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“Funny,” he remarks. “That's what we keep saying about you.”
“I don't get it.”
He looks up again, shrugging.
“Are you for real? You seem like… I don't know. Like we made you up or something.”
“Like a fairytale!” I exclaim. “That's what I keep saying. This is all some big fairytale. Some big dream, and I'm gonna wake up.”
“Exactly,” he laughs. "Well, if it is a dream, I guess we better hope we don't wake up.”
“There’s coffee inside,” I offer. “Help yourself if you want some.”
“I think I'll do that,” he says.
He crosses the porch, and I hear his boots as he walks across my floor. My floor. That is so much fun to say. Something about having coffee already made, something to offer a visitor, makes me feel very right with the world.
My fingers move with a mind of their own, finding the melody, embellishing it, modulating it, bringing it back to the G chord. You always have to find your way back to the root note. It's like finding your way home, coming full circle.
Again, I realize I'm humming, just pulling notes out of the air, seeing if they fit. I hear the screen door open again behind me and hear a lower voice, a sultry timbre that picks up where I am, counterbalancing my melody with his own. In a breathy, unobtrusive way, he supports the melody, lifting it higher, rounding it out.
Without words, we sing together, letting our voices dance back and forth, trading the lead, calling and responding. After a little while, we resolve the melody, bringing the tones back down to the final, long notes, holding it out until it dies away over the dewy morning grasses.
For a few seconds
we just stare at each other, smiling and wordless.
“Well, that was pretty amazing,” I whisper.
“It sure was,” he agrees.
He sets his coffee cup down on the railing and sits next to me on the bench. His fingers trace the curve of my cheek and I lean into it, resting against his palm.
“Where did you come from?” he muses.
I can't answer because his kiss takes my breath away. His hands are in my hair, pulling me to him. His mouth is hungry and insistent, prying open my lips to force his tongue inside. I submit completely, letting him bite and suckle my lips, letting him drink his fill of me.
Before I know it, he's lifted me off the bench and carries me inside and we're striding toward the bed. He lays me down, fumbling with his jeans to free his thick, ready cock and lay astride me.
“I hope you’re ready,” he remarks, pausing. “Now that we've all had a taste of you, we won't be able to let up. You are going to have one of us at your door pretty much all the time. You okay with that?”
“It's what I want,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
I want him on top of me, to feel his weight. I wrap my ankles behind his thighs as he buries his cock in my sore, instantly wet pussy. The pressure is delicious, salving the tenderness immediately. This is what I needed, more and more and more.
Chapter 14
Charlie
“Stan, can you come here and take a look at this?”
Stan shuffles over, scratching his nuts through his boxer shorts, munching on a protein bar.
“What am I looking at here?”
I tip the laptop toward him, scrolling past the header on the email. His eyes go back and forth as he reads through the opening paragraph, with his eyebrows gradually going up.
“Wait a second, what she's saying?”
