… Fucking in the rain.

I think about his body.

No shirt, jeans and bare feet. He’s on his back, feet flat on the floor, reading on the iPad, red earbuds; the wires snaking through his curls.

I peel an orange as I watch him.

I sit next to him and arrange the orange segments in a circle on his belly.

He smiles and takes out the earbuds.

“Orange?” I ask.

“Sure,” he laughs.

I stand, undress.

“Sometimes an orange is more than an orange,” he says.

I sit back down.

“Mhmm,” I say.

I bite one of the pieces in half and put the other half in his mouth. 

He watches as a pick up another piece and squeeze the fleshy pulp making a line of juice down his belly.

We feed each other.

Then I get over him on all fours and kiss him.

I sit on his legs and unbutton the jeans and then kiss his sticky fingers.

“Cum for me,” I say moving his hand down.

I lean back over him and kiss his face and mouth, run my hands down his chest, pinch his nipples.

“Keep going,” I say, sitting back down on his legs.

He closes his eyes and I put one hand on his soft pubic hair and slide my finger inside.

“Oh, oh, oh,” he’s says arching his back, “fuck, Zo.”

He’s breathing hard. I put my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

“Jesus,” he says.

“Mmm,” I say, putting a sticky finger in his mouth.

“Tastes like salty orange,” he says. “Turn around. It’s your turn.”

“Be naked,” he texts.

When he buzzes I unlock the door. Stand with my arms folded.

He sets the backpack down.

He stands in front of me, pushes my arms down with an index finger.

He turns me around.

He looks.

He kisses my neck. I lean back against him.

He turns me so I’m facing him.

He puts a hand on my belly, pushing me to the wall, kissing me hard. I push back, my tongue hard against his.

He smells like vanilla and boy and leather.

I try to take his jacket off, but he pulls me tight to him.

I turn again and feel him hard against my bottom.

Then he puts his hand between my legs and his other arm around me. 

He picks me up like that and carries me to the bed.

His hands on my cheeks he kisses me.

I slide my hands down his sides pushing his underwear down.

We’re breathing hard.

Touching. Tasting. Anticipating.

I liked how loud he was.

His hands gripping my shoulders.

I thought about how we looked.

His head down, his hair tickling across my neck and back.

He’d slow down making it last then speed up. He’d feel me get close and slow down again.

“Zoey, Zoey, fuck, oh fuck,” he said when he came.

I stretched out, laying flat and reached a hand back and held him to me.

“Stay,” I said, feeling his body pressing down on me.

The heat of our skin held us together.

I wanted to stay like that forever.

“I thought about this a hundred times today,” he says, making little circles with his tongue.

I slid my hand under his shirt from behind, put a finger in his belly button and another finger in his mouth. I kissed his ear.

He makes us pizza with clams, garlic and olives. 

Then we fuck on the kitchen floor.

Both were really good.

You can choose to love; you can’t choose to be loved.

“I don’t want to fight about it,” he says. “Let’s fuck about it, after that if you  still want to fight about it, we’ll fight about it.”