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"Babygirl, when I say you're mine, I mean everything. Mouth, tits, ass, pussy. It's all mine. And in case your mind is going there, let me shut this shit down right now. That means everything I got is yours too."
The fluttering thing intensified. "You don't think maybe this is a little... fast?"
To that, he put his head back to look at the ceiling and let out a sigh before looking back down at me. "What? You want six weeks of sitting across from each other in restaurants and talking about our favorite colors and all that bullshit that means nothing? We got something here. Only way to fuck that up this early on is to over-analyze it to death. So quit it. Let it happen."
Let it happen.
"Okay," I said, though a part of me knew there would always be that niggling little voice in the back of my head begging me to over-think every little thing. I was convinced it was a voice all women were born with.
"So we're good."
"Yeah, we're good."
"Thank Christ because I'm starving."
"Listen," I said, smiling, "I think me cooking one meal a week is plenty fair."
"Chinese?" he asked, already releasing me to go fetch a menu from on top of the microwave.
"Sure. Lo mein," I said, walking out toward the dining room. "I'm gonna go get changed."
I hemmed and hawed over my pajama selection for a truly embarrassing length of time. Agreeing we were in a relationship certainly seemed like the occasion to slip into a slinky nightie. But we would be eating dinner and a delivery guy was going to show up...
Eventually, I settled on a baby pink silk nightie, no bra or panties because the length was decent enough. Then I found a white and pink floral silk robe and slipped it on, knotting it. It would be a fun little surprise for later.
Or, at least, I thought it would be.
That was until I got into the living room to find Paine sitting on the couch, some rerun of a sitcom on the TV. He wasn't actually watching it, but it was on and the volume was almost to the point of being loud. "Not a fan of silence, huh?" I asked, leaning against the doorway.
He looked up, eyes running over my robe, brows drawing together slightly. "Grew up in a two bedroom apartment with two sisters, a mom, and a grandma in a building that was constructed with the thinnest walls imaginable. Then, with the gang, there was always men and women around. It was never quiet. Silence feels unnatural to me," he explained, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. "Come here," he said, patting his knee.
I rolled my eyes, but crossed toward him, moving to sit on his thigh like he had requested, but he grabbed me instead and pulled me to straddle him. His hands went immediately to the knot I tied and worked it out. He parted the material and a slow, sexy smile spread across his face. His hands drifted inward, sliding to cup my breasts. At the warmth of his skin on the cool material, my nipples hardened against his palms and his eyes went hooded.
"Twenty," he said oddly, looking up at me.
"Twenty what?"
"Minutes to delivery," he explained, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
"That's a long time. I wonder what we could do to make it pass faster," I said with a smile.
His hands slid from my breasts and down my belly, landing high on my bare thighs so that his fingers slipped under the material. "No panties?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
"It was supposed to be an after dinner surprise."
"Yeah well now it's a before dinner treat. Slide back," he said, pushing my hips slightly backward. He reached down, unfastening his pants, reaching inside, and pulling out his hard cock.
"Is that my treat?" I asked with a devilish little smirk, ready to slide down to my knees.
"Gonna have that mouth on me again, baby. But right now, I need to be in that tight pussy. Ride me," he demanded, still holding his cock at the base so I could position myself. Not needing any further encouragement, I moved back over him, lifted my hips, then slowly slid down on him as my fingers sank into his shoulders. One of his hands moved to squeeze my ass, the other up toward my neck, holding on at the side.
I took him slow for a few glorious strokes, reveling in the feeling of fullness, in the perfect friction. But it wasn't long before the need became an urgent, clawing thing and my hips started working him faster and faster, quiet moans accompanying almost every downward stroke. My thigh muscles tensed and shook, my core tightened, and I knew I was getting close.
But then I lost it. My rhythm got sloppy and I felt it slowly drifting away. I was never good at being on top. I always got too into the sensations and couldn't keep whatever constant pace I needed to have an orgasm.
