We Both Paid the Same Stranger to Sublet the Same One-Bedroom, and Neither of Us Would Move Out novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: The Railing

The back porch was a wooden shelf bolted to the brick, big enough for two wicker chairs and Dolores's geranium.

It hung over the courtyard, and the string lights below painted the underside of the roof in soft yellow.

The balustrade was chest-high brick capped with limestone, so nobody on the ground could see a thing.

The cap was cold against my bare back.

I had come out in his flannel shirt and nothing else.

He had followed me in his jeans, and shut the door behind us, and hadn't said a word.

He didn't have to.

He pinned me to the rail with his body and kissed me.

"The lights are on," I said against his mouth.

"The lights are on."

"Anyone in the courtyard could look up."

"Nobody can see over the brick."

"Dolores could."

"Dolores has seen everything," he said, and kissed my throat.

I laughed, and then I couldn't.

His mouth went lower, to the open collar of the flannel.

He pushed it off one shoulder and kissed the freckles there, one by one.

He undid the buttons from the top.

He undid them slowly, kissing each new inch of skin as it came out of the cloth.

By the time he reached my navel I had my fingers twisted in his hair and my head tipped back against the limestone.

The shirt hung open.

The night air hit my breasts, cold and clean.

He took one in his mouth and I made a sound that carried straight out over the yard.

"Quiet," he said, with his lips against my skin.

"Make me."

"Is that a dare?"

"It's an invitation."

He grinned at me, wolfish.

He unbuckled his belt, and pushed down his zipper, and freed himself, thick and heavy and already wet at the tip.

"Put your arms up," he said.

I put them up.

He took my wrists and hooked my elbows over the stone behind me, so that I hung from the cap by my arms.

Then he took me under the thighs, and lifted.

It happened in one smooth motion, and my feet left the boards.

My back slid up the wall, and my legs went around his waist, and my arms stayed hooked over the rail.

I was held up between him and the brick, open, spread, and his cock slid against me, hot and slick.

"Randy."

"I've got you."

"Don't drop me."

"I'd have to be dead."

He shifted his grip, one forearm under each thigh, and lined himself up.

He pushed in.

It was slow, and deep, and the position let him go farther than he ever had.

I felt him against the very back of me, a pressure so complete I couldn't breathe.

"Oh, God. Deeper."

"Like this?"

"Like that. More."

He gave me more.

He withdrew halfway and drove up into me, lifting me on his arms, and my head knocked softly against the brick.

He braced his feet and did it again, steady, rhythmic.

I hung there, held in the air by a man's two arms, and let him fuck me.

It was the most helpless I had ever felt and the safest.

"You're so strong," I said stupidly.

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