Page 77 of Lovingly Restored

Wet hair hangs over her shoulder, saturating the fabric of her clean shirt like the night we met. Cross-legged, fresh from the shower without a stitch of makeup on, it’s hard to ignore how natural this is. To come home to someone and discuss our days. We’re sprawled on the living room rug eating Hawaiian pizza straight out of the box. Ashlyn convinced me to start a tiny fire even though it’s warm.

“So, Mr. Modesty, do you know what you look like every day?”

I wipe grease from my mouth with a paper towel. “Um, like an upstanding member of the community and a small business owner?”

“Right. So you buying medium shirts when you very obviously need a large. That’s what? An oversight? And you removing said snug shirts at the faintest hint of sunlight? What do you think that does for thecommunity?”

“I like to think of it as an act of philanthropy. Why, you been checking me out?”

“You wish,” she mumbles, mouth full of ham and pineapple and a generous dip of ranch. “I’m done. No more. Take it away!” She closes the pizza box and pushes it along the carpet towards me, patting her full tummy.

I tuck the box behind me. “I’ll take that for work tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. How many of those are we going to have?

After tossing the pizza boxes in the recycling and turning out the kitchen lights, I return to put out the fire.

“You ready to turn in?” I stop in my tracks, the kitchen door hitting me in the ass. Ashlyn is on her stomach by the fire, nude on the wool rug, hands beneath her chin, legs swinging playfully behind her. I harden against the zipper of my work pants in three seconds flat. A million tomorrows won’t be enough. I’ve got to start thinking in months, years.

“It’s so hot in here,” she fans herself, batting her lashes.

Her breasts press into the fibres of the carpet beneath her.

“That’s because you demanded a fire and it’s May,” I tell her.

“If it’s this hot outside this summer, I think I’ll be gardening in a very skimpy string bikini.”

“You think so, do you?” My voice is hoarse at the thought.

The little vixen.

I walk to her, stopping in front of her elbows, forcing her to gaze way up as I loom over her.

“Sounds like you need a cold shower, Miss Carter.”

She rolls over, stretching out like a cat. I grow harder at the sight of her bare breasts.

“I’ve already had one.”

“But I haven’t.” I scoop her up in her nakedness and settle her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Isaac!” she shrieks, forgetting someone sleeps down the hall.

“Comfy up there, babe?” I bounce on my heels to shake her around a bit, wishing like hell I could see what this looks like from behind.

“Not really, but the view is glorious,” she pinches my ass.

She squirms, but her attempts are futile and only result in me slapping her bare cheeks. I enter the bathroom and close the door behind us.

“You’renotserious,“ she says.

“You better believe it.”

I set her in the green porcelain tub, watching her nipples pebble from the cool surface beneath her feet. Icy water rushes towards her as she shuffles away from impending doom.

“I said I’ve already showered! My hair is still wet!” She grabs a handful to prove it.

I finish stripping and step in beside her, pulling the diverter and cranking the temperature just shy of scorching. The protesting stops when she sees how turned on I am. Relenting, she kisses me. I groan and pull her towards my aching cock. The room fills with steam, wrinkling our skin, and we do everything but get clean.

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