JBrower
02-27-2009, 06:02 PM
Our bodies stick together as we lie on the couch. We are shirtless—she’s in a sports bra—and salt whitens our skin where sweat is drying. Her house is empty, summer sun filtering through the trees and enormous windows. We are back after a run—ten miles for me, four of them with her—in the summer heat, ninety-five degrees, shadeless, and sticky as flypaper.
I slide my fingertips under her sports bra, along her spine, barely brushing her hot skin. She smiles, wordlessly, and our lips press together, interlocking with lazy softness. My other hand runs up the inside of her leg, slowly, starting at her ankle, then calf, then thigh. Her tongue parts my lips, a smile touching the corner of her mouth and twinkling in her eyes. I press my weight against her and slide her bra up, just a little, so I can softly kiss her chest. She bites her bottom lip, curls her legs around the small of my back, and pulls me against her so we are a bundle of warm, tan skin and running shorts. Her back arches slightly until she presses a hand against my chest.
“Stop.”
I look at her, confused.
“I’m too sweaty,” she sighs, her eyes closed.
“Ok.”
She has a plan, instead. “Let’s go swimming and get cleaned off.”
I sit up and she stands, padding down the hall in socked feet. I follow her to her room, where she changes next to the foot of her bed. She peels her sports bra over her head and I watch her bare back, chocolate hair cascading over her shoulders, the slightest curve of her breasts. She is beautiful. I sneak up behind her and wrap my hands around her waist as she ties the top of her swimsuit. I kiss her neck, teasing her, and she makes a noise of frustration.
“I told you,” she says, with a heavy breath, “I’m too sweaty.”
“So what,” I respond, kissing down her neck, as it curves, the back of her head against my shoulder, “its just sweat.”
I slide my fingertips under her sports bra, along her spine, barely brushing her hot skin. She smiles, wordlessly, and our lips press together, interlocking with lazy softness. My other hand runs up the inside of her leg, slowly, starting at her ankle, then calf, then thigh. Her tongue parts my lips, a smile touching the corner of her mouth and twinkling in her eyes. I press my weight against her and slide her bra up, just a little, so I can softly kiss her chest. She bites her bottom lip, curls her legs around the small of my back, and pulls me against her so we are a bundle of warm, tan skin and running shorts. Her back arches slightly until she presses a hand against my chest.
“Stop.”
I look at her, confused.
“I’m too sweaty,” she sighs, her eyes closed.
“Ok.”
She has a plan, instead. “Let’s go swimming and get cleaned off.”
I sit up and she stands, padding down the hall in socked feet. I follow her to her room, where she changes next to the foot of her bed. She peels her sports bra over her head and I watch her bare back, chocolate hair cascading over her shoulders, the slightest curve of her breasts. She is beautiful. I sneak up behind her and wrap my hands around her waist as she ties the top of her swimsuit. I kiss her neck, teasing her, and she makes a noise of frustration.
“I told you,” she says, with a heavy breath, “I’m too sweaty.”
“So what,” I respond, kissing down her neck, as it curves, the back of her head against my shoulder, “its just sweat.”