>>09405
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#She had thought that his lips would be cold and stiff, like a fish. But she's
shocked at how warm they are. Every part of his body feels hot, like that's his
only way of keeping warm up in the Arctic.
About thirty seconds into the kiss, he bends down, wraps his great thigh-sized
forearms around her waist, cinches her up into the air, lifting her feet up off
the deck.
She was afraid he would take her to some horrible place, but it turns out he
rented a whole shipping container, stacked way up high on one of the
containerships in the Core. The place is like a luxury hotel for big Core
wheels.
She's trying to decide what to do with her legs, which are now dangling
uselessly. She's not quite ready to wrap them around him, not this early in the
date. Then she feels them spreading apart -- way, way apart -- Raven's thighs
must be bigger around than his waist. He has lifted one leg up into her crotch
and put the foot up on a chair so she's straddling his thigh, and with his arms
he's holding her body up against him, squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and
relaxing, so that she's helplessly rocking back and forth, all her weight on her
crotch. Some huge muscle, the upmost part of his quadricep, angles up where it
attaches to the bone in his pelvis, and as he rocks her in closer and tighter
she ends up straddling that, shoved against it so tight that she can feel the
seams in the crotch of her coverall, feel the coins in the key pocket of Raven's
black jeans. When he slides his hands downward, still pressing her inward, and
squeezes her butt in both hands, so big it must be like squeezing an apricot,
fingers so long they wrap around and push up into her crack and she rocks
forward to get away from it but there's nowhere to go except into his body, her
face breaking away from the kiss and sliding against the perspiration of his
broad, smooth, whiskerless neck. She can't help letting out a yelp that turns
into a moan, and then she knows he's got her. Because she never makes noises
during sex, but this time she can't help it.
And once she's decided that, she's impatient to get on with it. She can move
her arms, she can move her legs, but the middle part of her body is pinned in
place, it's not going to move until Raven moves it. And he's not going to move
it until she makes him want to. So she goes to work on his ear. That usually
does it.
He tries to get away from her. Raven, trying to run away from something. She
likes that idea. She has arms that are as strong as a man's, strong from
hanging on to that poon on the freeway, so she wraps them around his head like a
vise and presses her forehead against the side of his head and starts orbiting
the tip of her tongue around the little folded-over rim of his outer ear.
He stands paralyzed for a couple of minutes, breathing shallowly, while she
works her way inward, and when she finally shoves her tongue into his ear canal,
he bucks and grunts like he's just been harpooned, lifts her up off his leg,
kicks the chair across the room so hard it cracks against the steel wall of the
shipping container. She feels herself falling backward toward the futon, thinks
for a moment she's about to get crushed beneath him, but he catches all the
weight on his elbows, except for his lower body, which slams into hers all at
once, sending another electric shot of pleasure up her back and down her legs.
Her thighs and calves have turned solid and tight, like they've been pumped full
of juice, she can't relax them. He leans up on one elbow, separating their
bodies for a moment, plants his mouth on hers to maintain the contact, fills her
mouth with his tongue, holds her there with it while he one-hands the fastener
at the collar of her coverall and yanks the zipper all the way down to the
crotch. It's open now, exposing a broad V of skin converging from her
shoulders. He rolls back onto her, grabs the top of the coverall with both
hands and pulls it down behind her, forcing her arms down and to her sides,
stuffing the mass of fabric and pads down underneath the small of her back so
she stays arched up toward him. Then he's in between her tight thighs, all
those skating muscles strained to the limit, and his hands come back inside to
squeeze her butt again, this time his hot skin against hers, it's like sitting
on a warm buttered griddle, makes the whole body feel warmer. There's
something she's supposed to remember at this point.
Something she has to take care of. Something important. One of those dreary
duties that always seems so logical when you think about it in the abstract and,
at moments like this, seems so utterly beside the point that it never even
occurs to you.
It must be something to do with birth control. Or something like that. But
Y.T. is helpless with passion, so she has an excuse. So she squirms and kicks
her knees until the coverall and her panties have slid down to her ankles.
Raven gets completely naked in about three seconds. He pulls his shirt off over
his head and throws it somewhere, bucks out of his pants and kicks them off onto
the floor. His skin is as smooth as hers, like the skin of a mammal that swims
through the sea, but he feels hot, not cold and fishy. She doesn't see his
cock, but she doesn't want to, what's the point, right?
She does something she's never done before: comes as soon as he goes into her.
It's like a bolt of lightning shoots out from the middle, down the backs of her
tensed legs, up her spine, into her nipples, she sucks in air until her whole
ribcage is poking out through the skin and then screams it all out. She just
rips one.
Raven's probably deaf now. Which is his fucking problem.
She goes limp. So does he. He must have come at the same time. Which is okay.
It's early, and poor Raven was horny as a goat from being out to sea. Later on,
she'll expect more endurance.
Right now, she's content to lie underneath him and suck the warmth out of his
body. She's been cold for days. Her feet are still cold, hanging out in the
air, but that just makes the rest of her feel much better.