Page 9 of Mister Landlord

Beau

Waking up with Elle half sprawled on top me has got to be the best feeling in the world. Infinitely better than the best game of baseball I’ve ever played and that’s saying something. She is snoring lightly and it's the cutest thing I have ever heard. It’s bright out, indicating that for the first time since I was teenager, I’ve slept in. Twice more in the night, I reached for Elle and she was wet and willing as I sank home time after time.

She moans in her sleep causing my morning wood to go rock solid. I can’t believe I haven’t gotten enough of her yet, but I get the feeling that will always be the case. We are still completely naked, and it would be so easy to slide into her in this position, but surely, she is in some pain. I was not as gentle as I should have been last night, but she didn’t seem to mind then. In fact, I distinctly remember her screaming harder and faster several times.

Turning my head slightly, I kiss her forehead, her closed eyes, and finally her still swollen lips, waking her.

“Mmm, Beau,” she purrs. Her sleep-ridden voice is thick, her accent is even thicker, and it goes straight to my balls.

“Yeah, baby?” I murmur right into her ear.

“You’re still here?” she asks confused.

“Not going anywhere,” I reply. Suddenly, she sits up halfway.

“Shit, I must be crowding you. I can’t believe I slept like that,” she says moving over to the other side of the bed.

“Did you hear me complaining, Elle?” I ask, following her. She’s on her side, facing away from me and I don’t like it one fucking bit. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“Morning breath,” she giggles.

“Fuck that,” I say scooting closer to her so that her back is resting on my chest. I push her bed mussed hair away from her neck before placing a biting kiss there, leaving my mark like we are in high school or some shit. She moans under my lips; I can feel her vocal cords vibrating.

“Okay,” she says letting me do this.

Running my hand down her side, over the curves of her body, until I reach her knee. Running light circles over it, I draw it back and hook it over my thigh. Her pussy is open to me now. Slowly, I inch my fingers back up over her knee, her thigh, until I reach her bare pussy. I drag my fingertips through her folds. She’s already wet for me. She moans again as I dip a finger inside of her opening, finding her sweet spot. I rub it until she is begging me for more.

“You’re not too sore, ma chérie?” She shakes her head. “Words, Elle.” She grunts in frustration as I continue to stroke the inside of her pussy.

“No, Beau. I am not sore. Give me that massive dick,” she demands. Grinning, I abruptly pull my fingers from her. She groans at the loss.

“Which is it, baby? Fingers or cock?” I ask teasingly gripping my dick and hitting her clit with it.

“Cock, definitely cock,” she all but screams. I oblige by sliding into her so slowly. She mewls as I do so.

“Look at you taking my cock like that, baby.” From this angle, she is wide open, and we are making a squelching sound as I move in and out of her. I watch her perfect pussy lips grip and suck my length the deeper I get. It’s every bit as intense as it was last night, and I am certain that it will always be. “I am gonna get you pregnant, Elle. No way around it,” I say through gritted teeth. She must like that because her pussy clenches around me.

“Promises, promises,” she says breathlessly.

“It’s a fucking guarantee,” I tell her as we come together.

Pulling out of her slowly, I move out of her space and back into mine. We both lay there unable to breathe properly for several minutes.

“Damn,” we say at the same time causing us to laugh.

“That was amazing,” she says rolling over to face me. Her fingers trace the skull tattooed on my chest for several minutes before she gasps. “Fuck! Is that really the time?” she asks. I look over at her clock. Its harsh red glow indicates that it’s already two-thirty. “I’ve got to go. I am so late. My captain is going to kill me,” she says, causing me to chuckle.

As a native of New Orleans, it’s hard not to know that she means her Mardi Gras krewe captain. From January 6th to Fat Tuesday, most of us live for this stuff, myself included but my Krewe meets at night. Carnival Season is full of the very best parties.

“It’ll be okay,” I assure her.

“You don’t know Tessa,” she says rushing around. I watch her slide the sexiest navy-blue thong on before she puts on the matching bra, then pulls a black dress over her head.

“If she’s anything like my captain, probably not,” I tell her also getting out of bed.

“What krewe are you on? What if we’re rivals?” she asks in mock horror.

“Zed Krewe. You?”

“Krewe of Hedonism,” she answers.

Both are among the oldest in the city. You have to be able to trace your roots back to a founder just to get in them. My family has been in Zed since 1909. While it wasn’t always the float riding, bead tossing sensation it is now, it has always been a social club for certain New Orleans blue-collar professionals. We have our ball on Mari Gras evening. The party lasts until the wee hours of the morning when we head to church for Ash Wednesday services.

Together, we leave her house. I head to my place and she goes to her krewe’s den. With a little less than a week to prepare for Mardi Gras, everyone is getting into high gear. I place a call to my captain to set into motion the idea that has been brewing since I woke up this morning. Asking Elle to be mine forever after a week isn’t as crazy as it seems. I love her, I’ve loved her from the second she opened her front door in that tiny robe. Now, let’s just hope she doesn’t think it’s crazy.

Laissez les bons temps rouler.

Let the good times roll.

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