Page 40 of Mr. Edwards
“Best blowjobber ever?”
I bark out a laugh. There is no way I’m going to tell her what I actually have her number saved under. She’d think I was a stage five clinger if she knew the truth.
Originally, the whole ‘Future Mrs. Edwards’ thing was a crazy whim on my part, simply because she’d taken my breath away, but after spending more time with her, I realize maybe my subconscious is onto something here. I’ve never met anyone worthy of that title before, but a huge part of me can see myself with this woman long-term. If I can get her to drop this whole‘no strings’bullshit that is.
There’s something about Carlee that called to me the moment I laid eyes on her. It was a deep-seated knowing, that even I can’t explain. I’ve never connected with someone so quickly.
“Enough talking,” I say, swinging her around so her back is now facing my front. I place my hand between her shoulder blades, gently pushing her torso forward and bending her over the arm of the sofa.
Ghosting my hands along the curves of her hips, I hook my thumbs in the waistband of her tights, dragging them down until they’re scrunched up around her ankles. Damn her rear looks amazing in that hot-pink thong, all round and peachy. I’m going to take that sweet ass of hers one day.
Crouching down, my teeth sink into her right butt cheek while my hand palms the left one. When she arches her back and whimpers, I move to slide her panties down her legs. Her position doesn’t waver and I love how compliant she is, even lifting one foot at a time, allowing me to remove them all together.
Once her ankles are no longer restrained by her clothing, she widens her stance, and her body shudders when I run my tongue along the inside of her thigh.
My hand slips between her legs, to prepare her for what’s to come. I groan when I find her wet and ready. One of my fingers sinks deep inside her. I’m torn between staying down on my knees and feasting on her sweet pussy, but my need to be inside her is too great. I’ll get to the feasting part later, first things first, I’m going to fuck her into a stupor.
Sliding my hand into my pocket, I frantically search for a rubber. After the number of times we fucked lastnight, I made sure I came prepared, stuffing in as many as I could. Tearing one off, I drop the rest to the ground and pop the button on my jeans.
My hands slightly tremble as I drag down the zipper. The anticipation to sink into her heat is almost too much.
Once I’m sheathed to the hilt, I place my palm at the base of her neck, pushing her face further down into the cushion. I use the other hand to stroke my cock, running it over her slick seam and lining myself up. I throw my head back as I slowly sink the tip inside her.
“Fuck, Carlee,” I growl, jerking my hips forward until I’m buried balls deep in her heaven. She’s so tight, she wraps around me like a glove.
“Grayson,” she says all breathy, and I love hearing her say my name like that.
She pushes her body back, meeting me thrust for thrust. I can tell by the sweet noises she’s making she’s enjoying this just as much as I am. My mind feels scrambled as it tries to process the magnitude of emotions this woman incites in me. I want to climb inside her and take up permanent residency.
Drawing out to the tip, I drive back in hard. “You feel so good, baby.So, goddamn good.”
Leaning over, my chest rests against her back as I slide my hand under her chin so I can tilt her head to the side and taste her mouth. Desperation seems to take over whenever we’re together, like we can’t get enough of each other.
I’m pretty sure I’ll never get my fill of this one.
Carlee scoops up her underwear and slips into the bathroom to clean up. “Help yourself to a drink if you want one,” she calls out as she disappears down the hallway.
I tuck myself back into my pants, tossing the condom in the trash when I enter the kitchen. My eyes survey the space. It’s so tiny in here, but everything has its place. She’s a neat freak I can tell.
Opening the fridge, I bend over to look inside. It’s practically empty, apart from a carton of milk, butter, some ketchup, a lone beer, and a bottle of wine. There’s no meat or fresh food. That concerns me. Maybe she has those coupons for a reason.
Closing the door, I head over to her pantry, expecting to see sparse shelves as well. But that’s not what I find at all.
“What the fuck, Carlee?”
“What?” she says, exiting the bathroom and coming up behind me.
I point to the contents inside. “Did you rob a cannery or something?”
There are rows and rows, and fucking rows of neatly stacked canned food lining the majority of the shelves. Each one has the label facing forward. SpaghettiOs, baked beans, spam, canned sausage, chili, tuna fish... But again, not a fruit or vegetable in sight.
Tucked away in one corner is a lone jar of instant coffee, alongside a small clear plastic container that I presume, contains sugar, nestled next to multiple jars of peanut butter and an equal number of grape jelly. There are at least five bottles of ketchup, and the top shelf is box after box of breakfast cereal. She has a mini convenience store right here in her kitchen.
She scrunches up her cute little nose. “I have food in my cupboard what’s the big deal?”
“It’s not the food per se, it’s more the quantity.” I shake my head at the absurdity of it all. “Do you have an addiction to canned products?”
Her jaw ticks and I can tell I’ve offended her. It wasn’t my intention; I’ve just never seen anything like it.
