Preview: Wrap Party

So, the subscriber-exclusive vignette I'm working on has turned out not to be a vignette at all :)

I'll be following it through to its full, natural length over the next few days, so for now, a preview!

***

Andrea grabbed me by the front of my jacket, just the way she had in our improvised scene, and pushed me onto the neatly made queen bed of this stark, hotel-like guest room.

She climbed on top of me and kissed me.

Her lipstick today was different from the one the makeup department used on her, sweeter and less dry.

My pulse accelerated, ran into itself, until I could swear it had taken on a third syllable.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

It was so far from our first kiss, and yet it was also the first, the first without cameras or fake names or even a suggestion of a script.

I ran my fingers up her thighs, under her lacy, layered minidress, and no one shouted “cut,” no matter how high I got, not even when I was tracing the edges of her panties.

Andrea reached between us, petting her way down my stomach to my jeans. (My nicest, cleanest, hole-free, special occasion jeans, I swear.) She fiddled with the fabric for just a moment, making sure it was lying flat to my body rather than empty space, and then swiped her hand firmly over my pussy, down and then up, hitting every nerve.

I gasped out loud.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Andrea said, kissing the side of my jaw.

“Me too,” I said, and rubbed my hand a little more gently over the thinner barrier of her panties, in the same motion.

“Oh, but God forbid a movie shows something that feels good, right?” Andrea moaned, grinding the silky, warm fabric against my palm. “Showing my tits out in the cold, that’s mandatory. Grabbing a guy's balls in a fight, sure, that's funny. But one soft, sweet little touch right here, under and through all the clothes in the world,” she stroked me firmly again, “that's obscene.”

“Well… fuck ‘em,” I said.

“Fuck ‘em,” Andrea agreed, unbuttoning my jeans. “They’re not here now.”

She got up to pull my jeans off, and once we got started on the clothes, we kept going, getting that one last agonizing interruption out of the way all at once.

I helped her with the tiny, fiddly zipper of her dress, and hopelessly knotted the laces of my designated “nice” shoes, rushing myself out of them.

Fully naked, we fell back into each other’s magnetic fields, kissing and stroking whatever we could reach.

She worked her way down my body, leaving lipstick streaks I could not have minded less, kissing my breasts, my thighs, gently but confidently beginning to eat me out.

It felt incredible, but I was already dizzy on my feet, and all I wanted was a continuous reminder of what my heart was still muttering to me in its panicked, disbelieving staccato.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

The truth was, I’d mentally interposed this very fantasy over my clit-sucking toy so many times that I half expected to find myself alone in my room the moment I came.

I put my hands on her shoulders and tugged her back up to where I could kiss her again.

“Too hard?” she asked. “Too soon?”

I shook my head, bringing my lips to hers at every possible moment between motions. “Too far away from me,” I answered.

She put her arms around me and squeezed. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

We lay back on the bed together again, side by side to begin with. We shuffled through face-to-face positions, silently negotiating over who would grind on what. It quickly became clear than we both liked our contact direct, our legs apart.

I ended up on top, but with Andrea’s legs draped up over my elbows, my own legs spread wide around her hips and thighs, bringing two splayed pussies as close together as possible. Hers was just a little bit forward of mine, and each grinding thrust of my hips touched our clits together with a satisfying bump.

“Harder,” she said. “I won’t break.”

I braced my toes on the comforter and threw more of my weight into the motion, stretching her hips further, rubbing us closer, longer.

“Can you reach me here too?”

She cupped her breasts from the outside edges, standing them up a little taller toward me.

I grabbed her shoulder and brushed my nipples against hers on my next stroke, and the one after that, and the one after that.

“Oh, god, that’s the best,” Andrea sighed.

It was the best. Once I was sure her somewhat contorted position wasn’t detracting from the experience for her, I started to lose myself to my side of it. It was so much better for the knowledge that everything I made myself feel, I was making her feel more or less the same.

Right around the same time I felt the buildup of my own orgasm coming on, Andrea’s breath quickened.

“I… don’t… want… to stop,” she said.

“I don’t want to stop either,” I said.

“We don’t have to stop,” she said delightedly, as if she were only just remembering it again.

“We don’t have to stop!” I confirmed.

“We don’t have to stop!”