Page 25 of His Curvy Castaway Obsession - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

“I guess… should we not watch TV then?” he asks, looking like he’s unsure of what to do next. “I don’t really ever watch it to be honest.”

Sex is great, it really is, but I feel fine on that point for now too. I don’t want to overdo something I’ve just discovered and I hope Michael feels that too, and doesn’t think I’m being a prude or something.

At least not until the morning… or maybe a midnight snack… for now, I’m well satisfied in that department. Thoroughly satisfied.

“I’ve got some old movies stored on my phone… maybe we could sync it with the TV?” I say.

He doesn’t look over the moon at the prospect, but what else is there to do in a big house in the middle of a storm? A huge part of me just wants to go to sleep, but it must be like seven o’clock or something. Most people don’t go to bed early, I imagine.

Not people like Michael anyway.

“I think we can do whatever you want.” he announces, sauntering over to the huge screen TV in the lounge area. It switches on, but as Michael observes, there’s no satellite connection.

“Must be the storm, you should be able to… Ah! There you go, you got it.”

I sync my phone, and feeling a lot like a boring old lady, I pick one of my favorite old movies, a Hitchcock thriller and cringe internally while it loads up, hoping Michael won’t think I’m too weird.

“I love the old black and whites,” he announces, settling down onto the couch after finding a blanket beside it. He pats the space next to him and I curl up into him like a cat.

“You want anything,” he asks, “There’s some soda, crackers in that basket still.” I shake my head, but thank him for asking by pecking his cheek and sighing with sheer bliss as I feel his huge arm go around me while I burrow some more into his side and rest my head on his chest.

As the movie starts, I catch myself looking up at Michael and every time I do, I catch him looking down at me. He’s stroking my hair, just how I like it and I know he’s watching me more than the movie.

“Are you gonna even watch the movie?” I whisper after a while.

“I’m watching you watching the movie,” he whispers back, shushing me gently and I squeeze him again, running my hand over his abs under his robe, the blanket plus his own heat keeping both of us perfectly warm.

I don’t make it past the first ten minutes though, my eyes get heavier and heavier. Michael’s slow and steady, rhythmic breathing, plus his warmth and his scent have me out like a light.

I have a half-waking memory of him picking me up gently and carrying me up some stairs. I open my eyes briefly, there’s a four poster bed and lots of soft light. It’s so warm and fresh smelling.

I clutch at Michael’s robe as he lays me into the bed, about to pull the covers over me.

“I’ll be right here next to you, Zoe. Sleep tight,” he whispers, and my final thought is a blissful one as his lips gently touch mine giving me a reverse snow-white and sending me straight back to sleep again.

It could have been a dream, part of the intense dream sequence I had all night about Michael, but no. I wake up in the bed he so tenderly put me in, and rubbing my eyes I turn to see the space where he’s slept. It’s still warm and I shift over to get some more of him on me before I decide if I’m really awake or still dreaming.

The smell of coffee brewing and something cooking catches my sense too. On top of his soapy, woodsman smell, the aroma of hot coffee and something like bacon draws a moan of pleasure from my lips. I squeeze my legs together and shudder again at the memory of him down there, and stretching myself out I feel like I can’t wait to get out of bed for once.

Normally, I hate getting up. I sleep badly and always dread the moment I run out of snooze options. But today, from now on, I know waking up is going to be a pleasure, every day.

With Michael.

I discover the upstairs bathroom, which is as big as my whole apartment, then drawn downstairs by the smells and sounds of the TV, I notice the rays of brilliant light streaming through the high arched windows.

“Morning!” Michael beams, “I was gonna take you up a tray for breakfast.”

He drops what he’s doing at the stovetop and herds me over to the couch, propping me up with pillows and wrapping my legs in the same blanket from last night which still smells of him.

---