Falling for Summer by Bridget Essex Page A

pressure begins to build inside of me, a dazzling of pleasure that is mounting closer and closer to the surface as she rocks her hips against mine and stares down at me, the end of her braid dropping over her shoulder to brush against the skin of my neck.  The sensual slide of that satin hair over my skin makes me shiver beneath her as she bends down again, capturing my mouth with her own. 
    She moves her hips aside, but just a little, and then, with a practiced, confident stroke, her hand is moving up my thigh and into me.  Two fingers at first, and I'm so wet that I can take her easily as I breathe out in a shudder against her shoulder.  I wrap my arms around her so tightly, and then she begins to move her hand in and out of me, brushing her thumb with practiced grace against my clit.
    I think I'm going to come there and then, but I don't.  She's completely over me, pressing against me, and I'm covered by her tan length, her muscles against my skin, and it's so sensual, that feeling, of her hardness against my softness.  I never thought it could be this sexy, the disparity between someone who physically works for a living and someone who can't be bothered to go to a gym—but, my God, it is. 
    Summer tastes of exactly that: summer. She tastes of green grasses and lake water and the sweet salt of sweat and everything that makes you glad to be alive.  As she kisses me, as she presses her tongue between my lips and I taste her, taste her deeply, I find that I'm hungry for all of these things.  I'm hungry for the freedom of an afternoon swim at the lake, and I'm hungry for the carefree life that Summer seems to have had.  My life hasn't been carefree, but as we move together, she and I, a small part of her freedom seems to be gifted to me.
    It usually takes me a very long time to orgasm, and I often don't do it at all.  And I don't know whether it's the energy of the storm, the energy of my wanting her...  I don't know.  But I come against her hand so quickly that the strength of that blissful explosion moving through me is such a surprise that it seems to make the orgasm even better, the waves of pleasure radiating through me like light.
    I pant against her shoulder as I ride through those moments of surreal bliss, and finally, completely spent, I'm panting against the sheets as Summer falls beside me, propped up onto her elbow as she grins down on me in the dark of the room, the only light the wood stove crackling merrily away in the corner, but it's enough light to see her outline, those perfect muscles, that tan skin that I can't help but reach for, tracing my fingertips over the warmth of her curves.
      She brushes her mouth against my collarbone, and then she, too, is lying down on the bed, staring at the ceiling companionably beside me, our shoulders against each other.
    Summer reaches between us and threads her fingers through mine, holding my hand tightly.  As I try to get my breathing to steady, as I push my hand back through my hair, Summer is turning and pressing a soft, warm kiss against my neck again.
    “I knew,” she said then, her low voice a growl.  “I saw you with her.  That night.”
    That night.
    The euphoria of the orgasm begins to fade through me as I think about that night.  That night.  The night that my life changed forever.  The night that my sister's life was taken away from her.  The night that I should have been there but wasn't...
    I stare up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
    I wasn't there when I should have been...
    Because of a girl.
     
    ---
     
    That night, twenty years ago, Mom and Dad made me promise that I'd be there for Tiffany's slumber party and that I'd babysit the whole affair.  They were going to a work dinner, and to have that many ten-year-olds in the house without intense supervision was going to “bring chaos,” my mother had warned me, with a wry smile, twisting her hair up into a bun on the top of her head as she got ready for the dinner. 
    “I