“You know…” she mumbles with a mouthful, reading her cell phone in one hand. Her expression is of disgust.
She’s gloriously naked, exposing her smooth caramel skin that’s become my favorite delicatessen as of late. Her nipples are perked, skin is flushed, and hair is in sweaty disarray. She’s holding a dessert saucer with some concoction she’s trying out for the dinner party with a few of my boys from New York City in the other hand. Rayna looks good as fuck in nothing. It doesn’t matter that she just fucked me in several ways—even in the face—I could easily devour her ass again.
“Why are you regarding your phone like it’s pissed you off?” I ask as she types away before placing it on the nightstand.
“It’s that designer Dawn Taylor recommended.” I flinch at the cordial mention of Dawn’s name by Rayna. She’s been doing well at accepting Dawn as a business associate of mine, but I’ll never forget the hurt that I caused with my selfishness and recklessness in kissing ol’ girl, some shit that will never happen again. “She’s sending me awful pieces to gauge my taste.” Rayna shrugs, “I just told her to bring them to my office tomorrow, I’d rather see them up close.”
As she mounts the elevated bed, I can’t help but ogle her lush breasts. Her round mounds are beautiful with nipples the shade of milk chocolate. And what I love most is that she doesn’t try to cover herself up, being self-conscious. She’s just as comfortable as if she were completely sheathed in clothes.
“Here. Try…” she offers me a forkful of some unfamiliar custard. I mask my awkwardness and let her put it my mouth.
“Not bad,” I nod. “And it would be better if I knew what it was.”
She perks up, happy about the circular compliment. “Have you not been listening all night? It’s a mini custard fruit tart that Boyd has been distantly coaching me on preparing. And I think I’ve got it!”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it was hard to concentrate on custard or crust when you were stripping me and pulling my cock in your mouth before I was able to cross the frame of the front door,” I explain wryly.
Not that I’m complaining. Rayna’s menstrual ended a couple of days ago and she is a nympho on methamphetamines the first few days after her last spotting. When she left the room for the kitchen after our last romp, I decided I was worn out. Now that she’s returned wondrously naked, I’m not too sure.
While I’m expecting a punch in the arm or an aghast expression, I’m met with mild chiding of, “Azmir,” she warns. Her voice husky and riddled with desire.
Goddamm, Brimm!
“So,” I say, needing to change the subject before we end up at it again. “…do you like it? Has the recipe been perfected enough to replicate this weekend?”
Her eyes abstractedly scan the room as she considers her answer. “I think so, but Boyd will sample it in the morning for a final assessment.”
“When did you have time to make this?” I ask with my forehead wrinkled. I’m curious. I’m sure it took hours.
“I took a half day today,” she answers before placing the last piece into her luscious little mouth.
“You? Took time off work?” I ask in mocking incredulity. “Anytime I ask you to, you always decline, saying it’s not feasible.”
Rayna sighs, relaxing her head on her shoulder as she lay on her side facing me. “I know. It’s just that I need to make a few changes in my operandi modus,” she giggles. More soberly, she murmurs, “I feel like I’ve been in a shell, a weakened state over the past few months. I need to get back to me.” She takes a pregnant pause before continuing, “I feel like since being knocked on the ass—pardon my expression—by meeting you, I’ve been operating with kryptonite. You know?”
“So, I’ve weakened you?” I have to get this straight.
“In a roundabout way, yes. But in a suppressing manner, no. I guess that’s what happens when you…”
“Fall in love?”
Her chestnut irises shoot up to meet mine as though I’ve helped complete her thought. “Yes,” she breathes.
“Indeed,” I say with a nod because I know that more than I care to admit. Rayna has fucked up my world and made it beautiful just the same. I can’t imagine breathing without her sharing it with me.
“So, what about these wedding plans did you want to discuss? Or did you bring me here under false pretenses, Ms. Brimm?” I say in jest. She wanted to talk wedding plans, which was news to me. I’d begun to worry about her lack-luster enthusiasm over planning her big day. I mean, isn’t that what women did from the time they were able to cognize the concept of prince charming?
Rayna gasps, “You would have been here at this hour anyway,” then delivers the shove of my arm.
I scoff, “No, I would not have. I have far more important things to do with my evenings than having you sitting on my face.”