The smell of damp wood and dried lavender hit me as I pushed open the heavy oak door of the country house—a scent that promised vacation and deceleration, a longing that everyday life had long since buried. Behind me, I heard Sara’s soft footsteps on the gravel driveway, the click of her heels on the uneven stones. She wore a simple dress of dark blue linen that bared her shoulders. The evening sun fell through the leaded glass window and made her gold earring flash.
The Arrival
“It smells like back then,” she said softly, as she passed me into the foyer. I turned around and looked at her. Her hair, tied in a loose knot, was coming undone at her temples. I nodded, unable to find words. Three years of marriage, five years together. And yet I saw her at that moment as if for the first time. She noticed my gaze, smiled shyly, and stepped closer.
“I chilled a bottle of wine for us,” I said, snapping out of my reverie. “Should we go outside? Into the garden?” She nodded. “Just for a bit. I want to take a bath later.” I took her hand, led her through the hallway into the kitchen, and got the Chardonnay from the fridge. Two glasses, a blanket—I had thought of everything. The terrace door was open, the scent of wild roses climbing along the wall wafted in.
We sat down on the bench under the old oak tree. The sky turned orange and violet. Sara leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder. “Beautiful here,” she murmured. “The best thing about this house.” We drank in silence. Her fingers played with my collar. I felt her warmth through the thin fabric.
“Do you remember how we first kissed here?” she asked. I remembered exactly. Last summer, at our friends’ wedding. We weren’t a couple yet, everything was new and exciting. That kiss back then—it had ignited something in me, a flame that never quite went out. “Yes,” I said. “You were wearing that lipstick with the strawberry flavor.” She laughed softly. “I bought that especially for you.”
I turned to her, took her face in my hands. “You swept me off my feet that evening.” Her eyes, gray-blue like the sea on a stormy day, searched my gaze. Then I leaned forward and kissed her. A gentle kiss, hesitant at first, then more demanding. Her lips parted, I tasted the wine and a sweetness I hadn’t felt in a long time.
The Foreplay of Hands
My hand slid from her cheek to her neck, playing with the fine hairs at her hairline. A soft sigh against my mouth. I felt her body relax, let itself fall into my touch. “I missed you,” I whispered. “I’m right here.” “Still. In everyday life, we’re often just functional. But here, now—you’re completely here again.”
She placed her hand on my chest, felt my heartbeat. “It’s beating fast.” “Because you excite me. For five years.” Smiling, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she slowly began to unbutton the top button of my shirt. I let her, watched every movement. Her fingers, skillful, undid button after button until the shirt hung open. She pushed it off my shoulders, let it fall onto the bench. “You look good,” she said, running her finger over my collarbone. “I love this spot.”
Her touch sent a tingle through my body. I reached for her dress, pulled at the hem until it rode up and exposed her thighs. She wasn’t wearing stockings, just a simple lace thong that barely covered anything. “You too,” I said hoarsely. “Your legs—they’re stunning.” A delicate blush crept over her cheeks. Then she stood up, took my hand, and pulled me up. “Come on. Let’s go inside. We’re getting eaten alive by mosquitoes out here.”
I followed her into the house, through the terrace door, up the hall. Her hips swayed slightly under the dress that clung to her waist. I couldn’t resist, stepped closer, placed my hands on her hips and pressed her against me. She stopped, leaned back, her rear pressing against my crotch. I felt myself grow hard, felt my blood pooling. “Sara,” I breathed into her ear. She turned her head, caught my mouth. This time the kiss was hungry, demanding. Her tongue met mine—a dance of tasting and sucking.
My hands wandered from her hips to the front, over her stomach, up to her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra—the lace of the dress stretched over her nipples, pressing hard against the fabric. I brushed my thumb over them, she moaned softly. “That feels good.” “Should I stop?” “No. Don’t stop.” I pulled the dress over her head, it rustled to the floor. She stood before me, only in her thong, and I couldn’t help but stare. Her breasts, full and heavy, her nipples dark and aroused. Her waist, narrow, the curves of her hips outlined under the thin fabric.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered. She stepped out of the dress, slipped off her thong. Naked she stood before me, confident, without shame. I let my pants fall, stepped out of my boxers. We stood facing each other, skin bathed in the pale moonlight that fell through the window, cast in silvery shadows. “Come here,” she said, her voice rough. I stepped closer until our bodies almost touched. Then she took my hand and guided it between her legs. Her labia were wet, the hair soft. I stroked over them, felt her warmth, her arousal. She opened her legs a crack, inviting me.
“I want to taste you,” I said. She lay down on the bed that stood in the middle of the room—a canopy bed with white sheets. I knelt between her legs, leaned forward. Her scent rose into my nose—musk and salt, mixed with the lavender that hung in the room. I kissed the inside of her thighs, gently at first, then more demandingly, drawing small circles with my tongue. She twitched, her hands gripping the sheet. “Please,” she whispered.
I didn’t need to be asked twice. With the tip of my tongue, I parted her labia, found her clit, which peeked out from under its hood. I circled it slowly, felt it swell under my touch. Sara moaned softly, her pelvis moving against my face. “Yes, right there,” she gasped. I sucked gently, let my tongue glide flat over her. Her taste filled my mouth, sweet and intense. I felt her muscles tense, felt her getting closer. I slowed the pace, wanting to torment her, to prolong the tension. “Don’t stop,” she panted. “I’m so close.” I took her in my mouth, sucked harder, and her hips lifted off the bed. A cry escaped her as she came, her body trembling under my mouth. I lapped up her juices, savoring every drop, until her spasms subsided and she lay limp on the sheets.
I crawled up her body, kissed my way over her stomach, between her breasts, up to her neck. She tasted of herself on my lips. “That was incredible,” she breathed. I smiled, kissed her collarbone. “We’re just getting started.” She wrapped her legs around me, pulled me closer until my erection pressed against her wet opening. “I want you inside me,” she said, her voice thick with desire. I positioned myself at her entrance, pushed in slowly, feeling her tightness envelop me. She gasped, arching her back. “Yes, like that.” I thrust deeper, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her hands clawed at my back as I moved inside her, a rhythm of give and take, of surrender and conquest. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies—wet, slapping, breathing, moaning. I felt her clench around me again, and this time I let go, spilling into her with a guttural groan. We collapsed together, sweaty and spent, the moonlight still painting silver patterns on our skin.
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