"Who says cigarettes aren't still sexy?" Wren thought to herself with a silent smile. She was lazily watching Quinn's back rise and fall while simultaneously watching his reflection in the dresser mirror beside the bed. Secretly she watched him over her arm covering her face lying stomach down on the bed. Her curly brown hair hiding her intent stare in layers of long locks covering her face.
Quinn's back was etched with tiny scars, paper thin ones that were more dominant in the summer when his upper body tanned from outdoor labor. She'd known him for 6 years. Longer than anyone else she could think of, and she still didn't know what had made those scars.
On his upper right shoulder was a small tattoo of a clover. The same tattoo was replicated on his right upper chest. His chest was clean of hair except around his nipples that were kissed brown inside the blonde hairs. A dusting trailed down his lower stomach to where it ended beneath a pair of green silk pajama bottoms. Well-toned yet thin arms resting elbows on well formed, wiry legs, his head bowed showing only the tips of his blonde short hair. Long fingers pressed to his temples, right hand holding a cigarette fresh lit.
He raised his face to the glowing stick, full lips taking the end between them. He had amazing olive green eyes. Wren could see them even in the dim lit room. His cheekbones were high like the natives of the land, and his nose turned up at the end like a mythical creature. He was always a wonder to observe. Especially in these late private moments when he crept into the house passing the boarding rooms and slipping inside the two rooms that made up Wren's entire universe.
She should let him know she was awake. He had come this time without dressing. She felt his coat's weight on the end of the bed, the slight damp from the cold making an odd feeling against the blankets. Something troubled him. His hands were shaking against his hair.
Slowly and stealthily she moved her hand across the bed reaching to touch his thigh. His leg tensed and released under his fingers as he looked over his shoulder into the dark blue eyes. They were so blue that most people thought they were black. Blue like a night sky. Tonight they were just how he loved them the most, quietly searching; full of what could be called love and most importantly acceptance.
Wren raised her upper body from the bed, slipping closer to her late night visitor. She ran her fingers over his jaw, and the light night stubble that was growing there. She used her other hand to slip the cigarette out of his hand and into the glass bowl beside the bed. Slipping her arms around his waist she guided him to the bed. Covering them both with the blankets and cradling his back to her stomach in a spoon.
Holding tightly to Quinn's waist, Wren stroked the hairs on his lower belly, her lips warming the skin of his shoulder blade. He was still shaking. Silence lulled the room, and Wren held tightly.
Slipping her hand below the loose green fabric, she circled her fingers around his warm limp shaft stroking it lightly. Slowly it awoke to her touch, filling her palm in its slow rhythm.
Quinn reached for Wren's hand, pulling it out of his pants and turning to lie facing her on his side. His arms pulling her close to his chest and holding her there in a long hug. Rolling her to her back and tucking his head into her neck where he sucked at the notch at the base of her throat. His hand tugging at the thin panties she was wearing.
She cradled him with her legs, raising her hips to let him slide down her underwear, then opening them around his thighs. He made a sound like a groan or the beginning of a sob. His face against her neck, she thought he might be weeping.
Moving under him, she shifted to where she could feel his arousal touching her mound. She stroked his back with her nails, a slow soothing trail back and forth. He sobbed again.
Leaning up on one elbow, he pulled down his pants, then settled between her legs again. His hardness grazing the close cropped mound of her sex. Wren put a hand in his hair, pulling his face to hers. Those deep blue eyes searching but not asking. Patience those eyes had. Loving those eyes showed. It was why he was here, what he needed.
He took her upper body in his arms, cradling her upper back as he covered her again. His cheek pressed against hers, he reached down and guided himself home.
She was not completely ready for him. The feeling hurt for an instance, and she let out a sharp cry holding still under him. He hadn't noticed. He was pressing himself into her in a continuous rhythm, driving towards something she could not see.
Her body recognized its lover and began to make a smoother entrance for him. Wren wrapped her legs high around his waist, and moved her hips to meet his own.
Holding to her shoulders, Quinn began to move harder inside of her. His movements more determined. She felt his fingers pressing into her skin in an urgency that she did not understand and his breathing became shallow. He buried his head in her shoulder, sucking on her collarbone the sobbing sound coming with his faster stride.
With the faster pace, he became frustrated. At what, Wren did not know. He was not himself tonight, her gentle lover. He seemed to be racing some inner demon and needed to find a way home. Love and a slight fear of this new sensation took over and she hung on, stroking his arms, his hair, and his sides.
Raising up, he reached for her knees, raising them higher, pulling her ankles up to his neck. With her feet locked around his head, he continued. In the new position, Wren could feel him tighter inside. He was burying himself completely each stride making her feel like his was bumping the very bottom of her. She could feel it in her throat when he ground home.
He was moving fast, on his knees on the bed, pressing her legs down over her own body, using the leverage to fuck fast. Her feet crossed behind his neck.
He couldn't see her face well enough, he needed to touch her breasts, he needed everything she could give him and he didn't know what to say. He pulled her up without breaking rhythm. Still buried inside of her, he pulled her up to sit astride of him on his knees in the bed. Holding her ass, he guided her on his cock, finding a new rhythm face to face.
Wren wrapped her arms around his neck, and used her new leverage to ride him as he held her up on his lap. They kissed. The first of the evening, and it seemed to speak volumes of what he couldn't say. There were no words, just the need. He loved her for understanding. He leaned down and sucked at her breasts.
She began to ride him in earnest, he felt her begin to change rhythm. The way she clung to his neck, her tongue lapped at his lips, and the tightness gripping him inside were all familiar to him. She was beginning to climax.
Aroused by the sensations he knew she was feeling, he held her around the waist, in a vice grip to his hips. They fucked fast with short strokes, clinging to each other as they met together in mutual release.
The last stroke, driving Wren over the edge, she cried out loudly before they crashed to the bed. He fell onto her, covering her body with his own. Both were spent, the tension released, and the inner race won. He lay there clinging to her. He loved the way she smelled. The clean smell of her skin, the tea herbs in her hair, the sweat clinging to her and mostly his smell on her own in the air.
He heard the old lady next door stirring in her room. Knew he had wakened her and there would be talk tomorrow in the boarding house. He didn't care. He didn't want to be careful anymore.
Wren loved feeling him on top of her. She held him there, her legs wrapped around him, her hands holding tight to his shoulders. His manhood slack lying against her thigh damp from their lovemaking. His tensions had been released. She could tell by the way he clung to her in the aftermath, she waited in silence for explanation.
He rolled to his side, and pulled her to him. Holding her tight to his chest and stroking her hair. His fingers twisted in the raven curls and soothed his mind.
She pressed her face to his chest, her head tucked under his chin. She waited. After a while of listening to her nosey neighbor, she felt the rumble in his chest when he said her name, "Wren..."She reached a hand up to stroke his jaw in answer. The stubble feeling textured and rough to her hand. She loved it that way.
"I want to sleep here tonight."
She looked up at him curiously. This was something he never did. He crept in late; they had kept themselves secret in the boarding house of nosey neighbors.
He met her eyes; "I need to be here." He kept looking at her, hoping she could just read his mind. She only stared. Blinking at him, studying him on one elbow at his side. "Wren, I need you with me. It's the only time I make sense. It's when I have peace."
Wren blinked at him again. Reaching up, she kissed him soft on the lips. He tried to explain more, but she held her mouth to his, kissing him slow.
Moving one leg high over his hip, she drew him to facing each other on their sides. This time she held him to her chest, while she stared out the opened bedroom door at the light under the crack of the door to the hall outside her rooms. She could see someone's feet there. Someone listening outside, hovering around in the hall waiting. Were they safe here? She wondered what it was that made him come to her like this in the night. She hoped that this time it was to stay. One night at a time, their first full night together. She was curious, but for this she was satisfied.
"Shhhh..." she cooed to him, stroking his hair. "Things will be alright." Somewhere in her heart, she knew that she wasn't lying.