Sex With The Stars full adult version, as requested by +C.M. Skiera  +Roland Boykin +Ronda Reed +Julia Proud +K M Idamari 

This is a #saturdayscenes  bonus from my #RiverNovel  for some of my favorite readers.

You already read the beginning. The rest of it is marked below.

He puts on his turn signal, and I look ahead to anticipate his turning. As he slows down, I wonder if he's pulling over on the shoulder. Perhaps he went the wrong way and he is turning around. As he comes to almost a complete stop, I see a gap in the trees. He pulls in there and follows the path for a while. As the lack of pavement becomes like a washboard, I remember being on a horse, pulling back on the reins to keep it at a cool-down trot as we approach the lodge for a night of festivities. I miss Maddy's place.

Then a clearing opens up and reveals a sky that is so glistening with stars, I wonder how there is any room for the deep black sky. I look for a familiar constellation, and then see my star-friend Cassiopeia sitting on her chair, straight up ahead of us.

We go over the crest of a hill, and the stars are shimmering in The River's reflection. He stops the truck and hops out the door. The jeweled River stretches out both ways. I follow him to the end of the dock, and sit beside him at its edge. His attention turns to the distance.

I am a speck in the midst of infinity. I am one with All. The most ancient flames in the sky were generated millions of light years ago, yet the darkness is so vast, it could contain millions of planets with life forms that we might recognize as similar to us, and that might be willing to communicate with us, if only we didn't have missiles aimed at them with hair-trigger switches that react to fear. What makes us so vulnerable to fear? It seems to underlie all aggression: we develop excessive appetites from fear of being hungry; we develop into control freaks because of fear of being out of control; we suffocate with love out of fear of being alone; we attack out of fear of being attacked.

My thoughts drift off to sadness until his hand wraps around mine like a heated mitten. I didn't realize that my fingertips had become icy. His comfort spreads through my bloodstream. My heart pumps the sensation to all of my cells. I lean toward him like a magnet, drawn to the source of that warmth. We sit like that, still, the River water dippling on the rocks, filling in the quiet spaces between our breaths. Our breathing synchronizes. Our auras surround us as one sheer curtain. At the edge of that curtain, frogs gullup and owls whoop up "hoo hoo hoo hooHoooo!" Whooping up to make whoopy.

Energy bubbles up in me, making me a little restless. I don't want to disturb this peace, but I get the urge to straddle his lap and press the front of my body on the front of his. I try to release these pangs of temptation with inconspicuous movements of my shoulder, but I can't help but swing my body on to his lap. I laugh, avoiding any sign of disapproval on his face. His arms wrap around me as he lies down on his back. His hands move up to cradle my head in his fingers, and he brings my eager lips to his. His hands move down to my knees, down my thighs to my hips, and he presses my pelvis on to his, and grunts as he wiggles beneath me. He can't wiggle much because his lower legs are still hanging over the edge of the dock. I arch my back in a teasing way, and he rolls me on to my back. I'm burning up now. My skin is aflame with expectation, anticipating a sensual feast. His kisses do not disappoint. They are small and playful now, now deeply connecting, now tenderly caressing, changing like the breezes that sweep across his back.

- - - - - - - -  the rest of this scene:

His hands move between my ribs and thighs, along my sides, stoking new flames, as he exposes a little skin between the bottom of my shirt and the top of my shorts. My pelvis wiggles in its own steady rhythm. My breath catches in my chest as his caresses spark on my skin. I throw my arms up over my head, and let them rest on the dock planks, wishing that his hands were a blanket, large enough to cover my entire body. His fingertips dance on my palms, which sends waves of spasms directly to my nipples and clitoris. His fingertips skitter down my wrists, into the crooks in my elbows, and armpits. Then  he scoops up my breasts.

His mouth seals over mine. I breathe in the air that he releases to me, taking in this cloud of his energy, filling my lungs with it, nourishing my soul with it. My lungs return the depth of my soul to him, and our bodies float on a cushion of electricity, hovering a few inches above the dock. We remain suspended until his lips break the seal. I roll my lower spine as he lowers my shorts and panties, then kick one leg to free it from the clothing. He opens his fly and presses his pelvis on mine. I wrap more closely around him, and he finds his target. We lie still, pressing steadily together, deeply connected, until I can't stand the suspense and have to wildly gyrate my hips to shake off the tension.

I run out of steam, and he collapses on top of me, limp, and peacefulness sweeps over us with its paintbrush, drawing away all apprehension, and replacing it with the stillness of the stars.

He looks at his watch, comments on how late it is, and rolls off of me. He puts his clothing back in order, so I do the same. I'm shivering; perhaps from the night's breeze, perhaps from this outburst of energy. He stands, I stand, and I follow him to his truck, stumbling along the way, drunk from our lovemaking. I say goodnight to the universe that blessed our connection, then buckle up, and he leaves the way we came in. 

When we get past the noisy washboard, back on to the highway home, I wonder when we can get together again. As I think over my calendar, I scowl: my first opening is a week from tomorrow. He might think that I'm brushing him off. I'm afraid that he'll think that I'm taunting him when I tell him this, but I truly have something scheduled every evening for the next week. The more that I prepare to defend myself, the more I feel suffocated. Suffocated by my desire to respond to his expectations. Suffocated by the overwhelming challenges that came with moving to this place. Suffocated by being swept off my feet by him.

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Photo credits:
Ukraine dnepr at krementchug by Lutz Fischer-Lamprecht. Licensed by Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike 3.0 Unported. Modified by Grace Buchanan.
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