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We made plans to go to the grocery store after she gets home to pick up something for tonight's dinner. It's fun cooking together, but I can never tell her the other reason I suggested we cook again tonight.
I love knowing I made a meal for him, and watching him enjoy it made me feel so good inside. I want that feeling again and again for the rest of my life.
Getting up, I change out of my pajamas, biting my lip again when I look at the spot where I dropped the panties. I wonder what he did with them. What if he touched himself while he was holding them? What if he slept with them on his pillow? Or maybe he’s carrying them around with him now, in his pocket, like a secret reminder.
Which would mean he's been thinking about me all day. My face goes hot at the idea, and a buzzing sensation spreads all through my body.
I wonder if it’s true. Like if he’s sitting in a meeting right now, thinking about me the whole time. I wonder if it makes his dick hard, the way I noticed yesterday when he thought I wasn't looking. He couldn't help himself.
I almost felt sorry for him. It wasn't enough to make me stop teasing him a little. Saying things I knew would get to him.
I really should try to get out of here and into my own place as soon as I can. Maybe for both our sakes.
If I wasn't here, I wouldn't have the pleasure of wandering the house by myself, reviewing his daily routine through the things I find lying around. Like the coffee cup in the sink. I pick it up, inhaling the aroma of what's left inside, then touch my lips to the rim before emptying it and putting it in the dishwasher. I have to start getting up earlier—maybe I can fix his coffee and breakfast in the morning.
It makes me smile as I pour myself a bowl of cereal. My skin tingles when I imagine standing at the stove, flipping pancakes when he comes in for breakfast. He’d hold me by my hips and nuzzle my neck before turning me around for a deep, long kiss.
And it would be the simplest thing in the world. Being together. Intimate. There wouldn’t be anything to hide, and I could kiss and touch him whenever I wanted. Until breakfast burned.
My cereal’s soggy by the time I shake myself out of my fantasy. I don’t even know what I’m thinking. It will never happen. Okay, so he wants me. Big deal. I bet he wants a billion dollars, too. That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.
My heart sinks as I look around the big, homey kitchen. It’ll never be mine, just like he’ll never be mine. I need to stop thinking about him this way. It’ll only end up hurting me.
For some reason, once I’ve finished eating, I let my curiosity take over anyway. I know I shouldn’t, but the temptation is too strong. I’ve never been alone in this house. There’s never been the chance to…
Don’t do this.My conscience’s screams aren’t stopping me on my way up the stairs and down the hall. His bedroom door is up ahead, pulling me in. I want to feel close to him. There’s nothing wrong with that.
I’ve peeked inside before, when the door was partly open, but stepping inside is another story. The navy bedspread is neatly smoothed out over the bed. I like that he makes it even though he sleeps alone. I like how neat he is.
He organizes the clothes in his closet neatly, too. I run a hand over the row of dress shirts and the colorful polos before leaning in and inhaling deeply. It’s like being with him.
It’s not enough. I cross the room and open the dresser drawers before coming to his T-shirts. They’re soft to the touch, worn, and they all carry the same musky scent. Pulling out a gray shirt, I hold it to my nose, closing my eyes and imagining he’s holding me and my head rests on his chest.
This is nice, but it’s not enough.
A small part of me still knows this is a bad idea, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to. I want to lie down on the bed with his shirt spread out like he’s lying beside me.
So that’s what I do, curling up with my head on the shirt and my eyes closed. Now I can see it all more clearly. Lying here with him. Touching him, being touched. His heart starts beating faster like mine does.
“Nolan,” I whisper, rolling onto my back, almost feeling his lips on my throat. In my mind, I run my hands through his thick hair. I’ve always thought the bits of gray running through the black strands are sexy. So hot.
My nipples are bullets, aching to be touched. The brush of my fingers against them makes me groan and arch my back, moaning. He’s touching me, exploring, taking my breath away. It’s so good. He’s so good. He knows my body like it’s his.
Smelling him all around me makes it so much easier to imagine him pushing me into the mattress with his big body. My head rolls from side to side while I sink deeper into the fantasy, and my hands slide over my boobs—then lower, to where I’m burning and sopping wet.
I want to make him groan. To hear him whisper my name. I’d live on it forever. All I can do now is imagine his deep voice rumbling in my ear while his hand works under my shorts and thong.
Oh God, my lips are coated in my juice, so wet my fingers glide over my skin before sinking deeper. To where it hurts the worst, aching and throbbing and needy. Needy for him, for Nolan, for his thick fingers to own every inch of my body.
I can see him on top of me, working in and out of my pussy. His face so close, his breath hot, his steel-gray eyes staring into mine. Hazy from the pleasure my body brings him. I’m making him feel as good as he’s making me feel, proving I’m enough for him. I’m not too young or inexperienced. I can make him feel good.
“Rose… my sweet Rose…”My whimpers echo through the room, and my hips lift off the mattress, my feet planted firmly.“Your pussy feels so good…”
“Are you my good girl?” he grunts, pounding into me. “Gripping my dick so tight? Driving me crazy until I have to fuck you?” And all I can do is moan helplessly. I want to be his good girl. His sweet Rose, digging my fingers into his shoulders, wrapping my legs around him to pull him deeper. I’ll be whoever he wants me to be.
I’m racing to the finish line, my hips jerking, wetness coating my fingers and running down my crack. Just once, if I could have him only once it would be enough. On top of me. Inside me.
I know in the split second before it all comes crashing down, and I wail out my release that it will never be enough. Once, ten times, a thousand. I will always want more of him. Forever.
