We grin at each other, almost goofily. Her face is damp with mist from the shower, and her normally straight hair is now wild and wavy, but the grin is what I can’t get enough of because it’s evidence of how long it’s been since I felt this comfortable with someone. And how long it’s been since I stopped taking everything so seriously.
I drop my head and kiss her inner thigh. Anya runs her nails over my scalp in gentle strokes, all the way from the back of my neck to the top of my head. I lose myself in the sensation until I feel her tugging gently on my shoulders. Peering up at her, I start to stand up, dragging my hands up her body as I do. Once I’m upright, Anya slides her hands to my cock and starts to stroke slowly.
“Is this enough for you to finish?” she asks. “Do you need something else?”
She tips her head back to see me and between her hands moving over my length, the eager look in her eyes, and the tips of her nipples brushing against my chest, it’s more than enough. On top of that, my heart feels like it’s doing shit it shouldn’t. Like stupidly believing—even for a split second—that maybe this should be something more than just another hook up. I have to clear my throat before I answer, just to keep from saying anything I’ll regret.
“It’s fucking perfect.” I lean forward a little, pressing our bodies close enough that my dick is wedged against her belly. The added pressure makes me groan into my next words. “That’s so fucking good, baby. Don’t stop.”
She practically purrs at the praise, her hands moving faster, and gripping me tighter. I grunt into the feel, and throw my hands up to the tile wall behind her, bracketing her head between my outstretched arms as heat and tension work their way up my spine. When I finally let go, I spill into her hands with a grunt and try not to let my knees buckle from how good it is. Anya’s hands slow but don’t stop until I’m forced to pull back, shuddering and then nearly falling into her.
When I finally catch my breath, her lips are against my neck, kissing a line down to my shoulder. I draw my hands down from the wall and grab her by the ass.
“I hope you’re paying attention, because here’s the rest of your fantasy,” I say, drawing back just enough to meet her eyes. “The best I’ve ever had, no question.”
We end up in her bed after that, both of us exhausted and feeling boneless, while quietly sprawled out next to each other. She’s on her belly, but her head is turned in my direction, with her hair in messy waves around her face and her skin flushed a soft pink. She looks properly fucked and happy—a state I’d love to keep her in for as long as possible.
“You want to stay and have some dinner? We can do takeout from somewhere or scrounge up something here. Either way, I think we earned some sustenance.”
She smiles easily and my heart starts to beat a little too fast. I’m ravenous, and in more ways than one.
Physically, I’m fucking starving. Other than an energy bar after my workout, I haven’t eaten anything since lunch. And aside from that, I think I’m hungry for all the stuff Anya gives me that I wasn’t expecting. I’m not even sure what to call it. Relief? Approval? Maybe she’s just one of those calming people you can’t help but relax around, I have no idea. It’s also possible that we’re just damn good in bed together and I’m confusing endorphins with emotions.
No matter what it is, I like it. Enough that it’s easy to indulge in the fantasy of staying here, ordering in whatever she wants for dinner, and spending the rest of the night hanging out together. I have the next two days off, too—so one night could easily turn into three, if things keep going along like this. But unfortunately, that isn’t going to happen. And it’s for the same reason as always—because I live with my parents.
Although, tonight the issue isn’t that I’m embarrassed to have boomeranged my way back into my parents’ basement, it’s that my mom’s making dinner and I told her I’d be home to eat with them. Since I was raised in a family where it’s important to do what you say you’re going to do that means I can’t stay, even though I want to. I need to go, and soon.
I blow out a long breath. “I can’t,” I say, clearing my throat to be sure I still sound like a fully grown man when I explain why. “My mom’s expecting me home for dinner soon. She’s making macaroni and cheese. It’s my favorite.”
Without warning, Anya barks out a sharp laugh. And she keeps on laughing, eventually turning her head so she can bury her face in the bedsheets. Somehow her attempt to muffle the sound actually makes it worse and I end up wrapping the pillow beneath my head so it’s up around my ears.
What was it I thought I was hungry for more of with the woman next to me? The one who is laughing her ass off at the moment? I think it was something about her being easy to relax with. Scratch that. I’m sure as hell not feeling relaxed now.
“Oh, God,” she says through a breathless laugh. “If you could see yourself right now. Naked, but lying there using this deep, manly voice to tell me how you need to go because your mom is expecting you home for dinner. For macaroni and cheese, no less.”
All I can do is let out a defeated grunt and hope that she’ll take a little mercy on my ego if I stay quiet. Anya just laughs some more and keeps talking.
“I can safely say that it’s been awhile since a guy laid that excuse on me after sex. The last time I can remember, I was seventeen, sitting in the back seat of Jimmy Reyes’ Honda, listening to him zip of up his jeans and talk about how his mom told him it was a Stove Top Stuffing night. Meanwhile, my favorite skirt was still pushed up around my waist, and all I’m thinking about is how those rumors about him were not true and how when I got home I was going to crawl into bed and touch myself the way I liked, until—”
That does it. There’s no way I can take another second of this bullshit. Calling me out on the weirdness of my life is one thing, but listening to her talk about how this little fucker Jimmy Reyes had not only touched her, but also left her unsatisfied? And how she had to go home to get herself off? A man can only bear so much before he has to remind the naked woman next to him that he’s the one who just made her come so hard she screamed.
A growl rises up from my mouth as I launch myself in her direction and immediately start to tickle her sides, which is the most effective retaliation I can think of. Juvenile, yes, but it works because all she can do now is squeal and squirm, laughing even as I roll her onto her back and wrestle us into a position that my cock is very interested in exploring. I outstretch our arms above us, threading our fingers together. Anya works to catch her breath, her eyes lit up with mischief even as I narrow my own.
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that? Do you think it’s funny to tell me about some little jerk in high school that probably didn’t deserve the privilege of touching you?” I roll my hips so she can feel the way I’m getting hard again. “Because it’s not. It just makes me want to fuck you again. Properly. The way any man who’s with you should.”
Anya’s breath catches on a groan and she arches her back so her tits rub against my chest, which only makes me harder. I buck my hips again, thinking that will mean I’m back in charge here. But the feeling only lasts until Anya meets my eyes and I see that the mischievous gleam is gone, replaced by lust and something headier. Something that looks a lot like affection.