"Where's my noise? Come on baby, start grunting. If you don't make this good for me I won't fuck you."

As usual, I couldn't keep my mouth in check. At least I was still whispering.

I pushed my finger in all the way and Hannah released another low, involuntary grunt against my palm. Fuck, I had her right where I wanted her. I started to finger her ass hard and fast, forcing my knuckles in against her body's resistance. Hannah jerked against the wall and the noises kept coming, snorts and grunts and snuffles that were driving me wild.

"That's nice, Hannah, god that's nice." My cock throbbed and I rubbed it against her skin. "When you stop snorting and grunting I can hear your ass kind of squelching with my finger in there. I'm getting a lot of lube inside you. I bet you can't wait to be back upstairs, walking around with that lube in your ass, maybe feeling a little sore. This is what you wanted when you shook your ass for me, right?"

Hannah gave a low, humiliated moan.

I stopped fingering her and she tensed.

"More?" I chuckled. "It's your turn now, lover. You need to show me how much you like this. Ride my finger. I'm going to uncover your mouth. Think you can keep your voice down?"

Hannah nodded frantically.

"Alright. You stay quiet and ride my finger good with your ass. Make sure you're rubbing your breasts against the wall. You're making me feel perfect."

I lowered my hand from Hannah's mouth and she took a careful breath. Her eyes slipped closed. With her hands pressed to the wall and her chest thrust into it, she began to bounce her ass on my finger.

"Nnnn..." A low, trembling hum sounded in her throat.

"Oh, darling," I breathed. I didn't dare take hold of my cock as Hannah forced her ass onto my finger. I would come. It was too sexy, the sight of Hannah's ass like that.

God, I had to get inside of her. It was hell to delay. It was heaven, too.

"Good girl, Hannah, good girl. Too bad you locked that door, huh? I know what you really want is for someone to come in here and see you riding my finger with your ass."

"Oh," she gasped.

I moved my other hand between Hannah's legs so that her next motion forced three of my fingers into her pussy.

She made a strangled noise.

"Shhh, shhh. Keep going. Now you're nice and full, aren't you?"

"Yes... yes."

"Good. This is how you like it, right? Something in your ass, something in your pussy. All you need is something in your mouth."

The possibility excited me as I considered it. A cute little plug for Hannah's butt, her purple vibrator deep in her cunt, and my cock in her mouth. We'd both come so hard. I shivered.

"God damn, Hannah, let's go." I slid my fingers out of her body and grasped her hips. She knew what was coming. She positioned her body so sweetly; I was wrapped around her finger. She gazed over her shoulder with half-lidded eyes and whispered my name. Why did I think I had any power over Hannah? I was hers.

I impaled her slowly. The cushioned walls of her sex gripped my cock, and when I slid back they sucked at me greedily. Mesmerized, I watched my shaft dip in and out of her, the smooth organ coated with her wetness.

"You... hold me so tight," I whispered. My voice was strained.

Usually I wanted to pound my way toward climax, at least for the first round, and especially with Hannah. She made me desperate.

But it was different this time. This time it felt profoundly personal—what Hannah's body was doing to me, what mine was doing to her.

When I glanced up, I found her watching me with hazy eyes. She smiled. I returned a shaky smile.

"Hey," I murmured. So much for my dirty talk. Hannah smiled and my brain melted.

We were silent as I picked up the pace. Hannah spread her legs and jutted her ass toward me. Her instincts were perfect; she did exactly what I needed. She didn't try to meet my thrusts with clumsy motions, she simply stood firm and let me beat into her from behind.

I was swelling or she was getting tighter, or both. The stimulation was exquisite.

Even as I neared climax and reached around to start rubbing Hannah's clit, we kept quiet. I think we were both straining to hear the sound: the squishing and slapping of our bodies coming together desperately. We had no shame in our pleasure. We were perfect partners.

Hannah's orgasm brought on mine. Her cunt squeezed and I exploded.

"Come inside me," she panted. "Oh god..."

I told her that I was coming. I told her to come on my dick. I almost told her I loved her.

Sex is the damndest thing.

CHAPTER 16

Hannah

MATT STARTED TO cry after we had sex in my room.

This was a day of firsts.

A guy giving my mother flowers. A guy crying after sex with me.

I always thought if a guy cried after sex, I would forever see him as a milk toast. I'm not heartless; the idea just seems sappy.

That was before I met Matt. Matt crying, and trying to hide his tears, was the saddest sweetest thing I had seen in a long time. And it was deeply affecting. I felt my own eyes watering as he shuffled away and swiped his forearm across his face.

"Sorry, fuck." He fumbled with his shorts.

"Hey, come here."

Another first: not feeling hella awkward comforting someone. I had never been good at this kind of thing. With Matt, it came naturally. I went to him and pulled him into a warm hug. I stroked my fingers through his hair and rubbed his back.

"It was just a really intense orgasm," he mumbled.

Just a really intense orgasm? Matt wasn't sobbing, but I had seen the tears rolling down his cheeks. They weren't happy tears. He was sad, and he looked shaken.

Where did this grief come from?

"Matt, let me in," I said. "Let me into your life a little bit."

When we pulled apart, there was no trace of his tears except for the faintest redness to his eyes. He smiled and ruffled my hair.

"I am," he said. "I will."

I sent Matt upstairs before me so that we wouldn't stumble into the kitchen together, suspiciously flushed. Matt's hair looked a little wild but I let that go. Only Chrissy might notice and know what it meant, and the thought made me wickedly gleeful.

I pulled on my bikini top and shorts, throwing a long t-shirt overtop.

We strolled through the yard as night came on. Matt took my hand.

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was troubling him, though other times he looked so content that my worries seemed silly.

Whatever the case, we gave up trying to avoid public displays of affection. In plain view of dad on the deck and mom in the kitchen (and Chrissy potentially spying from her room), Matt pressed me against an old cottonwood and kissed me longingly.

We lay together in the hammock, cackling and nearly pitching out of it until we got settled. I told him how much his library impressed me. We chatted about the authors we both liked—Frost, Chandler, Kerouac—and Matt quoted a poem to me, "The Fire of Drift-wood."

"That's one of my favorites," he said.

He'd recited the lines with feeling and then flashed a small, self-deprecating smirk, as if I might mock him.

"It's beautiful," I said, "and sad. Do you like sad things?"

I ran my fingers along the neckline of his shirt. I had finally relaxed enough to stop worrying that I was crushing the breath out of him. The only hammock arrangement that didn't end with us in the dirt was me stretched out on top of Matt.

He feathered his fingers through my hair and gazed up into the sky.

"I guess so. At least, sad things seem truest to me."

"Truest? Happiness isn't true?"

"It's true." He smiled. "But sadness is truer. Whatever else life contains, it's sad because it has to end."

"But life would be hell if it went on forever."

"Or heaven," he murmured.

I traced my fingers down Matt's side. I could feel a few ribs. God, he was all muscle and taut skin. I'd watched him pick at his lunch earlier while leering at me like I was the most appetizing thing at the table.

I wanted to feed him. I wanted to comfort and take care of him.

And I never wanted to let him go, which would be unavoidable tonight. He probably had work tomorrow and I absolutely had to start pulling my weight at home—unpacking, making a more serious effort to help with mom's work, and brushing up my resume for Pamela Wing. Which reminded me.

"Matt, do you know the fax number at Pamela Wing's office?"

"Actually, I do," he said. "I'll give it to you before I go."

Before I go. My chest tightened.

I heard a distant pop.

"The fireworks are starting," I said. Thank god. I couldn't lie there thinking about Matt driving off tonight. "We better get up on the deck."

"Yeah." He sounded as subdued as I felt.

It was a hot night, but mom lit a fire in the chiminea and we all sat on the deck watching three distant displays. Matt shoved his chair laughably close to mine and still looked unhappy about the arrangement. I think he would have preferred me on his lap.

He checked his phone neurotically. I had to nudge him a few times to show him the prettiest fireworks, the ones that fell like gold dust and lingered in the sky.

When the last finale went off, Matt helped put away the folding chairs and clear the citronella candles. Daisy whined and followed him. I wanted to whine and follow him, too.

He shook hands with dad. He hugged mom. Jay and Chrissy were already downstairs on the PS3, where they'd be until two in the morning.

I trailed Matt to his car.

I could get in and go home with him. Would he want that? Tonight had been magical for me, but maybe Matt was putting on a show. Maybe he couldn't wait to be alone. He was a puzzle, and the more I opened up to him, the more closed he seemed to me.

"I know I can't steal you away tonight," he said. "Would you come?"

"In a heartbeat, Matt. But—"

"I know. Life."

"Yeah." I held his hips. "Tomorrow's Friday though."

"Can I see you?"

"Of course! There's no one I'd rather see, and it's not like I have any other friends."

"What about the high school friend?"

"Evan?" I laughed. "Doesn't count. He's trying to get in my pants."

For a moment, Matt looked frankly homicidal. I swallowed and tried to hug him. His body was unyielding.

"Hey, hey," I said. "You're my only friend here. You're my only lover."

Lover. Fuck, that word sounded strange. What were Matt and I, anyway? Were we dating, or just fuck buddies?

"Lover," Matt murmured. He must have been pondering similar questions.

He hugged me at last and kissed me, telling me with his body that he didn't want to say goodbye. He deepened the kiss. He moaned softly into my mouth and began to pull my body against his. God, he wanted me again. And I wanted him again. I wanted him until we were both too exhausted to move.

I hooked a leg around him and squeezed his ass.

He tugged at my earlobe.

"If you get me hard," he growled, "you have to deal with it."

"Yes sir." I began to tug on his shorts.

We laughed and broke away from one another.

"Tomorrow," he said. He texted me Pamela Wing's fax number as we stood together by his car, and then he got in and drove away slower than I thought he was capable of driving. I watched his tail lights disappear around the corner.