Currents of Desire - Continued

*Please read Currents of Desire before this story to get the context*

Paul woke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Perth skyline a hazy silhouette against the pink-streaked sky. Amanda lay beside him, her silver-streaked hair fanned across the pillow, one arm draped possessively over his chest. He studied her in the quiet light, the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the confident curve of her lips even in sleep.

He should leave as he had another job lined up for the afternoon. But the weight of her arm, the warmth of her skin against his, made the thought of slipping away unbearable.

As if sensing his gaze, Amanda stirred. Her hazel eyes flickered open, sharp, and assessing even now. "Still here," she murmured, her voice rough with sleep.

"Didn’t want to sneak out," he admitted.

She smirked. "Good. Because I was not done with you."

Her hand slid lower, fingers tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen, and Paul’s breath hitched.

An hour later, they sat at her kitchen island, Amanda in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, the fabric barely skimming her thighs while Paul devoured the omelette that she had whipped up.

"You cook, too?" he joked between swallows.

"Academic life requires survival skills," she said, sipping her coffee. "Though I’ll admit, I’m more accustomed to takeaway."

He grinned. "I’ll cook you a REAL meal next time."

The words hung between them - next time - neither acknowledging the implication but both feeling its weight.

Amanda set down her mug. "So, Paul, the electrician, occasional philosopher. What else should I know about you?"

He leaned back. "Not much to tell. I fish on weekends. Hate reality TV. And I voted ‘Yes’ in the Voice referendum."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Bold move in a small city like Perth."

He shrugged. "Just seemed fair."

Amanda studied him, that same calculating look she had given him when she had asked about Chalmers. Then, without warning, she stood and straddled his lap, her hands framing his face.

"You," she said, "are full of surprises."

Her mouth crashed into his, hot and demanding. Paul’s hands gripped her thighs, the fabric of his shirt riding up as she ground against him.

"Bedroom," she gasped between kisses.

"Too far," he growled, lifting her onto the counter.

Amanda laughed, breathless, as he shoved plates aside. "You’re going to break my kitchen."

"You’ll survive," he said as he wiped his mouth before proceeding to go down on her. She moaned as she caught their reflection off the glass oven mounted on the kitchen wall.

And then there were no more words, just the slick heat of her, the way she arched into him, the way she whispered his name like a curse when he hit all the right spots with his tongue and fingers. Every so often he would push his tongue as deep as he could into her opening. He also made figure eights all along her labia and alternated flicking his tongue and thumb over her swollen clit. She was so aroused, yet she wanted her orgasm to come sooner rather than later. Soon, she screamed as she squirted all over his face and the kitchen top.

When her body stopped pulsating, she tapped out and beckoned him to the other side of the counter as she pushed herself in an upward direction so that her head hung over the edge.

Paul instinctively knew what she wanted him to do next. He dropped his boxers and positioned his semi erect penis just above Amanda’s face. She kissed the length of his cock before devouring it into her mouth. Next, she put her direct the back of his bare butt and encouraged him to move forward which he did. She felt his cock harden as the blood rushed towards his loins.

Soon, he found himself moving in and out of her mouth in a steady rhythm. When he was getting close, he tried to pull away, but her hands returned to his butt and held him in place. There was now only one outcome left and then right on cue, he shot his load down her throat. He heard her gag as she released the pressure of her hands behind him.

Afterward, as Paul reluctantly gathered his tools bag. Amanda leaned against the doorway, watching.

"You could stay," she said, casual, as if it did not matter. But her fingers tapped restlessly against her arm.

Paul hesitated. "I’ve got jobs booked. And a dog that’ll piss on my couch if I’m not back by tonight."

She nodded, but something flickered in her. Was it a tinge of disappointment? "Next weekend, then."

Not a question. A statement.

He grinned. "Next weekend."

For the next three months, Paul made it to the city every Friday night. Sometimes they debated politics - Amanda loved winding him up about state taxes, just to watch him rant. Other times, they did not talk at all and mostly had pure raw sex with the occasional tender lovemaking in between.

And when her semester ended, she did not go back to Sydney.

Not right away.

Because some connections, once made, were not so easy to disconnect.

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