by jacquez h. valentine
Martha looked around the barn. "Jonathan!"
"Up here," he answered, and she headed up into the loft. Jonathan was looking through Clark's telescope with the solar filter on. "Sunspots today," he said, and smiled up at her.
The sunlight caught his hair, and she reached out to run her fingers through it.
"I wanted to ask," she said, "if you would mind--"
"No," he said, and grabbed her around the waist. "I don't mind anything, you hear me?"
--and he was kissing her, long, sweet kisses, and he tasted of lemonade and smelled of sweat and sunshine. She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back, pressing her body up to his.
He laughed into her mouth, and she nipped at his lip, opening her legs so that his thigh pressed between them. "We haven't--done this--in years--" she said, between kisses. "In the barn--"
"Clark," he said, and ran his hands up underneath her shirt, twisting her nipples through the satin of her bra. "But he's at school. Take this off."
She pulled the shirt over her head, and Jonathan sat up and stripped off the two shirts he was wearing, placing them behind her as a cushion.
His skin was warm and slightly damp with sweat, and she knelt between his thighs and licked his nipples, tracing the fly of his jeans with one hand. "Martha," he said, "Martha, jeezus- -"
She let him go and fell back onto the pile of shirts, and he leaned down and lifted her up again. "I didn't say stop," he said, and kissed her again, unhooking her bra with practiced hands before letting her go.
She hooked her fingers in his waistband and said "Take these off," and he grinned and did so, then unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and slid one hand inside, bending his head to her breast.
His hands were so hard with work, so callused--so gentle, and he knew her so well. He could play her like a violin, sweet and long, and oh--that was the callus on his thumb, brushing under her underwear and pressing down--oh. "Jonathan," she said, "Jonathan--"
--and he looked up at her and smiled. "You're overdressed," he said, and she raised her hips so that he could take her jeans off.
He nipped gently at the inside of her thigh as he pulled the jeans over her legs. "Love you," he said, against her skin, then kissed her just above the soft brush of her pubic hair.
She whimpered, and he moved lower, sliding first his fingers, then his tongue against her clit, teasing her with light flickers and kisses until she was trembling, her fists clenched in the hay that covered the floor--
--and he moved so quickly that she wasn't expecting it, wasn't expecting the slam of his body against her and within her, his strong arms lifting her again as he knelt up and settled her astride him.
But she had her own strengths, and she moved over him, the muscles in her thighs tensing and releasing under his hands, bracing herself on his shoulders as he licked at her nipples again.
"God," he said, his breath warm on her skin. "God, Martha--"
--and he slid one hand between them, the way he did when he knew he was close and she was not, and she leaned into his touch and--
--and he always knew how to touch her--she was seeing sunspots, black and green on the back of her eyelids--
--and they came together, sweat and hay and sex scenting the early summer afternoon.