{Currently Under Editing} When an unforeseen circumstance obliges twenty-eight-year-old Paloma to assume responsibility for her teenage sister, their nearly nonexistent relationship is tested as the sisters attempt to rekindle the bond they once sha...
His grace was nimble. Remarkable. Admirable, even. The antithesis of a shaky handed, indecisive, inexperienced teenager.
Nearly a decade and a half of sensual rendezvous rendered Paloma adept at lovemaking—her most skilled craft, self-ranked just above writing. Though she'd like to think previous partners would second this.
She prided herself at being attentive to her partners' body. Listening for each labored breath, observing the slack jaws of contentment, and every other indication of pleasure in between.
Few people matched her skill level, but more often than not, she enjoyed the sex all the same, even when there was something left to be desired.
Calvin left no such thing.
He fit perfectly atop of her, molding their bodies into one like two perfectly jagged pieces of an intricate puzzle. The weight of him grounded her mind, body, and soul. It was a wonder she didn't aimlessly float away into a bottomless abyss without his robust temple to anchor her.
Calvin always managed to elicit an inexplicable feeling of neediness out of her. Whether intentional or not, she was unsure. Each stroke was born of certainty, every kiss of passionate intent. And maybe that was why.
Paloma rarely relinquished control; the bedroom was no exception to this unspoken rule. She could even top from the bottom, leaving her partners none the wiser. But self-assured, seductive aggression was reason enough to submit for real.
She couldn't quite remember how they got there: legs tangled under an explosive mess of silky sheets, engulfed by the darkness, with only what little illumination the moon was willing to bestow to light the way to their tender touches.
The events that led up to it were fuzzy, but Paloma's head wasn't. With any luck, her sobriety was still intact.
Calvin wouldn't let her ponder this any longer. Lips teasing the length of Paloma's neck, up to her jawline, he tilted her chin until her eyes were parallel to his.
Paloma pulled him closer, gripped him tighter, only for his robust temple to crumble into a puddle of sheets. The weight of him left her; the front of his thighs no longer spread out clad against her own.
Her fingers scurried across the bed like an agile spider in search of a sleeping form. She never found one. For that, a part of her was grateful.
A part of her was.
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It was late; nearly three am. But that didn't stop Paloma from creeping down the staircase and sneaking into the guest bedroom.
The rhythmic rise and fall of Ava's chest, paired with the gentle snore that fell from Ava's parted lips, told Paloma that she hadn't yet been discovered. Suddenly, that was fine with her.
Paloma knew it was probably too late to make a break for it, but she tried anyway, to no avail. The way Ava whispered her name was indicative of her wonder and hopefulness.
