She’s still asleep when I enter the bedroom. Her dark hair is spilled across her pillow in loose waves around her head, her almost-black eyelashes like charcoal smudges against her pale cheeks. She looks like she’s been drawn or something. Created out of thin air. I find myself thinking that a lot—that someone has crafted her, this mythical creature who’s turned my life upside down—because how else can she be real? It makes no sense. The universe just isn’t this kind to anyone, especially guys like me.
Placing the food down on the bedside table, I move up the bed, pulling the covers back from her body as I climb. She’s naked underneath—so fucking perfect. Her breasts lay heavy, crushed between her arms as she lies on her side. I can already feel my cock stirring in my shorts. Nothing new there. Poor Sloane’s eggs are going to be cold by the time she gets around to eating them. I haven’t even made any food for myself. I knew she was all I was going to want to eat. Placing my hand on her hip, I gently turn her body so that she’s on her back. Unlike my cock, her perfect nipples aren’t erect yet, but I have plans on changing that. Slowly, carefully, I lower my mouth to her skin and I lick across her collarbone, moving down until I trace my tongue across the swell of her tits. So. Fucking. Amazing.
Sloane groans, body writhing a little as she surfaces into consciousness. Waking her up this way is the best goddamn part of my day. I know she’s aware of what I’m doing when I feel her legs press together underneath me. She’s been so good recently whenever we fuck, doing as I tell her when I tell her to without hesitation or question, that now I feel like being bad for her. She’s earned it. I bite down on the now hard, tight bud of her nipple, sending a jolt of pain through her, waking her up properly. She reacts quickly, sucking in a sharp breath, her body tightening underneath me.
“Morning, angry girl. Dreaming about me?” I whisper.
Her fingers wind into my hair, which is longer than it’s ever been. Not hipster long. Just long enough that she can get a good fucking handful of it and pull when she wants to. She moans, which is a good sign. There aren’t many women you could wake up after a twelve-hour hospital shift with a bite to the nipple and have them appreciate it. This is why we’re fucking perfect together.
“You planning on backing that up?” she mumbles, her voice still a little hoarse.
“What? This?” I bite her again, this time on the other nipple. Her eyelids fly open wide, her back arching off the bed. “Stay still, angry girl. Don’t you dare fucking move unless I tell you to. If you’re good, I’ll make you come. Would you like that? Would that make you feel better?”
“Yes,” she says breathlessly. “I think it would.”
I hold myself over her, lowering myself a little more so that I can speak directly into her ear. “Okay. Spread your legs for me, Sloane,” I growl. She shivers in that way she does. The way that lets me know she likes the sound of my voice, rough and right up close in her ear like that. She likes feeling my breath on her skin. Like the good fucking girl she is, she widens her legs for me, and I change positions, moving so I’m inside her legs now. My dick is so hard I’m pretty sure you could break rocks with it. I catch sight of her pussy and my balls begin to ache like they haven’t been emptied in months, instead of yesterday morning.
Fuck.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” I groan. “God. Your pussy is beautiful. So pink. So sweet.” I can smell her, that peculiar yet addicting scent that drives me absolutely crazy. I just want to bury my face between her legs and go to town. Not yet, though. “You want me to make you wet, angry girl?” I ask.
Sloane looks up at me with those big brown eyes of hers and nods. “I’m already wet,” she whispers. She used to sound ashamed of the fact when she admitted that to me, but not anymore. She knows how much it turns me on to see her dripping wet and ready for me. As if to prove the point, she rocks her hips upward, giving me a better view.
“You’re breaking the rules,” I inform her. “I didn’t say you could move.” Palming her right breast, I squeeze hard, tightrope walking that boundary between enjoyable pain and real discomfort. I’m going easy on her, though. She’s still not feeling one hundred percent, after all. Sloane’s hips press back down into the mattress in an instant, her eyes closing as she breathes through what I’m doing to her. “That’s better. Yeah. Good girl…” I let my other hand trail down the side of her body, my fingers slowly working toward the apex of her thighs. I don’t go straight for her clit, though. I run my fingers up the insides of the legs, over her hips, up her stomach, breasts, neck, over her high cheekbones and over her lips.
“Suck,” I tell her.