She Calls, You Answer

The text was typical. A 9-1-1 from Piper, stranded, boyfriend failing again. You sent back your standard “On my way,” grabbed your keys, and headed out. But when you opened your front door to leave, she was already there. Piper, leaning against your doorframe, looking up at you with those clear blue eyes. She wasn’t stranded. She was home.

She’s wearing a thin, cream-colored sweater and those shorts that make your throat dry. Her dark hair is down, slightly mussed. “I lied,” she says softly, before you can speak. “My car’s right there. He did pick me up. I sent him home.” She pushes past you into your apartment, that familiar scent of her perfume trailing behind her. You just watch her, the door still open.

She turns to face you in the middle of your living room, hugging herself. “I do this all the time, don’t I? Call you when he messes up. Or when anyone messes up.” You close the door, leaning back against it. “Yeah, you do.” She takes a step closer. “Do you know why?” You shake your head, your heart starting to hammer against your ribs.

“It’s because it’s the only excuse I have to talk to you,” she blurts out, her voice thick. “To hear your voice. To see you. To have you… just look at me like you are right now.” A single tear tracks down her flawless cheek.

She swats it away, frustrated. “God, I’m such a coward. I date these idiots because they’re not you, and then I call you to complain about them because I miss you.”

You’re across the room in two strides. Your hands cup her face, your thumbs brushing away the wetness. “Piper…” Her name is a prayer, a curse, everything. She leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “All this time?” you whisper. Her eyes open, blazing with a truth she’s held back for years. “All this time,” she confirms, her lips parting. The space between you vanishes.

The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s years of pent-up frustration and want, a dam breaking. Her hands fist in your shirt, pulling you closer. You taste the salt of her tears and the sweet mint of her gum. Her body molds against yours, every toned curve pressing into you.

When you finally break apart, breathless, she’s smiling that wicked, playful smile you’ve only ever seen in her photos. “Your turn,” she breathes.

Her hands go to the hem of her sweater. In one smooth, confident motion, she pulls it over her head and tosses it aside. She’s standing there in just a lace bra and those tiny shorts. Her skin is smooth and glowing in your lamplight.

“See something you like?” she teases, but her voice shakes just a little. You answer by reaching for her, your mouth finding hers again as your hands slide down her bare back.

You walk her backwards until her knees hit the edge of your couch. She sinks down, pulling you with her. Your mouth leaves hers to trail kisses down her neck, over her collarbone. You unhook her bra, and it falls away. Her breasts are perfect, full, her nipples hard.

You take one into your mouth and she arches off the couch with a sharp gasp. “Fuck, yes,” she moans, her fingers threading through your hair.

Your hand slides down her stomach, under the waistband of her shorts, and finds her pussy already wet and hot for you. She lets out a broken sigh. “Please,” is all she says, bucking her hips against your hand. You peel the shorts and her panties down her long legs, throwing them across the room.

Then you’re kneeling on the floor before her, spreading her legs. Her clear blue eyes are dark with lust, watching you.

You don’t tease. You put your mouth on her, your tongue sliding through her folds to find her clit. Piper cries out, her head falling back. “Right there, oh god, right there,” she chants, her hands gripping the cushions. You taste her, drink her in, lapping at her until her thighs are shaking around your head and her moans are continuous, pleading sounds. She comes with a sharp cry, her body bowing off the couch.

Before she can recover, you’re undoing your pants, freeing your cock. She looks down at it, biting her lip. “I’ve thought about that,” she admits, her voice husky. You guide yourself to her entrance, pressing the head against her slick warmth. “Now you don’t have to think,” you growl, and push inside her in one slow, deep thrust.

She screams your name, her nails digging into your shoulders as you fill her completely.

You set a brutal, perfect rhythm, each thrust hitting deep. She meets every one, her hips rolling. “Harder,” she demands, her legs locking around your waist. “Fuck me harder, I’ve waited so long.” You oblige, pounding into her, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Her talking turns to mindless, filthy praise. “Your cock feels so good… you’re gonna make me come again… I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours…”

You feel her tighten around you, her second orgasm rushing up to meet her. “Come with me,” she begs, her eyes locked on yours. It wrecks you. Your release surges, pumping deep inside her as she shudders and clenches around your cock, her own climax milking you through yours. You collapse together on the couch, a sweaty, breathless tangle of limbs. Her head finds its spot on your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.