I’m a little bit proud of that one. For a woman who couldn’t come once in the past eight months, I’ve had no trouble getting her there.
Her smell is like a fucking drug to me, and her taste is quickly becoming my favorite addiction. Which is why while she was playing nurse and icing my knee after we had sex, I pulled her to sit on my face and gave her orgasm number three. Then, in the middle of the night, with her body molded to mine, I woke her up, slipped my hand between her legs, and made her come for the fourth time.
It was entirely freeing, to spend an entire night with Indy in my bed and have my mind clear of anxious thoughts.
“Mmm,” she hums, stirring awake. “You’re heavy.”
“I don’t care.” I nuzzle my face back into the crook of her neck, wrapping my arms under her back.
“Get off me.” She pretends to shove me.
I hold her tighter. “Not a chance.”
She bends her knees, tightening her legs around my waist and crossing her ankles to pull me closer. It does nothing but press my morning erection, covered only by my boxers, into the apex of her thighs, reminding me she’s absolutely bare besides the T-shirt of mine she has on.
A deep guttural groan escapes me as I move my hips against hers again.
If I had time and a condom, we’d be going at it.
“When are you going to let me reciprocate?” she whispers into my ear, which only stiffens me even more.
With desperation, I lift my head, snapping my attention to the clock on my nightstand, praying to God I somehow woke up early enough to have the privilege of watching Indy’s mouth slide around my cock again. She tried last night, but after she made me come twice, I wanted the rest of the evening to be about her.
In the morning light though, I’m feeling a bit more selfish, especially knowing that after my game, I’m jumping on a plane for another road trip.
I let out a desperate whine, dropping my head to her chest when I see the time. “When I don’t have to get picked up for a press conference in less than twenty minutes.”
She sighs beneath me. “Are you making breakfast, or am I?”
With my laptop open, I keep an eye on the eggs cooking on the stove.
“Hey, Ind. Will you come here for a second?”
I sense her walking around the kitchen in only my shirt, but she slides her hand around my bare waist, resting her cheek on my shoulder to let me know she’s here.
“What do you think about these shoes?” I ask, nodding towards my computer where a mockup of this year’s potential sneaker is blown up on the screen.
“I…like them.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Excuse me, I’ve been successfully lying to your boss for months.”
“And how much of that has been lying?”
She gives me a playful swat on my ass. “Shut it.”
I nod towards the computer screen once again.
“They’re a little boring,” she admits honestly. “I think they could use some color.”
I can’t help but smile at that. I knew my bright girl wouldn’t be all that into a black and white sneaker. “Of course, you do. What color are you thinking?”
She cranes her neck thoughtfully. “Maybe red, like your team colors.”
“Or blue?”
“Why blue? Red makes more sense than blue.”
Turning my head, my lips brush the top of her hair. “Because blue is quickly becoming my favorite.”
“Either one.” She shrugs, clearly not catching on. “Whatever you decide will look nice.”
She tilts, placing a single kiss on my upper arm before leaving me at the stove.
I stop her with a heavy hand wrapped around her waist, turning her into me again. Eyes bounce between one another because though we’ve shared breakfast in this kitchen countless times, today is different and we both know it.
With the need to make sure what happened last night continues outside of the bedroom, I thread my fingers into her golden hair, tugging to tilt her head back.
“Good morning,” I rasp before pressing my mouth to hers, tasting the toothpaste on her tongue.
Drunken and loose, she melts into my side. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted you to kiss me over breakfast.”
So I do just that, again and again until the veggie omelets I made are ready.
She pulls her coffee from the fridge, adding one of the atrociously sweet creamers. “Maybe it’s acts of service. That could be your love language. Every morning you make sure my coffee is cold, so it doesn’t get watered down when I add ice. I’ve always noticed that.” She looks at me, cocking her head and speaking softly. “Thank you.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe that is my love language because even though I could’ve easily bought cold coffee for the fridge, I like the smile I get to see when she pulls her cup out and realizes I made one for her.
At some point, I should probably tell her that my love language is whichever one she wants it to be so she can stop guessing. I’ll make sure that girl feels loved however she needs.
Taking a seat next to me, Indy slides a folder next to my plate.
“What is this?”
A heat rushes her cheeks. “Ignore this if I’m overstepping, but that day we went camping when you told me you wanted to start your own foundation, I couldn’t get it out of my head. You said it felt overwhelming, so I thought maybe I could help steer you in the right direction.”
Opening the folder, endless papers detail the ins and outs of a new nonprofit. Startup costs, fundraising projections, description, and a thorough marketing plan. Every detail is carefully thought out and organized, only needing a name to round out the comprehensive business plan.
The knowledge of what this is swells my throat, keeping me from speaking.
Indy continues for me. “We start small. A lot of these kids, they don’t have a place to go over the summers like they do during the school year. They don’t have school-provided meals either and I’d imagine, because of that, maybe some kids don’t get to eat those days. So, what if we run a summer camp, something to keep them in a scheduled environment? We provide meals and a safe place to play.” She flips through the pages, but I’m not reading a word. I’m looking at her. “We get some of the outdoor courts around Chicago cleaned up. Your shoe deal includes sneaker donations. They have something to wear. As we grow, we move into the school year, creating after-school programs. Here’s my projection.” She motions towards a chart. “In five years, this is how many kids we should be able to help if this is the rate at which we grow.”
I stay silent, mesmerized by every single word that comes out of her mouth.
Nervousness and ingrained insecurities take over. She pulls her hands into her lap, leaving the folder on the kitchen counter. “Only if you want to, I mean. And it’s only a rough draft—”
I interrupt her with a searing kiss before her innate need to tone herself down comes into play. Her nerves melt away as she melts into me.
“You’re incredible,” I murmur against her lips.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s everything.”
“Do you like it?”