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“I think I’ve heard worse ideas. But I’ve heard better ideas.”
“What’s a better idea?”
“Fucking me after I take a shower.”
“Terrible idea. This is exactly how I want you,” he said, sliding his hands up her back to find the clasp of her bra. “This is how you looked after work every day.”
“Disgusting? Dirty? Sweaty? Gross?”
“Hot. Hot. Hot. So...” He unhooked her bra. “Fucking.” He lifted her shirt off over her head. “Hot.” He slid her bra down her arms and tossed it onto the floor. His mouth found her mouth and kissed the life out of it as he took her breasts in his hands and massaged them.
He was rock hard already and there was nothing for it but to bury himself inside his unbearably sexy girlfriend as soon as humanly possible. Nothing would stop him from dragging her jeans and panties down her legs, tearing them off, unzipping his pants and fucking her right here against the front door. Nothing. Not an earthquake, not a volcano eruption, not the end of the fucking world.
“Mreow.”
“What was that?” Ian asked.
“My pussy,” Flash said.
Ian looked down at her crotch.
“What’s it trying to tell me?”
“I need to feed my pussy.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” he asked. “Because I’m into that.”
“Oh, my God, I have to feed my cat. Excuse me.” She patted his erection. “You excuse me, too.”
She grabbed her T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on. A small striped gray cat sat in the doorway to the little kitchenette.
“Ian, this is Bob Ross. Bob Ross, this is Ian. You two make friends,” Flash said as she went into the kitchen and picked up a bowl from the floor.
“Why is your cat named Bob Ross?”
“He’s my favorite artist obviously.”
“Your favorite artist is the happy little tree guy?”
“And happy clouds,” Flash said. “You can call him Bob if you want. Or Ross. Or Bob Ross. He’s a cat so he answers to none of them.”
“Hello, Bob Ross,” Ian said. “You are cock-blocking me. Do you know that?”
Bob Ross only looked up at him and blinked. It was a disdainful blink.
“Can I pet you or will you bite me?” Ian asked Bob Ross.
“Only one way to find out,” Flash said as she opened a cabinet.
“Is he a biter?”
“No more so than I am.”
“Not comforting,” he said, remembering the dozens of love bites Flash had left all over his body two weeks ago.
Ian held out his hand and Bob Ross sniffed it before sauntering in the kitchen without giving him another look.
“I think he likes me,” Ian said.
