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Hazel
There’s a cloud underneath me and I never want to get off of it. I stretch my body out on Dylan’s bed. He’s off doing something and I’m in bed daydreaming about everything that happened last night. I’m in utter heaven right now.
I’ve never been with a man who is so fucking perfect. Last night I could not get enough of his body. Running my hands over his abdomen and his muscular arms is something I could never get tired of doing.
There is no one better in the sack than Dylan. I had an amazing night getting all my sexual needs met. It was incredible. There wasn’t anything that we didn’t do. No sexual stone was left unturned.
“Hey sleepy head,” Dylan says.
He’s come back into the room with a cup of hot coffee. He gives the cup to me, and I take a sip. It’s a Cuban Café con leche coffee. It’s sweet and rich like Dylan.
“This is so good.”
“My grandmother taught me how to make it.”
“Thanks grandma.”
Our eyes meet and we smile at each other.
“Come back to bed?” I ask.
Dylan laughs at me and tousles my hair.
“No can do. I’m cooking you breakfast.”
“Really?”
“Yes really. Got to go or our breakfast is going to burn.”
Dylan rushes out of the room. I hear the fire alarm go off. He didn’t make it. Is that him cursing? I try to suppress my urge to giggle.
It takes me just a few minutes to shower. Dylan has quite a collection of body wash and shampoo. I pass on washing my hair and choose a lavender body wash- I want to make sure that I smell nice.
I’ve got a thin summer dress in my bag. Flight attendants tend to travel with large handbags that fit various survival items like clothes, underwear, and a complete set of makeup. I get dressed and put on a very light layer of makeup.
When I enter the kitchen, I see an open French Door. Dylan waves at me from his balcony table and I go out and join him. He is wearing khaki shorts and a sheer white cotton button down that he’s left open.
Could the man look any hotter this morning? Dylan is really making me question my vow to stay single and uninvolved.
“Have a seat,” Dylan says.
I sit down, and he raises a glass pitcher that looks like orange juice.
“I love orange juice in the morning.”
Dylan raises his eyebrows.
“These are mimosas. Champagne in your orange juice darling.”
“I love mimosas.”
“I got the recipe from a hotel in Thailand.”
“I thought it was just orange juice and champagne.”
He pours the mimosa into a crystal champagne flute. I take a sip.
“Oh my God, this is awesome!”
