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I didn’t need to ask him twice.
He did just that.
He made me scream.
He made me leave this earth.
The tsunami that washed over me left nothing in its wake.
“I was serious last night,” I said, sipping my coffee, suppressing a groan of pleasure.
Karson made it.
I had an impossibly fancy espresso machine ever since spending a handful of months in Australia, drinking what real coffee should taste like. American coffee was dirty water compared to the nectar made at the bottom of the world.
I’d taken a course there on precisely how to make it the way they did. It was an art. Only a handful of cafés here in LA were able to reproduce it. One could not just walk up to a coffee machine and make coffee how it was supposed to be made.
Except, of course, Karson.
I ached to ask him where in the fuck he learned to make a coffee like that, since I was pretty sure it wasn’t part of his secret spy training. But I couldn’t do that. Couldn’t learn any more about him. I needed him to leave.
I was wrapped in a silk kimono. He had pulled on the slacks he’d arrived in as well as the shirt, completely unbuttoned. It was very, very hard to maintain eye contact with his naked torso which seemed to glimmer in the late morning light.
“I know you were,” he agreed, watching me. “I’ve never seen someone come so seriously before in my fucking life.”
I gripped my coffee cup a little tighter. “Not about that,” I ground out. “About this just being sex. Nothing else. I don’t want some intense relationship. I like you. You’re a great fuck. But that’s it.” I paused, biting my lip. “And the next time we have sex, you’re wearing a condom,” I added as an afterthought. This would not be just sex otherwise.
Karson’s jaw hardened as he crossed the distance between us. I retreated instinctively, and my back hit the kitchen counter.
Karson took the coffee cup from me, placing it on the counter gently.
He ran his hands down the sides of my body, ghosting over the curves, over the parts of me he’d bruised, he’d kissed, he’d claimed. His mouth was inches from mine, but he didn’t kiss me.
“Baby, we both know that there is no fuckin’ way that I’m putting anything between us when I fuck you,” he murmured, his rough voice, making it a struggle not to squirm. “No way I’m not feeling the velvet of your cunt against my cock as I move inside you.” His hand parted my robe, skimming down my stomach before settling between my legs where his fingers easily entered me, lubricated by my arousal.
I let out a low moan.
“We both know there’s no going back now,” he whispered, taking his finger out of me and moving it up to his mouth, tasting me.
My knees trembled.
“We both know this a fuck of a lot more than just sex,” he said, brushing his lips against mine.
He kissed me gently, slipping his tongue inside, coaxing a response from my own before he stepped back, leaving me wanting.
His eyes moved slowly up and down my body, a slick smile on his face before he turned around and walked out of the house.
I reached for my coffee cup, stumbling out of the kitchen and back into my living room, staring at where this all began.
But no, that wasn’t right. This didn’t begin in my living room. This began on the sidewalk outside a kickboxing class, the very first moment we laid eyes on each other.
I had a feeling the end was a long time coming.
If such things like this had an end.
Yasmin and I were meeting for brunch at one.
On any other day of the week, it would’ve been called lunch. But some clever bastard figured out that on the weekend, brunch can be all day as long as there are mimosas, Bloody Marys and various egg-based dishes.
