—
Saylor is out for doughnuts when I wake up. I know this because the room is covered in Post-it notes, telling me. There are at least twenty of them, and I know she did it so that as soon as I opened my eyes, no matter where I looked I would know where she was.
I shower and am forced to wear a towel because all of my clothes are missing. My bag is empty and inside of it is a note that tells me she is doing my laundry. I find some milk in the fridge, and drink it while I check out her apartment. It’s still pretty bare, but some of the boxes in the spare room look like they have been somewhat unpacked. I want her to pack them back up and ship them to my place. Which is where I’m gonna ask her to move when she gets back.
I hear the door open and close and I freeze, wondering if there is any way possible that it’s not Saylor. I use the small island in the kitchen to cover as much of me as possible, and let out a breath when Saylor emerges. Her bright pink T-shirt is so long it almost covers her shorts, her hair is wild around her head, and she has on a pair of neon yellow running shoes. I take it Saylor likes bright colors.
She smiles when she sees me, then her eyes fall to the towel around my waist. “Why didn’t I think to hide the towels?” she asks, and in one swift movement, I’m standing completely naked in her kitchen. Her eyes travel the length of my body as I walk toward her, already imagining what she will feel like when I’m buried inside her. I want her on the kitchen table. I want her on the counter. I want her on the floor, against the wall, in the air, and everywhere in between. But the noise coming from the laundry room tells me the best place to have her is on the washing machine.
I could grab her hand and lead her there. I could tell her to follow me. But both of those will take away more time than what I’m willing to give. So I scoop her in my arms and carry her, making sure to step over the box of doughnuts that are now on the floor.
The machine is on the wash cycle, and the gentle back and forth movement is just enough to make her tits dance for me. I strip off her shirt and bra, anxious to have her in my mouth. When I gently bite down on her nipple, she moans deep in her throat and pulls me closer to her.
She’s naked and I’m inside her before my mind slows down enough for me to think. I’m buried deep, letting her squeeze me with her * and pull my hair with her hands while she kisses me almost desperately. Fuck I’ve missed her. I move inside her, long, deep thrusts that are slow at first, then hard as I drive home that last inch. Her body jerks and she moans each time I pound into her. I love watching her—the way she squeezes her eyes shut, the way she throws her head back, the way she leans back on one hand while the other pulls at her nipples. She is a beautiful sight.
When her body tenses and she comes, the feeling she has can’t be anything close to the feeling I get each time I look at her like this. My own release isn’t as powerful as this feeling in my chest. Feeling my dick jerk inside her, flooding her, filling her . . . is pretty fucking intense.
But nothing can compare to what I feel for her in my heart. That mind-blowing, forget-everything, all-I-can-concentrate-on-is-this-moment sensation. This feeling you get when you reach that orgasmic high is what I feel every time I look at her. When she opens her eyes to look at me, I can see all the way to her soul. I can feel it. And I can feel her searching for mine. Playing games with the devil isn’t smart. I sold my soul to him a long time ago, and Saylor Samson wants to possess what doesn’t even belong to me. But I believe she is powerful enough to give the devil a run for his money.
—
“You were thinking about something earlier. Something deep. Tell me about it.” Saylor is laying next to me on the living room floor, naked except for her socks. I can’t even remember how we got here, but we’ve been here awhile.
“I was thinking about how much I love you.” I answer honestly, staring up at the ceiling, holding her hand in mine.
“There was something else. I could see it in your eyes. Tell me.” I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb, wondering how in the hell I am going to answer her question.
“I can feel you inside me. In places I haven’t had feeling in a long time.” That sounded stupid, but I hope she got it.
“You’re talking about your soul, aren’t you?” I don’t answer her because she already knows what I mean. Plus, I don’t like saying shit when I’m not sure it’s what I want to say. “Just because you think you’re not good enough, doesn’t make it true. That’s not your decision. It’s God’s.”