Page 89 of Best Frenemies

I hop down off the counter and start getting plates and forks and knives from the cabinet behind him.

“I have fresh fruit and orange juice in the fridge,” he calls over his shoulder. “The maple syrup and butter are in there too.”

I follow his instructions and set two plates down on the long wooden table that separates the kitchen and the living room. But when I start to head back into the kitchen to grab stuff from the fridge, I stop in my tracks.

Something about seeing Mack shirtless with pajama pants and bare feet makes my heart give one of its beats to my libido. His hair looks like he just barely ran his fingers through it, and his mouth is busy singing the same Donna Summer song he played for the dolphins in Destin.

He shakes his hips a little and winks at me as he sings the chorus, and good God, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as fun as Mack. He’s confident and charming and playful, and it’s impossible not to feel good when you’re in his presence—now that I’ve stopped hating him, that is.

He can make even the simplest, most mundane tasks like making breakfast and setting the table entertaining, and I never know what’s going to come out of his smart mouth.

Life with Mack would be the best time.

That thought pulls me up short, and I practically trip over my own two feet when I force myself to move back toward the fridge. My cheeks feel all heated and my pits feel all sweaty, and when I open the fridge door, I let myself stand inside the cool air for a good ten seconds to calm down.

What is going on with me?

I grab the bowl of fruit, the maple syrup, and the butter and shut the fridge, my strange hot flash thankfully starting to recede.

I’m half leaned over the table, arranging the items in the middle, when I feel Mack step behind me and grab my hips.

“Babe, you’re killing me,” he growls and pushes himself against my backside.

He’s thick and hard beneath his flannel pants, and it urges a little moan to escape my lungs.

“This ass,” he says in a husky tone as he grips my bare ass cheeks beneath the oversized sweatshirt. “Fuck, it’s perfect.”

“Mack,” I say, but it turns into a moan when I feel him pull his cock out of his pants. “What about breakfast?”

“Fuck breakfast,” he says and presses the tip of himself at my now-wet entrance. “I have to be inside you.”

Ohhell.

My pussy throbs at his words. It’s been too long since I’ve felt us connected.

Between one pounding heartbeat and the next, Mack thrusts his cock inside me with a deliciously deep stroke of his hips.

I feel so full that it makes my eyes water, my nipples harden, and my breaths come out in erratic pants.

“Goddamn,” he whispers. “Why is it always so good with you? Always so fucking good.”

I could ask him the exact same question, but when he starts up a greedy, powerful rhythm that has my tits bouncing and my head falling forward, all I can do is savor the feel of him inside me.

All I can do is enjoy the ride.

Thursday, April 14th

Mack

Since I wasn’t on cafeteria duty, I ran up the street to grab a sandwich from Marty’s Deli. This place has been around for years, and their turkey Reuben never disappoints.

The lunchtime rush is in full swing, but their assembly-line style setup makes moving through it a breeze.

“You get the usual, Mack?” Sally, one of the owners, asks when I step in front of her cash register.

“Yep. Turkey Reuben. Extra turkey. Chips. And a double order of pickles.”

“That’ll be $12.52.”

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