descended the length of his arms, nudging the fabric down to his wrists, pushed it past his hands. As it dropped to the floor with nary a sound, she smoothed her hands over his pectorals then ducked to kiss his throat.

Finding his pulse, she suckled there. He moaned softly, again delved his hands into her hair, leaning his head against hers when she moved lower, to his collarbone. He shuddered when she descended further, closed her lips around one of his nipples in a sweet kiss. Then she was righting herself and moving away to sit on the edge of her bed.

“Come here,” she said, holding out her hands.

He went, sliding his hands down her arms when she reached for the zipper on his trousers. He watched with bated breath as she lowered it then his trousers. He stepped out of them, then his socks as she pushed those down his feet one at a time.

Her lips touched the underside of his cock, restrained in his boxers as she sat back up. The kiss was gentle, reverent, as was the caress she made to his length as it bowed the material around it. He relished the caresses and the spirit in which she bestowed them, and the ones that came after, when his boxers were also cast aside.

With both hands, she caressed him, holding him, stroking with the flat of her palm and the tips of her fingers. She kissed his belly, then lifted his cock to kiss his broad head, then blessed his shaft with warm, tender caresses of her lips, even the heaviness of his sac.

Through it all, he trembled and whispered her name, caressed the top of her head and her cheeks. He bowed and kissed the crown of her head, but she urged him back up then, arching her back, delicately situated his length against her sternum. He watched, heart pounding, when she then wrapped his weeping cock in the softness of her breasts.

“Laura,” he breathed unsteadily, reached and covered her hands with his, stroked them gently, then her face when she tucked her chin and kissed away the pearly wetness and massaged him with the soft mounds.

Gods, that was almost too much.

Tipping her head back, he brought her gaze back to him. “Easy,” he warned.

She smiled in understanding, slowly eased her attentions then placed her hands on his belly. It was bigger than it used to be, and softer. Once upon a time, his muscles had been defined, catching the eyes of the female pilots in the co-ed showers, but not these days. Only thing it caught now was what fell off his fork. That’s why it surprised him when she whispered, “I like this.”

He chuckled softly. “I don’t know why,” he said, covering her hands with his own.

“It’s comfortable,” she said then shrugged almost shyly. “It’s different.”

“Different’s good,” he said, smiling at her.

“This different is good,” she agreed in part then pressed her cheek against him. Bill felt the brush of her eyelashes against his skin, the gentleness of her breaths. Her hands slid around him to rest on his lower back. “I’m comfortable with you, Bill.”

Bill shut his eyes, wondering if she knew what a gift those words were.

Hands sliding to hers, urging her to ease her hold on him, he lowered himself to his knees, frowning when the joints creaked in protest. He had no business getting down into the floor at his age, but it was where he needed to be at the moment.

She smiled at him dotingly when he settled on his haunches, reached out and touched his face, fingertips catching on the pocks in his cheek. There was such gentleness and fondness in her touch. “You know what they call me aboard ship?” he asked, sliding his hands along her thighs.

She shook her head. “What?”

He grinned, gripped her hips and pulled her closer to him. “The old man.”

“Mmmm.” It was an amused sound. “Do you think they’d call me the old woman?” she asked.

“Not if they’re smart,” he countered, rising up on his knees.

She laughed lightly, her hands coming to rest on his upper chest. “Kids aren’t always smart.”

It was his turn to laugh. “No,” he shook his head. “But I have the keys to the airlocks, keeps them in line.”

Her eyes flashed bright with humor. “Mmmm, airlocks. Beats the hell out of detention for the unruly.”

“They’re big kids,” he chuckled then shook his head with a bit of exasperation. “And so godsdamned young and idealistic.”

“Wish you could go back and be that age again?” she asked, eyes searching his, amusement fading slowly away.

“No,” he shook his head. Even with creaking, achy joints, a spreading middle, and a waning libido, he wouldn’t go back to those years of uncertainty and confusion. He liked being an old man, probably more than was wise to admit.

“Me either,” she confessed. “The energy was nice, but there was so much … detritus.”

Bill nodded then smiled. “We wouldn’t have had this conversation naked back then,” he noted.

She laughed. “No. Probably not even clothed.”

He laughed. “No. Not drunk or sober.”

“No,” she giggled then looked at him in befuddled wonder. “How did we end up having this conversation when we’re supposed to be making love?”

Bill slid a hand up and cupped a breast in response to her question, held her gaze. “Because making love isn’t always about the sex.”

“We probably wouldn’t have known that back then,” she remarked, her voice notably breathy as he rubbed her nipple to hardness with his thumb.

“Age has its rewards,” he agreed, ducked down to nibble on the rising tip of her other breast, making her gasp.

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