“So you were fishing for compliments,” she teased. But there was no real venom in her low voice. She still sounded hazy, her high not yet faded. Soon she would be just plain old relaxed. “Of course you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”
I chuckled as I freed her from the last knots. “Now that’s what I want to hear.”
Daniella scooted back to sit up against the headboard, tugging the blanket with her. I handed her the granola bar and thermos of black coffee I’d prepared earlier. She tore into her snack while I rubbed her shoulders.
We fucked like this at least once or twice a week, which was fine by me. Her shifts were always changing, but I knew her general workday pattern by now. Slave away at the hospital for twelve hours, come home, drop dead, wake up hungry and horny. One kink session would soothe and refresh her nerves; two would knock her out again.
Once Daniella seemed okay, I kissed the back of her hand and left to take a boiling-hot, soapy shower. I was meeting Lacey soon, and she probably wouldn’t appreciate me reeking of sweat and sex. Some women were into that, but I wasn’t going to bet on it.
Especially not with this one.
I thought back to last Saturday night as I scrubbed myself. When I first saw Lacey at the dive bar, she had seemed so innocent and out of place. But despite her modest casual clothes and scant makeup, she didn’t quite fit the girl-next-door type. She was too striking—her features too fine, her eyes too big and crystalline blue, her dark hair the color of chocolate too long and sleek.
And even as she’d flirted, smiling shyly, enticingly, there had been something solemn about her. Something she held back. It only made me want to dig in and find out. Maybe it was my line of work, but a question deserved an answer.
When Lacey told me she was new in town, I’d offered up my number in case she ever needed anything. Plus, I just wanted to fend off the horny, opportunistic vultures circling her. Moving from one city to another was always hard, especially for a woman alone. But I didn’t imagine I was fooling anyone with any ideas about my chivalry. She was a hot piece of ass and I wanted to fuck her, simple as that.
And even though Lacey looked like a goody-two-shoes, she’d made it clear that she was interested. A few days ago, she’d texted to ask if I wanted to grab a drink.
I’d said sure, knowing Daniella wouldn’t mind. We had talked a long time ago about what we wanted out of our relationship. We were there for each other in a unique way. It worked. Perfectly, in fact.
After what Daniella had been through, her first priority was stability, and once she was safe, having her sexual needs met was a close second. Romance—let alone monogamy—didn’t even make the list. Two years ago, Daniella’s last Dom had ended their five-year relationship by kicking her out and replacing her with a younger sub.
I’d been at the right place at the right time and invited her to crash at my place. This house was too big for just me, anyway, and my job paid plenty, so I was able to take care of her every need. Physically and emotionally. She took on more than her fair share of cooking and cleaning—I’d never asked her to, but she didn’t want to feel like a charity case, so in a sense she took care of me too, I supposed.
And since I definitely wasn’t looking for love either, we were a good match. With no interest in messy entanglements that could lead to commitment, I ensured my world didn’t involve heartache. Two distinct events had led me here, and the six years I spent on the world’s deadliest battlegrounds sealed the deal. I only wanted easy, good times from here on out.
I lived in the moment, and right now, my mission was to enjoy life without getting tied down. Take advantage of my newfound freedom away from the military. Screw whatever women caught my eye. I gave Daniella what she needed to feel safe and satisfied, and in return, I had a live-in fuck buddy to take the edge off whenever I needed it. Daniella was a broken woman who was learning to be herself again, and knew how to have fun . . . in more ways than the usual roommate. We had worked hard to get our relationship to where we were today.
I left the bathroom, not bothering to wrap a towel around me. Daniella had finished resting and was getting dressed. She glanced at me as I passed her bedroom, idly curious, now in her black satin bra and panties.
“You on your way somewhere?”
“I’m going to meet Lacey in half an hour,” I replied, pausing at the door to watch two sets of Daniella’s curves—one in the flesh, the other in the closet door’s mirror.
She ogled my muscular, naked body, her eyes drawn down to my generous cock, and I couldn’t help but smirk. I knew she liked what she saw, along with nearly every woman in our small Texas town. But a little female appreciation never got old.
Finally, she laughed and broke our staring match to put on her tank top. “You’re helping her unpack right now? It’s kind of late.”
“Not right now. We’re having a drink.”
Daniella hummed, giving me knowing smile. “Oh, I see. Pussy patrol.”