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With Abby, I spend time thinking about what we’ll look like years into the future if we stay together. We both love to travel, and I think it would be fun to take off spontaneously whenever the desire hit us. When we retire, maybe get an RV and drive the country. Go to another country, get an RV, and drive around there, seeing all the sights.
And I’ve thought of buying land here in western Pennsylvania, someplace where Abby can have a barn, and maybe she’d teach me to ride. We could even run a dog rescue.
I think about children with her, and I hope they all get her beautiful dark hair and radiant green eyes.
I’m not sure if it’s completely fucked up, but I know Abby and I would make great parents, and the prospect of having a family unit that’s more than just me, her, and the dogs is almost too appealing. Like I want to take her hand and both of us run right off the cliff of life without any thought to whether this is too soon or a good idea or if we’re being impulsive.
During the descent, we’d do everything together.
We’d build a life.
I fucking want that with her. She is so singularly unique and has every bit of me mesmerized, I actually can’t see a way forward without her.
Christ… if I told her that, she’d probably think I was a psychopath.
Laughing at my own internal debate, I ask Bubba, “What do you think of Abby?”
My dog doesn’t bother looking at me. Instead, he walks in circles with his nose to the ground until he finds the perfect spot to shit.
“Don’t play coy,” I tease while he does his business. “You’re as into her as I am.”
After I clean up Bubba’s deposit, feed him, and wash my hands, I head back to my bedroom. Abby’s position has not changed in the last fifteen minutes.
My clothes hit the floor, and I slip under the covers to spoon up against her. She’s warm and smells sweet, and she makes a little purring sound as she wiggles her naked ass against me.
“You awake?” I run a hand along the outside of her leg, then across her stomach to pull her in closer.
“Mmm,” she replies, and I can hear a smile in that wordless affirmation.
“How’s your head?”
“Okay,” she murmurs, still with a smile, her voice laced with morning huskiness.
“What do you want to do today?” It’s Sunday, and the weather forecast looks fantastic.
Abby stretches and then rolls over toward me. I shift my position as she snuggles in close, but she keeps her head tipped so she can see my face. “I sort of wanted to go to a flea market.”
I frown… even grimace a little. I fucking hate shopping. I try to wipe the look off my face, because I want to spend the day with Abby, but she sees it.
Laughing, she gives a little shake of her head. “Not to shop, I promise.”
My frown deepens. “Then what does one do at a flea market?”
Abby smiles, slips an arm around my waist, and trails her fingers down my spine, which is a bit distracting. “Flea markets are a great place to sell mill puppies.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “You’re not going to try to steal them, are you?”
Abby glares at me and pinches my ass, which makes my cock twitch. “No, I’m not going to steal them. I’m going to treat them. Most will have skin or eye infections because of the horrible conditions in which they’re raised. I go around and offer free treatment, and most will accept it.”
My eyes roam over her face, consider her lips a moment, but merely hold her close. “You’re a fucking saint, you know that?”
She gives me an offended look. “I most certainly am not.”
“Total saint. I see the glow of a halo above your head now.”
“Hmm,” she hums low as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “Would a saint do this?”
Before I can comprehend the question, her hand is between our bodies, her delicate fingers encircling my dick.
It jumps in response.
She squeezes.
“Fuck,” I groan as I close my eyes. She strokes me, and I swell under her touch.
“Not so saintlike now, am I?” she murmurs in an evil, impish voice that promises dark delight, and I get harder yet.
“On your back, Mr. McCord,” she commands, her hand gone from my dick and now at my chest to give me a shove.
I don’t mind getting pushed around. I flop to my back and then immediately arch as Abby takes me in hand again and strokes me hard.
“Definitely not a saint,” I mutter.
“Too rough for you?” she taunts, easing up.
That’s a challenge, and my hand curls around hers, making her grip me harder. “Do your worst.”
“Oh, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” she whispers softly and leans over for a soft kiss.
