Thinking of you

This sexy story from It Starts With A Kiss by JL Peridot is published with permission.

Erotic sexy story excerpt from It Starts With A Kiss by JL Peridot

Gingerly, Celeste undid her uniform and began to disrobe.

As she stepped out of her clothes, thermals and all, she thought of Owen with his top half down, walking casually around the function room.

God, it would have been nice to have him up here.

He had a trim figure—agile and fit for purpose. Not quite the big kind of guy that Tahnee went for, but not the slender, androgynous kind that Katie liked.

Back home, he would have been a surveyor or an ice climber. In the transient colonies, with their mishmash of standard gravities, he might have been a hauler. But he was just an engineer from Mars, working and bunking in a mail drop-off on the outer edge of Sol’s Aries sector. Who would have thought someone like that could look so good?

She should have said yes when he offered her a hand. She should have let him in here and sat him down. Would he be as good with gift-wrap as he was with his consoles? Or would he have just sat on the bed making smartass remarks while she cut into the paper and ribbon?

That message would have come in. She would have let it go unanswered. Maybe she still would have spilled her cider and he’d sit there, watching while she got her kit off.

Maybe he’d offer her a hand and, this time, she’d say yes.

He’d pull her top down—all the way down, not stopping at the waist. With a hand on his shoulder for support, she’d step out. She’d feel his breath on her thighs—that’s how close his face would be. Warmingly close. Awkwardly close.

Except, it wouldn’t be awkward. He’d crack a joke. She’d laugh and fire one back. They’d banter like they always did, but she’d be smooth instead of nervous. They’d collapse on the bed and he’d kiss her—softly at first, then deeply—while his hand traveled up her leg.

Celeste dropped her sodden garment on the desk and slid to the floor, remembering that time they spacewalked together to replace a row of lights. Afterwards, they changed together in the locker room. He hardly looked at her except in passing mid-chat, but she sure noticed him. That was the first time she’d seen him without a shirt on. Off had come the shell suit, exposing his toned physique. She had no idea he worked his body so hard. He’d only gotten fitter and better looking since.

It was warm in her room now. Had the heating kicked in?

Her fingers moved between her legs while her other hand clutched at her breast. He was bigger than she was, and no doubt, his skin would feel warm on hers. That was the charm of thermodynamics. He’d lie on top and the artificial gravity would pull him into her as it pulled them both onto the bed. She’d reach for his cock and find it hard and waiting.

But he wouldn’t force it onto her. He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t forward like Martin or sexist like that guy who hit on Katie just after she started. He wasn’t sleazy like that temp or gross like Carl or a corporate bull like David Blythe. No, Owen Larson was a real, down-to-earth nice guy. If she wanted his cock inside her, she’d have to look him in the eye and ask for it.

In real life, she’d be too shy, but this wasn’t real life. She wouldn’t have to voice half the dirty shit she’d have him do to her—like pinning her down, whipping it out, paving the way with the wet pads of his fingers, and working her body hard. Her own fingers moved faster, in busy circles, pressing into her burning clit. Whatever he wanted, she’d let him have it. She’d open her legs and let him.

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He’d fuck her on her back at first and she’d get an eyeful of his tight chest and firm abs. With every thrust and pull, she’d delight in the friction and pressure and the wrench of his grip on her wrists. Then he’d back off, just a little, and with his dick still between her legs, he’d flip her over and carry on, one hand clamped on her hip, the other in her hair. With her core clenched, she’d fight for air.

Alone in her room, with her hand still working the button, she panted hard, licking her lips and likening the cool evaporation to the sweat of his body lifting off her mouth.

Perhaps they’d be missed at the party. But Tahnee would figure it out. She’d make conversation in their absence, give them time to writhe—naked and immune to the cold—until they poured sweat and spit and organic fluids and made sure the sheets were fit for the recycler.

Hands. Celeste thought of hands.

His on her back, and how her hands would grip the headrail and hold her steady. She clutched tighter at her breast, holding fast against the push of his thrusting body, the build-up mounting inside her, his breathing, her breathing, air escaping in strained squeaks from her throat and heart like machinery pounding in her chest.

She bit her lip and came hard in a deluge of thrumming muscles, sensations and disembodied curves and contours, hers and Owen’s, hot and messy, seizing her, filling her ears, her mouth, her lungs, and drowning her in heartbeats and the low hum of the station.

With a long, deep sigh, she opened her eyes. She was back in her room with the cider-soaked uniform crumpled on her desk. A new message awaited.


Begging for more? You can buy It Starts With A Kiss here.

JL Peridot writes sexy, cosmopolitan love stories with scifi and retrofuture vibes. In her spare time, she watches movies, plays Dungeons & Dragons, and consumes wholesome memes on Twitter. With the help of supportive friends, a loving partner, two bossy cats and a well-used music subscription, she writes and writes in her sunny, sea-girt home. You can find her on Twitter or Facebook or leave a review at Goodreads.

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