We’re in a bubble of ecstasy, and I’m never leaving.
Never. Ever. Fucking. Leaving.
It’s Muffy.
Muffy laughing. Muffy sassing. Muffy sexing.
Her body sags, and I barely catch her as the last of my own orgasm subsides. “You’re the queen of all the goddesses,” I murmur to her shoulder.
She doesn’t answer, but she buries her head in the crook of my neck, arms wrapped loosely around my shoulders, her breath tickling my skin in that perfect way that makes my oversensitive cock twitch.
“Muffy?”
“Shh. Just be.”
Just be.
Fuck, yes.
I can just be.
So long as it’s with Muffy.
37
Muffy
It’s not weird to be living with a guy without defining your relationship, is it?
Because it’s been two solid weeks of living with Tyler, with Rufus getting into everything from his tea supply—who knew he was a tea guy?—to deciding to sleep in his underwear drawer, and Tyler has yet to kick me or my cat out.
He’s stopped by Cod Pieces every time he’s been in town when I’ve had a shift that didn’t overlap with a game. I’ve been at every home game that I haven’t been scheduled to work. Given that it’s only been two weeks, that means one game and two visits at Cod Pieces, but still.
I believe we’ll be keeping this up for the foreseeable future.
He’s suggested different motivational quotes and topics for me to email my clients about. And I’ve been sucked into group messages with his sisters.
This is basically a real relationship.
And every day, I wonder if things are about to fall apart, or if they’ll keep getting better and better.
Take right now, for instance.
Right now, it’s Friday morning. Tyler got home from a quick road trip so late last night that he doesn’t have to be at the arena for anything team-related until late this afternoon. We’re on the rug in front of his fireplace, soft jazz music playing in the background, playing strip poker.
He’s on his side, shirtless but still in his gray sweatpants, and I’m sitting cross-legged, down to my one and only pair of lace panties.
Side note: I am not a very good poker player. Darts, yes. Poker, no. Not enough experience. Yet.
Not that I mind.
When I lose this round, I have to strip off my panties and roll the sex dice.
I really hope I don’t roll to give his lips a massage, because I know for a fact that if I can get my hands on his cock, we’ll end up having marathon sex for the next three hours no matter what the dice or the cards say.
“Are you in?” I ask him as I rub my own nipple with one hand and wiggle my cards at him with the other.
His gaze is trained on my nipple, naturally. “All in.”
“Are you sure? I have a really good hand. You might lose.”
“I’m not wearing underwear.”
I fake indignation. “You came to this game in just a T-shirt and sweatpants? I’m a very serious poker player, Mr. Jaeger. I expect my opponents to want to win.”
“I’m a very serious sex player, Ms. Periwinkle. I expect my opponent to want me to bang her senseless more than she wants to show up wearing nineteen layers of clothing to drag this out.”
That wolfish smile tells me he’s enjoying every bit of dragging this out.
“There were ten layers, and only if you count my hair tie.” Yes, yes, I did count my socks and earrings each individually.
Also, I only put on earrings to slow things down if necessary.
I like basking in being turned on by Tyler and his magnificently talented body.
“So when you lose this round, I still don’t get to see that pussy?” he asks.
“You saw it this morning in the shower. It hasn’t changed.”
“I’m gonna need to see proof of that myself.” He throws his cards down. “I win. Strip and grab the dice.”
There’s a high likelihood that I’m playing wrong, since I don’t even look at his cards to verify he’s beat me before rising to my feet and hooking my thumbs in my panties. “Like this?”
I wiggle my hips and tease him.
His cock pulses, making the tent in his sweatpants move. “Exactly like that.”
I turn so he gets a full view of my ass, stick it out at him, and sway while I slowly inch my panties down, glancing over my shoulder to watch his eyes going darker and darker with every little bit of my skin that’s revealed.
The door beeps with the someone’s unlocking me sound, and we both freeze.
That was not the door lock.
Was it?
Are his housekeepers coming today?
The door swings open. I squeak and drop to the floor. He bolts to his feet, lunges for the couch, and throws a throw pillow at me like that’s going to cover me up.
“Ah, nothing like the smell of a bachelor pad in the morning,” a woman’s voice says.
“Out,” Tyler snarls.
“Oh, please, like we’ve never seen you whacking off before,” another woman says.
He throws a second throw pillow at me, then yanks on the curtains Rufus shredded and tosses the whole thing at me, curtain rod too.
“Thank you,” I gasp as I crawl under the fabric.
“Oh, shit, you’re here,” the first woman says.
“We tried to call. Your phone says you’re in the mountains. Oh my god! You found a way to trick our find-a-friend app! We thought you were hiking with Muffy.” There’s a pause. “That is Muffy, right? I can’t see her clearly. Or did this just get next-level awkward?”
“Out,” Tyler repeats.
I peer through the shreds in the curtain and see two women, both average size, one with short brown hair, the other with brown hair tucked up in a ponytail, and my heart hiccups.
His sisters.
His sisters are here.
“Told you it was a good idea to leave the kids at the hotel with the men,” one says.
“Probably a good thing Mom’s not here too,” the other replies. “This would definitely lead to curtains matching the drapes jokes in her next show.”
I trip over the curtains as I rise, wrapping them around myself. “Hi,” I say.
Tyler twists his head and skewers me with a what the fuck is wrong with you? look.
I don’t blame him.
Our options are kicking his sisters out and me rolling the sex dice to see what part of his body I have to lick, kiss, stroke, or massage, or letting his sisters stay.
This should be a no-brainer.
But my vagina isn’t making this decision for me.
And the matching smiles blossoming on his sisters’ faces are hitting me in the feels. “Muffy?” one asks.
“That’s me.”
The one with the short hair points to herself, then her sister, introducing themselves like we didn’t do the same on a group video chat like ten days ago. “Allie and Keely. And we’re both so glad you aren’t an actress Tyler hired to make up a good story. Sweetie, your nipple’s showing.”
I bend and snag a throw pillow and cover my breast.
“Other one,” Keely says.
Tyler squeezes his eyes shut and sighs a deep sigh. “What. Are you. Doing. Here?” he says through gritted teeth.