Looking at my bed, I love my view: her naked body spread across the mattress, the sheets covering just enough to have me wanting to rip that damn fabric away, and her little feet poking out the bottom. God, I want to wake her up. I want to dive in between her legs and wake her up in the best way possible, with my tongue to her amazingly sweet pussy.
Talk about a heavy craving. Hell, I fucked her with my tongue three times last night because I couldn’t keep away. And then there was her “blow job” which consisted of her kissing the tip of my dick because she was scared of “getting shot in the eye” and moving her hand up and down my length so loosely that it was more of a tease than anything. After five minutes of her featherlight touches and dick-hole kissing, I took her hand, gripped my cock hard, and showed her how to do it. She was scared to hurt me after our first encounter where she thought my dick was a dangling doo-dad she could grab with a death grip. I can understand the hesitation, so I showed her the proper pressure and grip to apply, and once she got the hang of it, sweet Jesus, I came hard. She was so determined, so set on getting me off, and her persistence paid off. As for when I came, she squealed so damn loud, my neighbors most likely heard her. Her reasoning, she never thought it could “spray like that.” Not going to lie, her little handy got me some record height.
What it boils down to is her innocence. It turns me on so damn much. It’s one of my favorite things about her.
A few feet away, rustling fabric draws my attention. Peeking past the bundled-up sheets, Daisy looks out into the open space of the apartment, her hair mussed from last night and early this morning.
“What smells good?” she croaks out in a sexy morning voice.
“French toast. You interested?”
Like a bolt of lightning, she sits up in bed, the sheets pooling at her waist, giving me a monumental view that will have me hard all damn morning. Her arms above her head, she stretches from side to side, enjoying the morning sun.
I turn away because if I don’t, the French toast will burn, breakfast will be ruined, and I never ruin a meal. A quick glance in Daisy’s direction has me reconsidering, but before I can make a move, she’s putting on my shirt from last night and pushing up the sleeves that ride long on her arms.
When she steps out of bed, I’m awarded with the vision of the hem of my shirt hitting her on the upper side of her thighs. Waves of blonde float around her with each step in my direction. So beautiful, it hurts.
She pads her way toward me, a little sway to her hips. “You’re staring.”
Giving her a once-over, I nod and then turn back to the French toast. “Hard not to where you’re concerned.” I pat the counter next to the stove. “Have a seat, beautiful. Keep me company while I finish making breakfast.”
She hops up and then squeals. “The counter is cold.”
“That will happen to you when you’re prancing around like some sexed-up hussy.”
“Hey,” she playfully slaps my bare arm, “I’m not a sexed-up hussy. You’re naked too.”
I glance down at my boxer-clad crotch and quirk my lips to the side. “Sorry. I’m not naked, and neither are you, but I can make us naked if that’s what you want.”
“No way. I’m too sore.”
Sore? Shit.
Turning the burner down, I position myself between Daisy’s legs and put my hands on her thighs, gently rubbing them up and down. “Did I hurt you last night, Daisy?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” She smiles bashfully. “I mean sore as in I’ve never had foreign objects inside me like that before.”
“My dick is not a foreign object.” I chuckle.
“It is to my vagina,” she says.
“From the way you moaned last night, I would say your vagina doesn’t consider my dick a foreign object anymore.”
Her hands go to her cheeks, her face reddening. Whispering, she asks, “Did I really moan?”
I lean in and match her whisper. “You really did, and it was sexy as fuck.”
Relieved, she drapes her hands over my shoulders and clasps them around my neck, her legs circling my waist as well. I’m surrounded by her body, her scent, her purity. It takes my breath away, that this woman with so much potential—a world of possibilities ahead of her—wants to be with me.
Needing to feel her skin, I slip my hands under her shirt and roam them up her stomach and until my fingers skim her breasts. My mouth goes to her neck where I press long, languid kisses along her skin, loving the way I can smell myself on her as well.
“I can’t get enough—”
My words are cut off by the jingle of keys in my front door and the presence of someone right outside the apartment. What the fuck?
I turn my head just in time to see Sasha walk through, suitcase in hand, long dark hair tied in a knot on top of her head, skinny jeans eating up her long legs, and her classic white T-shirt hanging low to show off her perfectly set cleavage.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Oh?” Taking in the scene in front of her, her cheeks start to blush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I would be interrupting something.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Sasha?” I ask. I notice Daisy go rigid in my arms.
“I . . .” She looks around, her hands fidgeting in front of her. This is not the Sasha I know. She was confident, sure of herself, would never fidget like she is right now. “I, um, came back.”
Shielding Daisy now, I ask, “Why would I want you to come back here?”
Pulling an envelope from her back pocket, she walks it over to the kitchen island where I get a better view of her. She’s not wearing a lot of makeup, so judging by the absence of dark circles under her eyes, she’s finally started sleeping again.
“Here.” She places the envelope on the counter, eyeing my chest for a brief second. “Here’s your money along with the rent for the months I was gone.”
Is she fucking serious right now? I’m not sure what I should be feeling. I never wanted to see her again, but I can’t deny that the menacing dark cloud of pessimism—that’s hovered over me ever since she left—is parting and I feel a small ray of hope.
I open the envelope and there is a lot of cash inside. I don’t bother counting it, as I somehow know it’s there.
“Is this a joke?” I ask. Her hands rest in her back pockets, her breasts sticking out even farther from her stance. From behind me, I hear Daisy hop down from the counter and walk toward the bedroom, hopefully giving me a little privacy with Sasha, so I don’t have to explain all this shit to her.
She shakes her head. “It’s not a joke. The money is yours. I told you I was hoping I could pay you back one day. I just wasn’t expecting it to be this soon.” Looking over my shoulder, she eyes Daisy, who’s shuffling around the room. “I came back, Carter, because I never stopped loving you.” What the hell?
She’s kind of blowing up my mind right now. Completely out of it, I remove the French toast from the stove so I don’t burn down the apartment while I try to wrap my head around what’s going on.