“I’ve been balls deep inside you a time or two, Catherine. I think I know you a little bit,” I say with a teasing smile.
She blushes, and fuck… that’s pretty. I’ve never seen Catherine blush, and she’s done some things to make even the kinkiest of motherfuckers go red in the face.
“Are you sure?” she hesitantly asks.
“Positive. You can follow me to my place.”
“I’ll be glad to pay you,” she says earnestly. “You know… in sex or something. I’ve only got about fifty dollars in cash left to my name.”
My cock leaps at the thought, because yeah… although I’m tired, I would not say no to fucking her tonight. But instead, I decide to be a gentleman. “You don’t owe me anything. Let’s get you to my place so you can get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow and try to figure out how to take care of you.”
She blushes again as I put my hand on the door to close it for her. Just before I do though, she whispers, “Thank you, Rand. You’re a lifesaver.”
Hmmmm… I like the sound of that.
Chapter 1
Rand
I try to be as quiet as possible as I creep past the couch where Catherine’s sleeping. My tiny apartment can be walked from end to end in about five seconds. Roughly 475 square feet of efficient living. I’ve been renting this apartment from my buddy, Jake Gearhart. It’s situated over the garage of his modest ranch house in the town of Jackson, Wyoming.
It’s nothing but a large square that has a semi private foyer/mudroom as soon as you enter. When you round the corner, you have the kitchen and living room to the left, and my bedroom to the right. The bathroom sits adjacent to the foyer.
While I can certainly afford bigger and better, I don’t see any need to spend my money on my living conditions as I’m rarely here. Over the last several years, I’d gotten used to sleeping in small quarters or hotels, so I’m comfortable as is.
Jake’s different. He has a family that includes the pretty wife who’s a local, an adorable two-year-old daughter, and another kid on the way, although you can barely see Lorelei’s baby bump at this stage.
As I try to creep past a sleeping Catherine, I wish I had bigger digs so I could have offered her a guest room so she could get some rest. I actually did offer her my room when we got to my apartment last night, but she refused.
Staunchly.
Said she didn’t want to inconvenience me and she was already feeling like an imposition.
I assured her she was not and tried to push my room on her.
Her eyes immediately turned warm, and then sizzled with blooming sexual heat that made my dick start to get hard. “I’ll only take your room if you let me pay you, and well… you know the only thing I got to offer at this point is my mouth or my *. Want it?”
Fuck yeah, I wanted it. I’ve had both before and they’re fucking fantastic.
But not last night.
Last night, Catherine was in a bad spot. I wasn’t about to take advantage of that offer. I wanted her to see she could get something from someone without the expectation of needing to give something in return. It’s called friendship and that’s what friends do.
And I think Catherine and I are friends.
Maybe.
Fuck, not really sure.
So even though I really wanted to fuck her, I saw the stubborn pride bubbling low beneath the sensuality in her eyes, and I knew my dick was going to bed alone. Since she wouldn’t take my room without feeling the need to basically prostitute herself in return, I conceded and fixed up the couch for her complete with pillow, sheets, and a thick quilt. I also offered her up a t-shirt and a pair of my sweatpants, of which she accepted only the t-shirt. It swallowed her whole and made her look even more vulnerable than I was already considering her to be.
She doesn’t stir as I walk behind the couch that sits perpendicular to the mudroom wall and essentially creates a living area that opens right up into an L-shaped kitchenette that houses my stove, refrigerator, and enough cabinet space to barely hold my dishes. A small, round table with two chairs completes the set up.
As quietly as I can, I start making coffee, but the minute I open a squeaky cupboard door, I can hear Catherine starting to stir on the couch. After I fill the pot, measure the coffee, and start the brew cycle, I turn to find Catherine now sitting up with the quilt pulled demurely over her lap. She must have slept fitfully because her hair is a tangled mess and she has mascara smeared under her eyes, which reminds me of something.
“Your bags and stuff in the trunk of your car?” I ask her.
She blinks at me once, grimaces, and rubs a finger under one eye. She pulls it away, looks at the black smear, and wrinkles her nose. “Um… yeah.”
“Give me your keys. I’ll go get them so you can get cleaned up and changed,” I tell her.