AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He laughed, looked deep into her eyes, and asked, “Do you want me Dafna? Yes or no?”
She didn’t think that long this time. “Yes.”
He sunk his rock-hard cock into her, and her walls tightened around him. She was hot, driving him nuts with need. He pushed in, pumping, thrusting, slamming into her, and she took him in, her fingers grabbing his hair, the back of his neck, pulling him to her.
He didn’t want it to be over too soon so he stilled. “Fuck, Dafna…You’re exquisite. You’re too much.”
“No, go on.” She raised her head and caught his lower lip, sucking it, and he kissed her sweet mouth. But he wanted to prolong this night, to savor her fully, and he slowed his pace. He bent his head, wanting another taste of her lavender scented nipples. She hummed, arching her back, offering herself to him. He strove for control, kissing her from the valley of her midriff to the softness of her belly.
“I’ve got a full box,” she whispered, arms latched onto him, around him, insistent. “Please, stop stopping yourself. Please. Please. I’m ready.”
He resisted as long as he could, then when he couldn’t stand it, he drove right back in. The lady needed it, and he needed it. He kissed her, his tongue meeting hers in time to his thrusts. Increasing the rhythm, his blood buzzed in his veins, the pressure built in his groin, propelling him towards the cliff. She moaned into his mouth and he lifted her from the bed, gluing her to his pelvis, burrowing even deeper.
“Several rounds is my middle name, Dafna,” he managed to quip, and she giggled. He had a split second to marvel that she laughed at his lame joke before he became undone, shooting his load, growling and groaning, his head and body united in ecstasy. He rumbled into her fragrant neck, burrowed his head in her warm shoulder, and saw stars. She hugged him as he breathed hard, keeping him close. He inhaled her and kissed the soft skin, and slid softly down, down, down, like a feather on warm air.
Tomorrow his carriage would transform back into a pumpkin, and he would turn from a stud into a boring CPA. But just for tonight, he would let himself fall in love. He was her boyfriend. And she had a full box.
Chapter 6
I Lived For Art
He made it home from Dafna’s, slipped into the shower, and then donned on his work clothes: an ironed long-sleeved button down, work pants with the fronts creased and crisp. He folded his sleeves, wishing he worked in a less stuffy place, where his tattoo didn’t upset his boss.
Dafna had traced it last night, following each thin line all the way to the end of the sea creature’s thin tail, scraping it lightly with her trimmed nails. Then she’d kissed his arm, her tongue licking him, her breasts a warm weight on his stomach. Fuck, he was getting a hard-on from just thinking about a woman... He grinned widely, happy to be alive, a mood he hadn’t been in for a long time.
He'd prepare French toast, which his daughter loved, and he would indulge in. He watched his weight, constantly monitoring what he ate, scared to end up sporting an enormous belly like his father.
He worked fast, Gal was supposed to be arriving shortly, used to his kitchen’s tiny workspace. His place was a one and half bedroom on the fourth floor of an old Dizengoff building. The kitchen, nothing more than a sink, a narrow marble work surface, a few cabinets, and a fridge, was part of the living room. A large bay window brought in plenty of light. Erez built a window bench, covered it with pillows, and tucked in bookshelves beneath the seat. When Gal was little, she would bring small flowerpots from kindergarten, so he had arranged for hanging plant boxes which they planted together, replacing the herbs whenever they died. His kitchen/living room always basked in a fragrance of mint, verbena, and basil.
Slicing the almost week-old challah, he dipped it in milk, letting the dry bread absorb it, then transferred it into the beaten eggs’ plate to coat it. Some people shortened the process, mixing the eggs and the milk together, but not him. He amassed a soaked pile of it before melting butter in the pan and beginning the frying. Thoughts of his night with Dafna, the tight heat of her around him, made his cock twitch, bulging the thin fabric of his work pants.
“Hey, Abba, French toast—is that because of my audition?”
He didn’t hear Gal come in. Half turning to greet her, he was grateful that the apron covered the lower half of his body from sight.
“This is so cute!” Her face cracked with a smile, showing the dimple she had in her right cheek. Her dark brown hair was loose, and her green eyes shone at him. She was the most beautiful girl in the world. “Come on, let me take your picture. You’re so adorable.”
His apron said ‘I cook the books’. It was Gal’s gift to him, and he sternly forbade her from ever photographing him in it.
“Maybe I’ll use this picture to find myself someone,” he quipped. Gal’s eyes rounded in alarm. She’d made him swear he wouldn’t give her a stepmother, a promise he’d had no trouble keeping. His night with Dafna was defined as a one-night stand, but right before he left, in an impulsive rush, he told Dafna he’d be in the pub tomorrow evening.
“No, no, Abba! I don’t need to babysit your children too.”
Gal complained that her mother used her as a babysitter, taking care of her three younger brothers. Rona, his ex-wife and Gal’s mother, ran her household as she saw fit, and she maintained children needed to do chores in the house, learn how to help. Since his daughter managed to be active in the scouts, sing opera, and be an A+ student, he figured she didn’t slave too hard taking care of her brothers.
“Right. Then don’t take my picture.”
She hopped to the cupboard and took two plates and cutlery and filled two glasses of water. For her all-important audition today, she dressed rather formally in a short-sleeved white shirt and a flowing dark skirt. When she wasn’t talking or laughing, Gal was singing. Her life’s ambition was to become an opera singer. This morning she belted out in her clear pure soprano an aria he recognized.
“I recognize it! It’s beautiful,” he said.
“Everyone knows it. It’s ‘Vissi d'arte', 'I Lived for Art', from Tosca.”
“Very apt.” He flipped the breads and served her the two piping hot slices of French toast.
“Abba, I want to spend summer with you, even if I don’t get in, it’s the best location,” Gal said.
He lived in the heart of Tel Aviv, across the street from Habima square with its stylized sunk garden and bustling cafes and restaurants.
