Page 53 of Bedding Rose
Boyfriend:I’ve made a list of every place we can have sex that’s not a bed.
Me:Good morning to you, too.
Boyfriend:Are you sore? Morning.
He tacks that last bit on as an afterthought and I can’t help but chuckle as I sit up in bed and rub the sleep from my eyes. What a typical man.
Me:No.
I’m deliciously aware of everything we did last night as I press my thighs together beneath the sheets. While my nipples are a little sensitive, that might just be from the pasties, and it’s not at all an unpleasant sensation. It brings up vivid memories of what we did together and has me leaning back against the headboard savoring them.
Another text dings and I glance down to read it.
Boyfriend::( Then I didn’t do enough. Don’t worry. We’ll make up for it today.
I bite my lip as my heart leaps up and does a giddy little dance. He wants to see me again? Already?
* * *
That Afternoon
I stareup at the chandelier sparkling above me as we defile the dining table. I bite down on my forearm as I attempt to hold in a scream that threatens to convince the neighbors there’s a murder taking place.
My hips roughly jut up into Angelo’s mouth as he sits in a chair and tongue fucks me. I’m beyond thinking as I grab his head and hold his face to my core with absolutely zero regard for his safety as I come undone, bucking and panting as pleasure cartwheels up my spine.
The bastard is smug as he leans back a minute later and wipes his cheeks with his abandoned t-shirt.
Meanwhile, my ass plops back down onto the wood and I realize that I’m never going to be able to sit through Mom’s Thanksgiving dinner again without thinking about how Angelo spread me open and devoured me.
Worth it.
* * *
Monday
Shower sex… hot as fuck. But what’s even hotter is when Angelo carries me out of the shower and bends me over the countertop. I’m naked, dripping wet, breasts dangling as he reaches forward and wipes the steam from the mirror, making eye contact with me in the reflection before ordering, “Watch me own this pussy.”
And I do. I watch every frantic thrust.
* * *
Wednesday
I’m notsure there’s a main room left in my mother’s house that we haven’t used. The couches have been christened. The floors. The walls. I’ve been obsessively opening windows and lighting juniper candlesso no one can smell all the sex. I can try to cover up the scent, but it’s harder to hide the grins that keep popping up, randomly curving my cheeks. I don’t have an explanation for those, other than, “I just had a really good day.” Yeah, a really good day and four orgasms.
* * *
Thursday
I skippeda rally meeting for Mom to meet with Angelo. We were supposed to go to his apartment, but we didn’t make it farther than the cab of his truck, which is surprisingly spacious.
I only kicked the horn once as he fucked me roughly, both of us still mostly clothed. I’ve discovered I love the tight feel of my panties around my thighs restraining me as I spread against them. There’s something deliciously wicked about the fact that we can’t even wait to get our clothes off.
I also discovered yesterday that nothing makes Angelo hotter than me telling him that I belong to him. So I carefully reach down my side, hand curving beneath my ass, fingers searching. I cup his balls as he rams into me with all the power of a freight train and whisper, “I’m yours.”
He comes with a roar that I’m certain the entire parking lot hears.
* * *
