Georgia heat is an entity of its own. Thick, damp, almost suffocating. Suffocating to those unfamiliar with it, but an embrace to those born in it. Towards the end of August there is that point of the day late in the afternoon when it reaches its heaviest; anyone feeling it has the fleeting thought that if heat could crush you, this would..
It had to break.
His weight crushed me, his body heat mixing with the atmosphere and the only noise was silence. The ragged lace curtain hung straight and still at the window. His mouth wet my collarbone, up the side of my neck, my earlobe, and it was first hot, then cooling. I moaned softly and smiled, my hands on his upper arms. Our bodies stuck together like flypaper.
I ran my toe up the back of his leg, feeling the crisp hairs and his groan against my throat, then in my mouth sending shockwaves through my center. I begged for him when he broke the kiss, begged him to fuck me. He looked into my eyes like he was mining for something, and I said it again. He growled and shifted. The length of him slid to the end of me and I held him there. I gasped with the building sensation.
A thunderclap rocked the frame house and drowned out my cry. We broke with it and lay in one another’s arms while cicadas sawed in the pines.
“What else breaks?” I whispered against his grizzled jaw. He needed to shave.
He made a noise of incomprehension. His thick rough fingers scratched against my nipple.
He rolled away with a grunt. His spent cock slid like slug across my thigh. I didn’t need his answer, because I only asked questions for which the answers already existed. “Everything,” he said.
The knobbed curve of his spine shone with sweat and oil.
He turned back to me, and his face was quiet. Not soft, but not hard, either. “Maybe. One day. Not today, though.” He leaned down and kissed me.
“Not today.” I smiled against his lips.
He let out another low, hungry sound, “Swear to God, woman, you got super powers,” he said against my neck, and I felt him growing again, swelling against my hip.
I pushed at his shoulders. “But I gotta go,” I said under my breath, smiling still, loving his need of me.
He pinned me. He was hard now. “No. Not yet.”
“I’ll be late, Jim-”
Another blue and white flash and the curtain sucked out the window. The crack was close, deafening. I found myself face down, his arm around my middle and pulling my ass into his hips. His whiskers scratched my shoulders and neck. “Late for him. He’ll wait.” His cock pressed against my ass, and I tensed, fought him half-heartedly.
We both knew I could get away if I wanted to. He held me tightly, roughly, while rain started to sheet and blow through the open window, running over our skin. He didn’t force me. But he adjusted, thrust brutally against my pussy.
It felt good, the brutality. It felt good teetering on the edge of the break and knowing if I mentioned my husband again he might actually cause pain. He might even leave a mark I could carry home, to remember. I reached back and dug my short nails into his pumping buttock, scratching. Perhaps I would be the one, the one to fall over, to take him down with me.
To leave a mark.