Page 66 of Afterglow
When are you NOT blushing??
That’s fair.
Me
I can’t help it with you
Gorgeous
I know, and it makes me horny as hell
My cock fires up.
Gorgeous
When are you heading home??
Me
Right now
Gorgeous
Good, cause I miss you
Me
*running emojis*
I rush down the hallway, already bricked the fuck up from imagining how sweet my girlfriend’s cunt is gonna taste on the island counter, but my pace slows when I hear a deep bass vibrating the walls leading up to the apartment. Dance music blasts through the open door, drowning my footsteps out. So focused on her task, Bea doesn’t notice me coming in.
Blood pumps straight to my cock at the sight of her wielding a chef’s knife. She studies the weight of the wooden handle, flipping it in her palm before a deft twirl through her fingers returns it to a solid hold. Oh. “Volume, ten percent.” The music softens at her command. “Hey, Dreamboat.”
Messy ideas popping up within my head scatter at the casual, off-the-cuff greeting.
“I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” I say, stupefied. Deranged thoughts return to fill my brain as her swift, steady movements slice through an eggplant.
“So, you have a kink.” Behraz lifts her narrowed gaze, without breaking the stride of her blade.
My eyes blink, blink, blink in shock. Shedidnotice. Way to go, Mr. Inconspicuous.
Her lips smirk. “Is it me being in the kitchen, or something else?”
“I—buh.” Words fumble from me.
“This is probably the third time I’ve seen you hard when I chop something.”
A blush flares. Let’s be honest, I’m always hard around her, but when she’s holding a knife? I might as well finish in my pants. Wouldn’t be the first time and won’t be the last.
“I-I like knives.” The explanation comes out monotone and dopey. Clearly, blood is not recirculating back to my brain.
She perks an eyebrow, pausing before the next cut. “I see.” The end of the eggplant slices away. “Lucky for you,” she discards it into a pile of scraps, “so do I.”
I whimper.
Bea’s smirk turns villainous. She could do literally anything she wanted to me, knife or otherwise. “It’s always the shy ones” —the knife points in my direction, accusing— “y’all are big-dicked, chock-full of secret kinks and vivid imaginations.”
