Morgan paced the floor, her hands trembling. She hadn’t seen James in nearly twenty years – not since they were children. They’d been teenagers, experimenting in love and hate with each other, the latter of which had caused the distance both in time and location. But she’d always held him in her heart, though she hated to admit it. There had been something there. As an immature child, she didn’t want to face it. She couldn’t. As an equally immature adult, she was torn. She was afraid. What if that passion was still there? What if what had caused the love and lust and dreams and pain and heartache had never left?
She knew she was being silly. She was old, with all the tell-tale wrinkles and sagginess. She knew there was nothing nearly as attractive about her as what once might have been – though had you asked her back then, she would have stated her unattractiveness then as well. But now? Yes, now there definitely was nothing to get a man hot. She’d come to realize that several years back. But she couldn’t help but be afraid. And it wasn’t just fear of that desire still existing. She was also afraid of the fire not existing anymore. She wasn’t sure why either scenario frightened her. She hadn’t seen him in ages. It shouldn’t come as any surprise if he didn’t want her. Or if she didn’t want him.
She jumped as the doorbell rang, her heart beating hard against her chest. Her fingers trembled even more and she took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. A nervous smile twitched on her lips as she opened the door for him. She noted that he had changed a little, which was to be expected after all the years, but then her eyes met his. They were the same eyes. Perhaps a bit more cynicism resided within the depths, but they were still dark, holding secrets he kept buried – holding the pain he’d known. And they still held that passion.
“James,” she finally muttered, biting at her lower lip as she opened the door wider to allow him to come in. He looked as nervous as she as he stepped into her home. She closed the door, her eyes still fixated on his.
“Morgan…” She could tell he was trying to keep his voice calm. She could hear the stifled nerves in those two syllables.
She reached her hand out instinctively, subconsciously expecting him to flinch. Instead, he moved into her touch.
“Morgan,” he repeated, this time with a cautionary tone. She ignored the warning, searching his eyes with her own, her fingers brushing down his cheek, over his jaw. She could feel his intake of breath as her fingers slid down his neck. His look softened; the fear and uncertainty forgotten as he gazed back at her, his own hand reaching out, slipping behind her neck, reassuring and passionate as it guided her closer.
She could feel his breath against her lips, could feel the heat of his hand on her neck. Her fingers snaked around to the back of his neck, pulling him down towards her. Their lips met with fiery passion, tasting and teasing and tempting a deeper reaction from the other. She moaned against his kiss, pressing herself closer to him, her hips grinding against him desperately. Both seemed to forget where they were – the small, cramped entryway not bothering either of them as they clung to each.
James brought his hands to her shoulders, shoving her against the wall, his mouth continuing its assault on hers before moving down to her neck, hungrily nipping and tasting along her collar bone. Somehow his teeth managed to find her nipple through her clothing, gently grating against the hardening nub as she tried to press closer to him.
“Please, James,” the desperate plea finally escaped her swollen lips, pulling his gaze back up to her eyes. For a brief moment she saw the hesitation, saw his uncertainty. “Please,” she repeated, letting him see her vulnerability and need and passion. That look was his undoing. He shoved her back again against the wall, his hand eagerly slipping beneath the hem of her short skirt. He could feel her moist heat well before he found the center of her desire. A small smile played on his lips as he allowed the tips of his fingers to slip under the lace panties.
Morgan whimpered, rocking against his touch, each breath a plea. She was so wet, so hot. James let a finger slide inside her, feeling her body pulse against his touch, pulling him in. He slipped another inside, his mouth closing down over hers, absorbing her moan. He grabbed the small piece of fabric, ripping it from her body to allow him easier access to her heat. The hunger built, and she frantically sought to free him from his jeans, her fingers trembling as she managed to get the button and zipper taken care of. She felt more than heard his groan as her fingers wrapped around the hard length of him.
She let out a cry as in one quick motion he had hooked his arms under her legs, pulling her up, holding her against the wall, and had thrust his length deep into her. He held himself there for a moment, allowing her to adjust to the sudden intrusion. Morgan started moving first, her hips rocking against him, letting out small whimpers as she felt him moving so slightly inside her. She bit her lip, trying to maintain some sense of control.
James watched her face, his eyes flickering with barely contained fire. He smiled a little, pulling back, then thrusting himself deeper into her. She cried out again, this time leaning in to kiss him again. He pulled away, not saying a word. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on her eyes and thrust again. And again. His movements became faster, just as her breath did. He knew she was trying to hold back, to restrain herself.
“Morgan,” he whispered,his voice ragged and filled with more passion and need than she’d heard before. It was her undoing. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into him. Her legs tightened desperately around him. He thrust again, this time hard and deep. She screamed, her body clutching him, throbbing against his cock as he held himself deep inside her, groaning with her cries, letting himself explode inside her as they kept their eyes locked on each other, watching the fireworks within each other’s eyes.
Their breathing was still ragged, their bodies still entwined, James still buried within her. He slowly pulled himself from her, lowering her trembling legs to the floor but still keeping himself pressed against her. He brought his hand up to rest against her cheek.
“So,” he smiled sheepishly, “how’ve you been?”
