Lust Meter System: Conquering Beauties

Morning arrived at the lake house the way it always did out here, without the city pushing it along. Just light coming through the curtain slowly, the lake catching it first and sending it back into the room in soft broken pieces, the air cool and clean through the slightly open window.

Liam opened his eyes.

The ceiling of the lake house bedroom looked back at him. He lay there for a moment taking stock of things, the warmth of the bed, the sound of the water outside, the smell of something coming from the kitchen that had no business smelling that good at whatever hour this was.

He sat up.

A tray was on the bed beside him. Eggs done properly, toast, something that looked like it had fruit beside it, a glass of orange juice sitting next to a mug of coffee that was still sending up a thin thread of steam.

He looked at the tray.

Then at the empty side of the bed where Elena had been.

He picked up a fork.

He had gotten about three bites in, genuinely good, the eggs seasoned in a way that suggested she had actually thought about it rather than just applied heat to them, when he felt it.

Her hand.

Finding him under the covers, her fingers wrapping around him with the specific casualness of someone picking up something they had set down earlier and were simply returning to.

He looked down at the covers.

Then at her, sitting on the bed beside him, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing the oversized shirt she had found somewhere the night before, looking at him with an expression that had woken up fully in a way the rest of the world had not yet managed.

"I’m eating," he said.

"So am I," she said. "Keep eating."

She disappeared under the covers.

Liam looked at his plate.

He took another bite of eggs.

"Mm," she said, from somewhere under the linen, the sound muffled and present and entirely deliberate.

He chewed.

He took a piece of toast.

"Mm," she said again, the sound different this time, lower and more committed.

He put the toast down.

He picked it back up.

He was doing a reasonable job of maintaining some kind of dignified relationship with his breakfast for about another minute before he accepted that the situation was what it was and set the tray aside on the nightstand.

He lay back against the pillow.

She kept going, unhurried and thorough, her hands working in coordination with her mouth the way they always did, building things steadily from the bottom up with the patience of someone who had decided on an outcome and was not in any rush to arrive at it.

"Elena," he said.

She did not stop.

He put his hand on the back of her head through the covers, pressing lightly, and she made a sound that vibrated through everything and traveled up his spine.

She worked for a long time. The morning light moved across the bedroom floor slowly, the lake outside doing its thing, the birds somewhere in the trees doing theirs, and none of it was relevant.

Eventually he reached down and found her shoulder.

"Come up here," he said.

She emerged from the covers with her hair completely undone and her expression carrying the composed satisfaction of someone who had accomplished something they had set out to accomplish.

He looked at her.

"I need to go see Tasha today," he said.

She looked at him. Then down briefly. Then back up at his face. "Then I need to finish what I started before you go," she said.

"Is that not a little petty," he said.

She looked at him with the expression she had when a question didn’t require a response.

"Have you met me?" she said.

He looked at her for a second.

Then he pulled her toward him and kissed her.

She kissed him back immediately, her hands finding his chest, and the morning and the breakfast and Tasha were all things that existed outside the room and would continue to exist there while they dealt with what was happening inside it.

He moved over her and she pulled him down and the morning light kept doing what it was doing across the bedroom floor.

He started slow.

Long unhurried strokes, her legs wrapping around him, her hands moving from his chest to his back, the two of them finding the morning rhythm which was different from the night rhythm, less urgent and more present, both of them awake enough to feel everything properly.

"Mm," she said. "Oh."

He drove deeper and she exhaled against his neck, her whole body receiving it, her hands pressing flat against his back.

"Haa," she said. "Oh god. Morning and you’re already."

She didn’t finish the sentence.

He kept going.

Her sounds built the way they built when the pace was right, gradually and without interruption, each one arriving a little more openly than the previous one, her body moving with him rather than waiting for him.

"Mm," she said. "Haa. Oh."

He moved his mouth to her neck and she tilted her head back and he felt her grip tighten on his back.

"Oh," she said. "Right there. Oh god."

He shifted the angle slightly and drove forward and she made a sound that had nothing managed about it, sharp and immediate and going directly into the quiet morning air of the bedroom.

He kept that angle and built the pace from it, driving forward steadily, her sounds climbing with each stroke, the linen moving beneath them, the morning light continuing its slow progress across the floor entirely unaware of and unbothered by any of this.

She came with her whole body in it, her back off the linen, her hands pulling at him, a long sound leaving her that the lake house absorbed without complaint.

He held her through it.

When she came back down she looked at him with her hair across the pillow and said nothing, just looked, which was its own kind of thing.

He moved her.

He turned her onto her side and came in from behind, her back against his chest, his arm around her waist, and pushed in from this angle.

"Oh," she said immediately. "Oh that’s different."

"Good different," he said.

"Don’t ask questions you know the answer to," she said.

He started moving.

From this position everything was closer, more immediate, the warmth of her back against his chest and his mouth finding her neck from behind and her sounds arriving directly into the air in front of her without anything between them and the room.

"Mm," she said. "Haa. Oh god."

His arm tightened around her waist and she pressed back against him, the two of them finding the rhythm of the position, her sounds coming freely now, each one honest and warm and filling the bedroom.

"Haa," she said. "Oh. Liam. Mm."

He drove forward and she pushed back and they stayed in it together until she came a second time, quieter this time, more internal, her whole body tightening and then releasing against him, a long slow exhale leaving her.

He followed her, his arm pulling her against him, a low rough sound leaving him into the back of her neck.

They lay there afterward in the same position, her back against his chest, the morning fully established now outside the window, the lake bright and the birds louder than before.

After a while she said, "You should go."

"I know," he said.

Neither of them moved for another few minutes.

Then they did.

---

He showered and dressed and came out to find her in the kitchen again, this time properly dressed, a fitted cream top and dark trousers, her hair pulled back, looking like the version of herself that existed outside the bedroom.

She handed him a glass of water and leaned against the counter with her coffee and they stood there in the kitchen in the morning and it was comfortable in the specific way that things were comfortable when they had been through enough together to not need to perform anything for each other.

He finished the water and set the glass down.

"I’ll call you later," he said.

"You’d better," she said. Not a threat. Just a statement of expectation delivered in the tone of someone who didn’t make many statements they didn’t mean.

He walked to the front door.

She followed him, her coffee still in her hand, and when he opened the door and turned back she was right there and she kissed him, one hand coming up to the side of his face, warm and unhurried, the morning air coming in through the open door around them.

She pulled back and looked at him.

"Come back in one piece," she said.

"Always," he said.

He went down the steps to Kelvin’s car.

---

The address Tasha sent took him off the main road and into a quieter part of the city, the kind of area that had found its pace a long time ago and had no particular interest in changing it.

The buildings here were lower, the streets wider, trees planted at intervals along the pavement that had grown tall enough to actually provide shade rather than just suggest it.

He turned onto the street she had named and drove slowly, looking.

The coffee place was about halfway down the block.

Small and unhurried, the kind of place that had probably been there for years without needing to announce itself, a simple canopy extending over four or five tables set out on the pavement, the chairs mismatched in the specific way that meant it was intentional rather than accidental.

A chalkboard sign near the door.

A counter visible through the window with a single person working behind it.

He found a spot and parallel parked, which took two attempts because Kelvin’s car was slightly longer than it looked, and cut the engine.

He sat there for a moment with his hands on the wheel, looking through the windshield at the coffee place.

Then he saw her.

She was at the second table from the left, sitting with her back mostly toward him, a cup in front of her, her hands wrapped around it.

She was looking at something across the street, her head turned slightly, whatever had caught her attention holding it without much effort.

He looked at her from the car.

Her black hair fell past her shoulders, straight and clean, the morning light sitting on it in a way that made it look like it had been arranged rather than just existing.

She was wearing a fitted white top with a low neckline, the fabric sitting close, and a short dark skirt that stopped at mid-thigh, her legs crossed beneath the table, one foot moving slightly in the air with the small unconscious motion of someone whose mind was somewhere else.

He stayed in the car for a moment longer than he needed to.

’She looks good,’ he thought. ’She looks better than the image is still have for her, which is insane.’

He got out.

The morning air hit him, cool and carrying the smell of coffee from the place and something from the bakery two doors down that was doing its own work on the atmosphere of the street. He closed Kelvin’s car door and crossed the pavement, moving toward the canopy and the tables beneath it.

His footsteps on the pavement were what found her before anything else did.

She turned her head and looked and her expression changed.

Her blue eyes found him first, that specific shade that arrived differently in daylight than in any other light, clear and present and doing what they always did which was land before the rest of her face did and stay after. For a second she just looked at him, her hands still around her cup, her expression doing several things at once without settling on any particular one.

Then she smiled.

Not the managed version. The real one, the one that arrived before she decided on it, warm and unguarded and completely like her.

Liam walked to her table and stopped beside it.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she said.

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

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