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“Not bad for an old man,” I teased him, closing my eyes to bask in his warmth and scent and the slow, delicious throbs still slowly rolling through my pussy.
“Old man?” He almost sounded offended as he gave me one more harsh thrust that made my sensitive body preen.
His softening cock left me and I whined at the empty feeling left now that he was gone.
“How long until you can go again?” I huffed, still arching against his hand squeezing and massaging my breasts.
“As long as it takes to get you fed,” he answered between lavishing kisses and slashes of his tongue against my neck and shoulder.
“I fucking love fucking you,” I admitted. “It’s my second favorite thing.”
“Second?” There was that offense again.
“I like cuddling with you even more,” I told him, grinding my hips against his fingers that had settled to stroke gentle little circles around my clit.
Suddenly, he was gone from behind me and I was falling backwards onto the mattress. His big mitts were around me again, pressing my hips into the mattress as he moved over top of me.
“Stop being so fucking cute, or we’re never going to get breakfast,” he demanded, then pressed a long, drawn out kiss to my smirking lips.
As quick as he got on top of me, he slid off the bed and moved to pick up the room phone.
Room service.
My smirk got bigger, breaking into a grin as he ordered a waffle breakfast with eggs and bacon, my favorite. Something about him knowing my favorite foods and what I would order without even asking made my chest so warm with love. He noticed. He paid attention. He bothered to bother. I was worth it to him, and as stupid as that sounded, it felt fucking amazing.
“How long until breakfast gets here?” I asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
He shrugged.
“They said fifteen to twenty.”
I bit my lips, looking at him from under my lashes in what I hoped was some kind of coquettish, come-hither expression.
“So, long enough for a quickie?”
He lifted an eyebrow, standing there naked as the day he was born with absolutely none of the bashful embarrassment that I was feeling.
“I figured you’d want a shower,” he eventually answered.
Sort of.
“I’m up for trying again. And if we crack our skulls open, what a way to go, huh?”
My boyfriend rolled his eyes at me, but he couldn’t help the way his lips twisted into an amused grin.
“We’re going to need to install a swing in our shower at home, aren’t we?” His tone was weary, but the sidelong look he gave me was all sex-hooded eyes and a satisfied smile.
Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it, but now that he mentioned it, a sex swing in the shower would be pretty fucking cool. And we wouldn't even have to wash it because it was in a shower. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan to me.
“Want to install it yourself, or should we hire someone?” I asked him, taking the lead to the bathroom.
“You’ll be the death of me, woman,” was his only answer.
Dreary words, but damn, was there contentment in the way he said it.
Chapter 42
Freya
