Page 31 of Once Upon A Sale

Chapter Thirteen

Ophelia

“Oh shit!”

That’s how I wake at stupid o’clock in the morning after getting my vagina punished last night, over and over again. I wish I could say I’m gracious and sexy as I sit upright so fast my head spins and my bladder threatens to empty out right on the mattress. I have no doubt it’s early since the sunrise is coming through the open window. That’s another thing, May in Michigan isn’t exactly hot and this body was not made for arctic weather.

But that’s not the point. The point is…I have to pee like it’s nobody’s business. Disoriented for a second, I search for the bathroom. Thankfully, I don’t have to look very long since it’s just in the corner of the room.

The relief is instant and once my mind is no longer fixated on my bodily needs, I remember I shouldn’t be alone right now. The fact I woke up with the other half of the bed empty makes me wonder if Rhett is back downstairs making breakfast. I wouldn’t complain, that’s for damn sure. Although, I can’t say I’m a fan ofall of these pesky feelings watching him taking care of me elicits. It’s like…butterflies? I mean, seriously, who gets giddy at the sight of food? Even though it’s true he looks mighty fucking fine when he’s half naked while pouring me coffee.

Distance will make my heart get a grip and my pussy less greedy.

Only twelve more hours, give or take a couple judging by the light of the sun spilling through the window.

After I wash my hands and face, then brush my teeth, I stop everything and listen. Not a single sound downstairs. Unlike last night, I hear no cooking or coffee pouring. No steps or humming—he apparently likes to do that while doing housework—and no clinking of silverware or the fridge opening and closing. I’m surrounded by complete and total silence. And if I’m honest, it’s freaking me out a little.

Peeking through the sheer curtains, I realize the silence is due to the fact that Rhett is outside on the pier.

Shirtless.

With the rising sun as a backdrop and its rays shining down on him like it’s their only focus, he looks golden and ethereal. And fucking buff. Like a god bathed in holy light. Damn, I now understand why it was so easy for him to carry me like I weighed nothing.

As Rhett crouches down before placing his palms on the deck, holding his body up with the help of his toes, I try not to drool when he begins a series of push-ups. Even from this distance, I can appreciate every one of his muscles as they flex with his rhythm. When he’s finished—and no, I have no idea how many he did, but it’ll never be enough to stop staring—he turns to the side, pauses for a second, then grabs the two ropes attached at the end of the pier.

That’s when this motherfucker starts a set of heavy ropes, his back to me, making my entire body buzz with the same intenseneed I had last night when the butt plug was deep inside my ass. Goddamn, his back is carved like he’s been made out of marble and I have to lick my lips to assuage the sudden dryness.

“Asshole probably knows I’m watching.” Great, now I’m talking to myself. Out loud, even.

That thought makes me pause. I need to move, just in case I’m not wrong. His ego is already annoying. If he realizes I’m up here gawking, it’ll just make him even cockier. Fuck that. Taking a step back from the window, I give a quick glance over at Rhett, to make sure he’s okay, before I search out one of his T-shirts and shrug it on. It smells like him, earthy and commanding.

Jesus, he smells like a fucking dominant. Didn’t realize that was a thing.

I’m opting against panties or a bra, deciding instead that if I have to control myself with the X-rated show he’s giving me, then he can deal with the fact that my pussy is easy pickings.

Or my ass, apparently, because, fuck me, last night was hot. Every moment of it. Well, except for the cuddling. I definitely did not like that part. All the warmth and sense of calm was just fatigue. I was tired, I would have fallen asleep anywhere, regardless of whether or not he was holding me. Or carrying me. I was definitely not loving the way his fingers danced across my skin while we stared at the moon.

Pfft, moons are overrated. His body is overrated. This whole orgasmic weekend is overrated.

Glancing back, once more, at the window, I decide this is a great time to snoop around. Who knows when I’ll get as good a chance as this one? Except, I find nothing. Like, nothing. No wallet, no phone, no papers inside his duffle bag, although, there are a lot of fucking toys in there.

I’m not sure why I’m so curious. He means nothing. And soon, he’ll be in my rear window.

So why am I down in the kitchen now, making him a cup of coffee? Hmm, no. I’m making myself a cup and because it’s wasteful to let it get cold in the pot, I share. That’s right. I’m a sharer.

With my shoulders back and my head held high, I feel confident as I make my way out of the house and down what seems to be a newly rebuilt pier.

Rhett is done with his rope shit and is now stretching with his hands pushing the railing and his left leg back and fuck my life, I think it might be even hotter than the actual exercising.

“Is that for me, sweetheart?” I sip from my coffee cup, black like my soul, and try my best not to flinch at the idea that he’s caught me staring.

“Well, I happened to make coffee and figured I’d share. You know, since you’ve been feeding me.”

“And giving you orgasms galore.” Cocky bastard. “What’d ya bring me?” He doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge me, just keeps on stretching one leg, then the other, as the sun rises higher and higher, making him look hotter and hotter.

“Um, I just told you. Coffee.” Maybe all that sporting shit is making his hearing go. Hell, maybe it’s just his age. Although, you wouldn't know it from his body.

Fuck, Ophelia, stop staring at the man. It’s not like he hasn't had his dick in every single one of your holes.

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