7. Cory
Chapter seven
Cory
A s my dick softens inside the vice-like grip of Denise's pussy, one thought pops into my head: How the hell did I forget that?
If not for her satisfied sigh against my chest, I'd be embarrassed by my "minute man" performance. Before I think better of it, I free my arm from where it's trapped between our bodies and the couch to give her ass a firm smack.
"Hey!" she yelps. "What was that for?"
I give her ass a playful squeeze before answering.
"That, naughty girl, was for taking my cum before I was ready. I told you to slow down."
She lifts her head so I'm sure to see the mischievous glint in her eyes, and I don't bother stifling my chuckle. I wrap my arms around her midsection, loving the soft satin of her skin against my body. The action feels natural, despite being dangerously close to cuddling. I don't do cuddling.
"We were just scratching an itch, remember? No need to draw things out."
"Ouch!" I say with mock outrage, despite the very real sting of her words. "So, what am I? Just some talking dildo for you to love and leave?"
She scoffs and disentangles herself from my embrace.
"Never love , baby. That shit's for little girls planning their fairytale weddings and writing their crush's name on their binder in fifth period. I'm grown."
I try not to wince. I've said some version of that speech more times than I can count, but I've never been on the receiving end.
"That's cold-blooded," I mutter.
She's pulling back on her clothes—first her panties, then the miniskirt that drove me crazy as soon as I saw her on the sidewalk in front of my building. Her body's amazing, round and plump in all the right places, with more than a handful of tits…or mouth ful. Maybe it's because she's my physical ideal that her rejection hits different?
I take care of the condom and try to pull myself together instead of obsessing like some love-struck simp. She's fully dressed now, and probably reading way too much into my silence.
"Did you even really find the necklace," she accuses, her hands fisted on her hips, "or did you just text me, hoping to have your way with me when I came over?"
I toy with the idea of pretending I didn't find the necklace. I know firsthand how hot she looks when she's all riled up. But I remember how destroyed she looked when it was missing and I change my mind.
"You're the one who keeps coming back. And wasn't it your weed that caused this whole mess?"
I raise an eyebrow at her, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest.
"It was an accident !" she says, her voice defensive. I raise my hands in a placating gesture.
"And I believe you, but let's not go twisting the facts."
She huffs out a frustrated breath and nods.
"You're right. But it's getting late. Do you have the necklace or not?"
I reach into my pocket for the necklace, twirling my finger to indicate she should turn around. When she does, I place the dainty gold chain around her neck, letting my fingers linger a little longer than necessary against her skin. Her relief is palpable, and she clasps the pendant in her palm.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"No problem," I respond, glad I decided not to tease her. The necklace is clearly more than just jewelry to her, and I'd have to be the dick everyone thinks I am to mess with that.
She gathers her purse and walks towards the door, and something close to panic rises in my throat. I don't want her to go, if for no other reason than I want a shot at making her scream my name. It's certainly not because I like her. My last attempt at monogamy was enough to scare me away forever. Thank God I never told my brothers.
"We should do this again sometime," I hear myself say, horrified that the filter between my mouth and my brain seems to be malfunctioning. To my complete surprise, she turns to face me with what looks like interest in her eyes.
"Really?"
Oh shit! She's going for it!
"Why not?" I say, forcing casualness into my tone. "We definitely click sexually. And neither of us are strangers to a no-strings situation."
She taps her chin in thought.
"No strings, huh? So we'd be friends with benefits, only there for some stress relief?"
I keep my face passive, trying not to even move for fear I'll scare her away.
"I'll be your talking dildo—"
"You don't even have to talk," she interrupts. I shake my head with a smile.
"Fine. I'll be your dildo and you'll be my Fleshlight, although I actually prefer talking." I wink so my meaning is clear, and she lets out a little laugh.
She extends her hand, but yanks it back before I can shake it.
"Wait a minute. What am I doing? We can't be fuck buddies. What about Maya?"
"What about Maya?" I ask, feigning ignorance. She rolls her eyes, clearly not buying it.
"She's my girl, and you were an absolute dick to her. I can't do that."
She turns to leave and I almost grab her hand to stop her before catching myself. Nothing says serial killer like keeping a woman from leaving when she wants to.
"I could apologize!" I call out, hoping that's enough to stop her.
"Didn't you already try that?" she says, still walking to the door. I rush after her.
"Yeah, OK. But…what if we didn't tell her?" I'm practically pleading, but I can't help it. Tonight was nowhere near enough of this woman.
At my offer, she stops and slowly turns to face me. I shoot my last Hail Mary to change her mind.
"Like you said, you're grown. Your girl doesn't need to know who you're fucking, does she?"
A wicked grin breaks out on her face and I pray to God I stay on her good side.
"You have a point. Don't think I don't know about your philandering reputation," she adds, "but…in this case, I guess it's…good? No chance of you catching feelings, right?"
I don't dare answer. I can see the wheels turning in her head.
"Inside your apartment, we can be fuck buddies, but outside of your apartment, we're just acquaintances who met that one time at the wedding."
"Exactly," I say, holding my breath for her final decision.
After a few more seconds of hesitation, she extends her hand, and I hurry to shake it. I move to open the door for her, doing my best to play it cool.
"We're really doing this," she says, pausing in the doorway. There's a mixture of hesitation and disbelief in her voice, and I make it my mission to convince her she made the right choice.
"We're really doing this," I confirm. I want to kiss her, but something tells me that's the wrong move. I settle on "keep your phone on," and she giggles on her way to the elevator.
Is tomorrow too soon to text for a booty call?