Page 47 of The Virgin Playboy

“Mmm… that's right, baby. Come on this dick for me. Come on this dick while I fuck this tight pussy,” I commanded, as stroke for stroke she met me, until the both of us fell victim to our own pleasure. Exhausted and out of breath, I leaned in to kiss her, our lips lingering in one tight embrace.

“Well, I'm up now,” I joked, as she rolled her eyes.

“Now he's up. Come on, let's check on my food before I burn your house down.

***

With my arms wrapped around her, we walked to the kitchen, my mind in shock that her food actually looked edible.

“Wow, babe, everything looks great. Let's hope it tastes the same,” I joked, as she playfully shoved me away. I cut myself a small piece of her roasted lamb, the gentle tenderness of the meat melting in my mouth.

“Oh my god, Jaq, it tastes so amazing.”

“See, I'm not completely useless,” she boasted and I volunteered to set our plates up because she had spent the whole morning cooking with no help. Holiday music played from my living room TV as we enjoyed the food she made at the kitchen table.

“Gosh, Jaq, this is so good. If this had been the first time you cooked for me, you would have set the standard so high. I'm glad you just know that cooking isn't your prized talent. But maybe it would be if you always cooked like this,” I teased. I actually liked cooking but the thing we had in common was that we didn't mind being takeout people. At least she had good taste in restaurants.

“I know, I know. But I actually tried hard this time, because I know how bummed you were that your cousin wasn't going to be home for the holidays.”

“Yeah, but it's not exactly a consolation prize spending it with you. I appreciate your efforts. Made me feel better about the call I made to my fam this morning. I really wanted to talk to my dad, but it never seems like he’s around.” Jaq's expression went sullen, her hand meeting mine, comforting.

“Did something happen?” she wondered, as I answered with a shrug.

“Nothing bad. It's just my older sister had her baby two months ago and no one really told me. I just hate myself for not being there. I never thought I'd miss things like that,” I admitted, knowing I was partly to blame.

“I'm sure your family's understanding with how you talk about them. I know they don't hold it against you.” That was the problem. They didn't. And because they didn't, I didn't see the urgency of going back, considering they were doing fine without me.

“They're probably tired of hearing about my girlfriend,” I gushed, a goofy smile forming on her face.

“Wait, they know about me?”

“Does that bother you?” I wondered, considering this relationship wasn't even supposed to get this far. I’d met her family, but being the commitment-phobe that she was, I knew there was a chance me talking her up to my family would make her uncomfortable.

“No, of course not. I just wonder how you describe me. Hey guys this is my forty-one-year-old girlfriend. She’s a Black woman who left her cushiony job to write books for teenagers. Not exactly a good sell,” she joked, as I rolled my eyes and finished off my orange juice.

“Well, I haven't used that language, but they do know that you're older than me. Your race doesn't make a difference, but they were excited learning you're a Black American. My mum doesn't believe you're forty-one.”

“So, they know what I look like?” she quizzed, adopting an even goofier expression than before.

“I mean, your folks know what I look like. Is that okay?”

“Can you blame a girl for asking? You're like the only under thirty person I know without social media. What pictures did you share of me? I have to know,” she asked eagerly, her curiosity sated when they were the ones that she had liked of herself.

“Unlike me, my sisters aren't afraid of Google. They all think that I'm dating a famous tv star. They kind of focused on your anchor days,” I boasted, as she got up and sat on my lap, before wrapping her arms around my neck.

“I’m not gonna lie, that wardrobe was as fly as it got for me at the time. I hate to burst their bubble that I’m nobody special,” she jested.

“You’re special to me,” I assured, and she rewarded me with a kiss to the cheek.

“My God, you're such a slow eater. Finish your food already, so we can open our presents,” she chastised, forcing me to narrow my eyes.

“You didn't seem to mind an hour ago when your legs were draping my shoulders,” I teased, her finger meeting the center of my brows as she pushed my head back. “Just saying, make up your mind, babe. But presents do sound nice.”

Getting comfortable by the tree, she shook a box on the bigger side before ripping away the wrapping paper. The room filled with her screams as she took a shoe out of the box. I'd seen her eyeing these ankle strap Mary Janes that had little potion bottles in the heel of the shoe, but they kept selling out. I managed to find a new pair on eBay in the box and never worn, and while they were marked up three times the retail price, seeing her reaction was worth it.

“I'm guessing you like them?” She crawled over and pounced on me, covering my face in annoying kisses.

“I love them! Thank you, baby.” Reaching over to a smaller box, she handed it to me, begging me to open that one first. I shook it and it made little to no sound, but when I opened it, it made more sense. My face lit up.