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A light, whispery touch brushes over my erection, drawing me out of a relaxed sleep. The fan overhead whips cool air over my chest. A warm body presses to my side. Her heat contrasts with the cool air. The quiet of the room makes it tempting to drift back into the comfort of sleep, but my stiff morning wood begs for alternate plans.
The sheet moves lower, and long hair tickles my abdomen. Hot wetness surrounded the head of my cock, and my eyelids blink open. Daylight leaks in through the cracks in the shades. And I groan as the blonde head lowers, her mouth taking me whole.
Fuck.
She grips the base of my cock, and those full lips glide up and down. Crisp blue eyes catch my gaze, and she smiles around my shaft. She rises, and her lips leave me with a pop.
“Never got to return that favor.”
My fingers brush through her hair, and I gently guide her back down. I rest my head back on the pillow and take in the rapid circular motion of the ceiling fan.Holy fuck. Another fantasy come to fruition. And yes, I dreamed of this. Me, lying on my back, just like this, with her blonde head bobbing up and down. She cups my balls and squeezes, and almost instantaneously the familiar pressure at the base of my spine builds.
I tug her elbow, and she gives me a questioning squint.
“Oh, I want to come this morning, but I want to come inside you.” Yeah, last night, going bare had been out of this world. We had another repeat in the middle of the night, but I’m greedy.
I maneuver her onto her hands and knees, push her knees wider, and lick her while using my thumb to rub her clit. She’s soaked. Did sucking me off turn or her on, or did she wake up wanting me? Either scenario fuels fantasies.
I straighten, directing my tip to her center. She rocks back on her knees, partially enveloping me with her tight heat. With a groan, I grip her hips and thrust into her.
“God, you feel like heaven.”
I reach around and knead her breast, tweaking the nipple. Her blonde hair falls forward, pooling over the sheets. Her muscles tighten, coaxing me, and I lower my hand to find that precious nub, loaded with nerve endings, and work her into a moaning frenzy, her body pushing back as I drive forward. Her arms collapse, and her cheek presses against the mattress, ass still in the air. Her muscles quiver all around me, milking my cock. Her legs flatten, and my body molds around her, remaining inside her as I chase my release and nearly black out as the orgasm rips through me.
I shower kisses all over her shoulders then roll off her, and she presses her back against my side. We lie there, wrapped around each other, as our breathing and pulses calm.
Bliss completely envelops me. Sure, I’ve had plenty of sex. Some with random women, some with colleagues I liked quite a bit. But never have I ever had sex with someone I fantasized over throughout my teen years and embarrassingly sporadically throughout my twenties. That kind of obsession leads to a level of sexual satisfaction I never imagined. While we fucked, I wanted to kiss her. Holding her afterward is the most natural thing in the world. I need her close, skin on skin. It’s mind-blowing how youthful obsession triggers an astounding level of hormones to pump through my body. I cling to her, needing her near.
She stretches against me, her butt cheek against my groin, which leads my cock to twitch, threatening to come back to life and beg for another round. Unaware of the reaction she is stirring, she reaches behind her and pats my thigh.
“I’m hungry. Let’s shower and get breakfast.”
She jumps off the bed, and I move to follow her, but she holds up her bossy index finger, stopping me. “Nope. You’re not seeing me in bright lights. It’ll destroy your fantasy.”
My bedroom door closes before I can respond, so I shout so she can hear me through the door. “You’re out of your mind.”
In less than twenty-four hours, she’s shifted my Earth’s axis. But I won’t explain to her exactly how much she upended my world, because I don’t want to scare her. She only wants my sperm, and I need to remember that. Besides, while this is more than sex to me, as a doctor, I understand there’s a scientific explanation for the deeper emotions impacting me. I also know that over time, with enough sex, the hormones will stabilize, and fucking her will be like sex with any other woman.
I sling my legs over the bed and stumble into my shower. Even with the knowledge these emotions will eventually normalize, I want mind-blowing sex for as long as possible. Of course, with my luck, she’ll be one of those rare women who becomes pregnant on the first attempt.
Under the spray of warm water, I run through the stats. About fifty percent of women attempting to conceive in their early forties do achieve pregnancy eventually. The risk of having a baby with Down’s Syndrome at age forty is one in one hundred, or one percent. At age forty-five, that risk increases to one in fifty, or two percent. All manageable numbers. According to my research, if she’s not pregnant within six months, we should see a fertility specialist. But the research didn’t say what the odds are of a pregnancy on the first try. I hadn’t cared. But now I’d like to know. I want what we had last night and this morning over and over again.
I find Sunny in the kitchen. She’s wrapped her wet hair into a low-hanging twist. Her tank top shows off the outline of her luscious peach-tinted nipples. Her loose sweats cup her ass, and I palm the curvy globe.
She laughs and scrapes her nails through my scruff before pulling me down for a chaste kiss. She slaps her palm against my pec and says, “Go. Sit at the bar. I’m going to make you breakfast.”
I cock my head to the side, reluctant to step away from her. There’s a visceral need pulsing through me, and I’m not sure what to do with it. “But I was going to take you out.”
“No. Let’s stay in and have a lazy morning.”
Since once again she isn’t wearing panties, I let her win.
My phone rings. It’s charging on the kitchen counter where I left it the night before. Sunny turns back to the oven and cracks eggs in a bowl.
Sam’s name flashes on the screen, and I unplug the phone, quickly stepping out of the kitchen and into the living area.
“Hey,” I answer in the den, next to the windows overlooking the sprawling metropolis.
“Morning. Am I waking you up?” My brother’s tone is all business. He’s probably calling from his office, hours into his Monday morning.
