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Sanders laughs, pulling out of me and a little spurt of cum shoots onto my stomach. "You want me to make you breakfast while you bathe, undistracted?"
I know that's the logical thing to do. "Thank you, babe," I say. I smile and pull my legs down. They were squeezing him so tight that it takes me a second to feel grounded again.
Sanders walks forward, pulling the plug on the tub so that I can draw new water.
I watch his fine ass exit the bathroom, grabbing a robe and heading toward the kitchen. Making a mental note, I determine to take the world's quickest bath and get in there for breakfast, pronto. The robe is nice, but I think I'd like to peel it off and sit on his lap. I crave the feel of my skin against his.
The water finishes draining, and I take a super quick shower, not wanting to lounge in the top without a cock to bounce on. What can I say, I'm spoiled now.
I slip into my own robe and follow the scent of eggs
to the kitchen.
"Do I get to kiss the cook?" Gah, I can be so cheesy. But with Sanders, I can't help but be affectionate. And he thrives with the reciprocation of the attention that he gives me, so that's all right in my book.
"Of course. I wouldn't dream of otherwise," Sanders glides over, using his spatula to put eggs on the plate's put on the kitchen island.
I circle my arms around his middle and squeeze tight to him. I kiss his chest and listen to his heart for just a moment. This is the man that I will cherish forever. This heartbeat I'm hearing now matters to me as much as my own. I release him so that his own eggs, and own eggs, will not get cold.
He spatulas more onto his plate and places the skillet onto an unused burner. We sit down at the bar stools at the island and I grab a carafe of orange juice. It has been long enough since I brushed my teeth that I'm not about to experience that gross thing that happens when orange juice and toothpaste fight over flavor. I pour myself a glass and look into Sanders's eyes across the island.
“What are you thinking about Stacy?” Sanders asks. There’s a lightness in his voice that pleases me. He doesn’t have the conflict in his voice or on his face.
That’s what I’m thinking about. I’m having the same experience. The stress and confusion is over.
“I’m thinking that you are like coming home every time I look at you. I am so happy that we worked everything out. I never want to be without you again. I never want us lost, like we were before.” I hear my voice catch in my throat and I didn’t realize how I was going to pull into that question with so much weight.
“Me too,” Sanders says. He doesn’t have to run his mouth like me for me to understand that he understands me.
I didn’t always believe in this idea of soul mates. I mean, in my line of work, we tend to make fun of things more than we actually believe them. Comedy draws on real life, though. And everything that might have seemed strange to me before about all the gooey emotional romantic stuff that falls off my tongue now? I get it.
Some things just work. You don’t think they will. Everything tries to pull them apart and keeps them from working.
But love? Real love? It slams into your soul and you have to act on it, grab it, guard it, and keep it for you forever. You hold onto to what’s real. Sanders and I are the most real thing I’ve ever seen. No joke.
20
Stacy
“Have you ever killed a man with your bare hands?”
“Stacy, I --”
“Oh, oh, and have you ever jumped out from a plane?”
“I don’t think that --”
“And secret missions? Do you go on secrets missions?”
Leaning into me, Sanders does the only sensible thing he could possible do and shuts me up by pressing his lips against mine. I smile as we kiss, feeling the taste of his lips and tongue, and nibble gently at his lower lip.
“I’m making too many questions, I know,” I chuckle, looking into his eyes and laying my hand on top of his.
“Not at all,” Sanders replies, smiling softly. “I just don’t know if I can answer so many questions at once.”
We’re sitting in Central Park, a picnic towel resting over the grass in front of us. It’s been a week since I found out about Sanders’ true identity, and it feels good to be out of the house, you know? When we left the studio that day, Sanders drove me back to my apartment and we barely left ever since. We’ve been terribly busy, if you can imagine that. The dirty, sweaty kind of busy.
What? It’s not like I can restrain myself, you know? Don’t tell me you’d do any differently if you had the most perfect man you have ever met telling you that he loves you, his cock hard and ready to unleash a storm of pleasure all over your body... You’d never leave the house, that much I can guarantee you.
