Pentecostal

Madeline's eyes were closed as we fucked.

I had hoped it might be like this.

I put kink and such aside for these few days, ready should she want them, but not on the front burner. We had discovered those shared passions in many online conversations, and established a compatibility within them on her previous trip.

This time, I wanted to focus on just being together, just us. To be more a part of what we had as--for lack of a better word--a connection.

That groundwork for that connection had been laid well before Madeline and I first made love in April. Through all the sex and conversation of those few days, with one another and with others, we found that it took hold. It didn't matter what we were doing, or with whom--it only added to the sense that we were building on terra firma.

During those last hours of our final day together last Spring, we were simultaneously at ease and anxious, between wanting more touch and sex and affection from one another, and sated by all that had transpired in short a time. We were at once full and empty, as we prepared for the inevitable longing of being apart.

We were at our closest even as we anticipated distance.

This time, we were just a few days into her visit, with several days ahead.

I wanted to revisit the intensity of that last moment now, well before we had to once again say goodbye.

As we made love that night, I was taking the lead, stubbornly. Frankly, I had an agenda. I wanted to overwhelm her with simplicity.

Her body under mine, my cock in her. Deep, shallow. Long, short. Fevered, easy. Just keep me inside you, I thought, looking at her closed eyes, and let me watch how you respond to what our bodies do.

I smiled when she looked up at me, caressing her cheeks, gentle, soft.

Later, I clenched my teeth as she turned aside, her hair tight in my fists, my hips pounding between her outstretched legs.

I focused on her breathing as she took my cock firm and centered on her g spot, as she drenched me.

I anticipated her needs and toyed with her expectations. At one point, she had given a torrent into my palm. Her body relaxed. I knew she would want a taste of her juices.

I licked my fingers in anticipation of giving them to her. Her eyes were on mine, waiting.

My fingers rested on her lips. Her tongue raced out to take them.

I traced a fingertip onto her tongue, then two, then three.

I soon forced four fingers into her mouth. Clenching her jaw in my palm, I was back in her, holding her face next to mine, holding her hostage as I fucked.

She gave in, surrendering her anticipation of respite. I reminded her that she was safe, she was here with me, and I was firmly in charge of the moment.

She eventually seemed exhausted.

I slowed. I was worn down as well.

"Pull me on top," she asked.

I did.

Her wet body caught the city lights outside my window.

I caressed her hips and waist, looking up. Her face was in silhouette; I couldn't tell if she saw me looking.

My hand cupped a breast. A finger and thumb plucked a nipple and drew it to my mouth.

She moaned and reached back, pulling up on her buttocks. This would tease out another orgasm.

She said something, laughing. I pulled back and smiled.

I didn't hear her well enough to distinguish words, but I got the gist. I wasn't going to ask her to repeat it.

I lay back, pushing her breasts together, squeezing her nipples.

She mumbled something about how good that felt, something about love, something else.

My body was so drained. I relaxed.

My feet fell to their sides.

My knees were slightly tucked, my calves and thighs splayed into bowlegs.

My back was flat, my shoulders back, my head propped on a pillow.

My remaining energies were focused onto her, entering her through my cock and fingertips as she rode me.

She pushed forward and back with her hips, her arms raised her head, or her hands pressed to my chest.

I was the constant, the anchor in her movements. I held secure, trying not to disrupt her, alert as a spotter working with a skilled acrobat. I was there to lend support to her agility and strength.

She continued to speak, her words far from my ears. I strained to identify words.

At best, I made out languages.

English gave way to French--something about les mains, something about la terre, a laugh. She laughed at something in another language I have never studied.

I listened, not comprehending but resolute, going nowhere, as she soaked me in sweat and juice.

In time, she let her body fall onto mine. Like a cyclist pressing forward to diminish resistance.

She pumped her way to a finish line only she could detect. My hands grabbed her ass with well-timed ferocity, only to find she had miles left to go. I let my fingers drift to her spine.

When, finally, she collapsed, I lay under her, just as breathless.

I tucked wet strands of hair behind an ear. "Where did you go, Madeline?" I whispered.

"Shh," she rested her forehead on my shoulder, sobbing quietly. Suddenly, she laughed. "Baby, that was fucking Pentecostal."

I laughed. "Testify!"

She sighed as I caressed her hair. "All that was missing was a box of snakes."

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