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“Meet you at the quarter?” she breathed out.

“You’re close?” I had to admit, for the lack of effort on my behalf, I was a little surprised she was keeping up.

Her pussy pulsed around my cock and coincided with a gasp flowing from Greer’s mouth. My balls tightened and one hand slapped to her thigh to urge her to meet me at the finish line, sooner rather than fucking later.

“Use me, mamacita. Use my body for what you need.”

As if needing the permission, Greer’s hands hit my chest, and she tilted her pelvis to grind her clit while continuing to work up and down my length. I laid a slap to her ass and gripped hard, relishing the feeling of her heat pulsing around me.

I landed another slap on her ass, only to recoil when she snapped, “No spanking.”

Watching her reactions closely for signs of caution, I wrapped my fingers around her slender neck and squeezed. Her body immediately responded in the way I hoped it would; her eyes flared open and shone with a lust that spurred me to add a little more pressure. A ghost of a smile confirmed her acceptance.

Her eyelids fell closed as her pussy began to spasm around me. It squeezed harder, longer, until her body shook violently as she came. Greer’s guttural cry filled my room and triggered my own release, and her movements continued to milk my cock until I stilled her.

She sat back in all her glory—perfectly pert tits like beacons to the world, nipples tight and dark, and her cunt still intermittently pulsing.

A sated smile wove across her mouth, followed by a light giggle. “Now that was worth staying a little longer for.”

Chapter 30

-Greer-

I sat at the kitchen island bar, sipping coffee and watching Rafael pour eggs into a pan. He shot me a shy glance from the corner of his eye. The look was endearing, almost like that of a little kid seeking approval from his idol, and it melted my heart to see it aimed my way.

“Is the coffee okay?” he asked, with his back to me while he worked over the pan.

I smiled. “It’s perfect. You know you don’t actually have to cook for me, right? I can create a perfectly edible breakfast for myself.”

He turned and grinned. “Isn’t that what’s meant to happen? You know, food after fucking.”

I arched an eyebrow, then smirked behind my mug when his bravado cracked. “Omelette, Raf.”

“Huh?”

“Check the omelette.” I laughed heartily as he cussed and jumped into action.

“I told you I’m bad at this sort of shit,” he hissed.

Feeling a little sorry for the tattooed bad boy floundering like he had no idea how to act, I slid from the bar stool and arrived at his side.

“What would you do if it was just you here?” I asked, leaning my head against his shoulder.

He dropped a kiss among my hair. “I’d eat this from the pan.”

I plucked two forks from the cutlery drawer and clinked them together. “Well then, that’s what we’ll do.”

Raf gaped at me as if I’d grown a second head, then his eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of a trap? You know, lure me into a false sense of security, then bitch me out for not doin’ somethin’ right?”

I tried so hard to keep my laughter in check, but failed miserably after a few seconds. God, he was adorable when letting his insecurities through.

I shook my head and stabbed my fork into the omelet. “It’s not a trap, I promise you can relax. I’m a guest here, so that means I forego the bitching. You might wanna turn off the hob, though.”

“Jesus fuck,” he cussed and spun into action. “It’s too distracting having you here.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to stay,” I deadpanned.

He hummed and shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. I tried to ignore the trickles of awkwardness that wove through our silence as we ate out of the frying pan. I was at ease here, but that didn’t mean we’d passed the stage where it felt like there needed to be small-talk. If the glance from under his eyebrows was anything to go by, Raf sensed it too.

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