“How about you go check on dinner and I just lay here,” he said. “I’m pretty blissed out right now, and I don’t even know if my legs’ll work.”
I laughed, then thought about what he said. “Shit. Dinner.” I scampered off him, then the bed, and tripped over myself into the living room as I fixed my trousers. I stirred the bolognaise sauce and filled the largest pot with water and put it on the stove to boil. Next, I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself up, wet a washer with warm water, and walked back to my room. Andrew was still laying there, arms and legs spread wide with the sheet pulled to his waist. Despite how incredible he looked still naked in my bed, the smirk on his face was my favourite thing. “Do you have any intention of getting out of that bed?”
His smile widened. “No.”
I tossed the washer at him, and it landed on his stomach. “Ah!” he cried, flailing. Then he stopped. “Oh, it’s warm.”
I laughed and ran and jumped on him, kneeling over him with my hands on either side of his head. I leaned down and kissed him.
“Mm, minty,” he said.
“Mouthwash. You know, considering what I ate last.”
It took him a second. “Oh my God.”
“It really embarrasses you, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does! You’re talking about eating my…”
“Arse?” I sat back, effectively straddling his hips. “And it was delicious.”
He threw the washer at my face, then covered his own with his hands. “Jesus, Spencer.”
I laughed and wiped the washer over his stomach and chest. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just us.”
His hands fell away, and he looked at me. It was as though my words flipped a switch in his head. He looked at me for a long moment. “Just us, huh?”
“Yep.” I shuffled down a bit and pulled the sheet away so I could clean him up properly. He was half hard again, his cock lay thick and snug across his hip. “You have the most gorgeous cock I think I’ve ever seen.”
He laughed again and shook his head. He didn’t cover his eyes so I considered it a win. “Seen many?” he asked.
“A few. I told you when we first met, I love arse, and I love dick.”
“True. You did say that.”
“I’ve always had safe sex though, and I’ve been tested regularly.”
“Oh.” He blinked, my change in conversational direction clearly shocked him. “Um, me too.”
I wiped him over thoroughly, relishing in the weight of his dick in my hand, and tossed the washer onto the floor. He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” I couldn’t resist, so I edged back up to straddle his hips. I was fully dressed, but he was still stark naked. “Ask me anything.”
“If I told you your clothes were offending me right now, would you take them off?”
I leaned down and kissed him softly. “I thought you were about to ask a serious question.”
He put his hands on my thighs and lifted his hips a little. “It was serious,” he said. His eyes were alight with mischief. “I have to admit, the view from here is pretty damn amazing.”
I wiggled my arse on his lengthening dick. “View ain’t bad from here either.”
He bit his lip. “How long are we gonna wait?” he asked.
Jesus. He was so eager for it. “I’m taking my cues from you,” I said. “I don’t want you to regret it.”
He laughed. “Regret it? God, Spencer, it’s all I can think about.”
I rubbed my arse on his cock. “I can feel that.”
He put his head back and groaned. “I’m trying to be good. I just wanted us to talk more and not end up in bed all the time, but”—he waved his hand at the bed—“that hasn’t really worked out.”
I laughed. “How about we make it till the weekend at least.”
“But that’s so far away.” He pouted. “Next time I have these great ideas about abstinence, please tell me to wake up to myself.”
I kissed him with smiling lips. “We’re hardly abstaining, considering what we just did. We’re just treading cautiously.”
He made a thoughtful face, then cocked his head. “What’s that sound?”
I listened. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. “Shit. Dinner.” I jumped off him and ran out to find the pot of water boiling furiously.
Apparently all Andrew could do was laugh. He called out, “See? This is why I order in!”
“Have you had a guy in your bed distracting you every night of the week for most of your adult life?” I called back to him.
He replied, “Only the most memorable ones.”
“Well, for your information, I’m putting the spaghetti in the boiling water. You know, so when you cook this for me next time, you’ll know what to do.”
It took a moment, but he walked out of my room with his pants on and pulled his shirt over his head. “Me? Cook for you?”
“Yep.”
He went to the bathroom, and a minute or two later when he came back out, he walked over to where I was at the stove and looked at the pasta sticking out of the pot. “I’ve told you before, I don’t cook. But shouldn’t that be in the water?”