Chapter Nine #2
I roll onto my back as he tears open the cardboard.
In no time at all he’s rolling a condom down the length of his cock.
Thank goodness my gaze has adjusted to the low lighting.
Because missing this sight would be a shame.
Not getting to see him towering over me like a god.
To have him kneeling between my spread legs with his hair disheveled and his dick hard.
I’d write the man bad poetry if I only had the words.
It’s both too much and not enough—the want to crawl beneath his skin and show him my darkest parts.
He shoves his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “I’m going down on you.”
“No. Come here.”
“You have no patience.”
And he’s not wrong. But he does as asked, stretching his big body out over mine. The heat coming off him is wild. To have his smooth skin and muscles and dusting of chest hair within easy reach is sublime. I wrap my legs around him good and tight. There’s no hesitation. No second thoughts.
He takes his weight on one arm and positions the wide blunt head of his cock against me.
His mouth takes mine in a fevered kiss as he pushes in slowly.
It’s an indescribable sort of ecstasy. The intimacy of being here with him and having him inside me.
I moan and he growls and presses his forehead against mine.
We’re our own small safe world here on this bed. This is everything.
“Fuck me,” he says, his voice deep and raw and real.
When his hips rest against mine, I press my nails into his shoulders just a little.
Just enough to test him. And his feral grin answers all of my questions.
He’s every bit as overexcited and hanging on by a thread as me.
Oh so slowly he pulls out, torturing us both.
It’s like he’s lighting me up from inside.
His heavy length pushes back in again, taking me over.
My whole body is focused on the friction.
Each and every nerve ending in me wide the fuck awake.
The warm palm of his hand cups my breast, molding and learning the shape.
His clever fingers toy with the hard nipple.
Sweat is already beading on my skin. I want to breathe him in and memorize him to the bone.
Tie him to my bed and keep him here forever.
It’s not like me to be so jealous. But the emotions he’s stirring are beyond my control.
His hand wanders down my side, taking my ass cheek in a firm grip.
All the better to fuck me into the mattress.
And I dig my heels in, urging him on. Harder and faster.
Tension winds me tighter, the ache becoming louder and more insistent.
I raise my hips to meet him again and again.
Sensation streaks down my spine and yes.
My hands grasp at his shoulders, holding him to me.
When the orgasm hits me, the whole world goes away.
It’s like I am floating in darkness, but there’s nothing to fear.
My body is wrapped around his. My sex squeezing him tight and keeping him deep.
His hips buck against me time and again.
Then he buries his face in my neck with a groan when he finishes.
He tries to climb off me and I grunt in displeasure and hold on tighter.
And he gives in and gives me his weight.
This moment should never end. We should always be on my bed. A tangle of limbs and a sticky sweaty mess.
“I am getting off you,” he mumbles. “Any minute now.”
“That’s an awful idea. Why would you want to do that?”
He raises his head, cracks open one eyelid, and gives me a long look. “We’re not getting much sleep for a while, are we?”
“No,” I say with a smile.
Happiness and me don’t usually have much in common.
I am not sure I trust it. Though maybe I’m just not used to it.
Which is not to say good dick can cure all evils—but it sure does help.
And this is exactly what I am staring into space and thinking when the smoke alarm in the kitchen starts screaming.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
The remains of the butter I put in the frying pan is an ominous black sludge.
I turn off the stove and grab a dish towel to try and disperse the smoke.
Opening the window would also help. Something I am busy doing when Noah enters the room, pulling his tee on over his head.
He assesses the situation in no time, moves the overheated pan to a cooler section of the cooktop, and turns on the range hood.
“Did you burn yourself?” he asks, gaze running over me.
“No.” My face is aflame with embarrassment, however. And the slice of bread I put in the bowl with the egg, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon mix is as soggy as can be. I have seen a swamp hold itself together better than this. “I was going to make breakfast.”
“French toast, huh?”
“Yeah. But I got distracted.”
“It happens. What were you thinking about?”
“I’d rather not say.” I am not still blushing redder than a baboon’s ass. That’s someone else who looks disturbingly like me.
The way he just grins.
“Oh, my god. Your ego…I could have been thinking about baby ducks.”
“You mean ducklings?”
“Yes. Though you knew what I meant, so the words worked and there was no need to correct me.”
He nods. “You’re right. I apologize. And baby ducks are pretty great.”
“Damn right they are. Fluffy little miracles of nature.”
I’m wearing a tank and a pair of pajama pants.
While he’s back in his black jeans with the top button undone.
All of the hard lines of him in the morning sun is like a work of art.
The stubble on his jaw and his dark mussed hair.
He stretches and his tee slides up some.
The line of hair leading down from his belly button disappearing into his pants sure is tempting.
It’s like a siren song. So damn hard to look away from.
“This is just like the time I got punched in the face during training because I thought I heard your car coming down the street.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “You said you didn’t remember what distracted you.”
“I was hardly going to admit it, was I?”
“Hmm.” He smiles and looks around. “Where’s your dog this morning?”
“Auggie is busy sunbathing in the backyard. He has no job. He doesn’t even pay taxes. Life for him is good.”
Without a word, Noah backs me up some, grabs my hips, and sits me on the counter.
A sweet single perfect kiss is placed on my forehead.
Just the one. Then he places my cup of coffee in my hand before turning to make his own.
And as soon as he’s caffeinated, he takes over cooking us breakfast. Which is probably for the best.
“I’m usually competent in the kitchen,” I say, taking a sip. “Setting things on fire is not the norm. Just so you’re aware.”
“Okay.”
Good to be able to have this time with him.
It’s almost ten o’clock on a Monday. But my work is flexible, and I’m ahead with my hours.
Noah being here is everything. True happiness would be waking up to this every morning.
Him in my bed and making himself at home in my house.
I haven’t lived with anyone in a very long time.
Not since Grandma. How weird would it be to not be alone?
And talk about getting ahead of myself. Time to enjoy the moment and be content in the now.
There’s no need to define this situationship or whatever it might be.
Though I do wonder if we’re officially dating.
It sort of feels like we might be. Hard to trust my judgment, however, given the only serious boyfriend I had turned out to be a psycho killer.
Noah has the frying pan back in action and things cooking in no time.
French toast turning a golden brown. Plates, silverware, and maple syrup ready and waiting.
He really is a professional. You can see it in the expert way he wields a spatula.
When he cuts another thick slice of bread (Grandma believed in buying whole loaves of bread), it’s obvious how comfortable he is with a knife in his hand.
“Let’s talk about us,” he says out of nowhere. Just basically picking a topic of conversation out of the clear blue sky.
“Us?”
“Yeah.” The man doesn’t even make eye contact with me. Just carries on cooking like we’re discussing the weather. “I like having sex with you, Sid. Do you like having sex with me?”
“Um. Yes?”
“You’re not sure?”
“No,” I amend hastily. “It’s a definite. I very much enjoy having sex with you.”
“Great. I thought so. But it’s always good to check.” He downs some coffee. “I would prefer if we were exclusive. You good with that?”
I nod.
“Now even with me trying to slow down, my work hours can be kind of hectic. One of the pitfalls of the job, unfortunately,” he says.
“How often ideally do you see us getting together? And by getting together I don’t mean just fucking.
Though fucking can of course be included.
But talking to you, hanging out with you, that’s important to me too, okay? ”
“Wow.” I stare at him in wonder. “You’re so emotionally mature and relationship literate.”
He just waits.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“This is new. We can figure out what works for us as we go. I know you’re used to having space. And what with us living next to each other…I just want to be careful not to wear out my welcome.” He tips his chin at me. “What are you thinking?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“That I have years of celibacy to make up for and it’s highly unlikely you’re going to wear out your welcome anytime this century.”
“But you’ll tell me if you feel that changing, right?” he asks.
“I do. I mean…I will. Yes.”
“Good.”
He’s so pretty when he smiles. A sight guaranteed to make my brain go to a galaxy far, far away. How he woke up my libido and shook up my life when he moved into the neighborhood. My world has changed more in the last month than it has in the last decade.
I am about to pour my heart out and tell him all of this when my canine house guest starts barking. Auggie races in through the open back door, making a mad dash for the front of the house. Noah takes the frying pan off the heat and follows with a frown.
My cell is in the next room on the dining room table.
Just another sign of my lust-addled mind.
Normally I would never have my connection to the security cameras out of reach.
I jump down off the counter. This feels bad—whatever it is.
And I seem to have developed a sixth sense for this shit over the years.
Auggie is busy growling when Noah swears and says, “Baby, there’s a news crew filming on your front lawn.”