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“Warned ya.”
“Zip it.” He smacked my ass, and I laughed.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, letting my legs drop down. He gave me a quick kiss on the lips before spinning me around. “See, when I got this dresser I thought the mirror was stupid,” he mused, pushing on my back until I’d leaned forward to brace my hands on the top of the dresser. “What guy needs some frilly ass mirror on the top of his dresser?”
“One who likes to make sure he looks okay?”
“Sh,” he said, covering my mouth with his hand. I laughed against his palm. “But then, a couple of days ago, I was lookin’ in the mirror and I thought, this dresser is the perfect height.”
He used his foot to widen my stance, his eyes still on mine in the mirror.
“It wouldn’t be the right height for just anyone,” he murmured in my ear, biting my jaw softly. “But,Nova…”
I let out a shuddering breath as his hand smoothed down my chin and wrapped lightly around the front of my throat.
“This okay?” he whispered, watching me close.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.” His other hand came up and pinched my nipple just hard enough that I started to bow toward his hand and when he let go, the tip was cherry red in the mirror. “See, I fuckin’ love your ass. I want to bite it. I think about it when I’m supposed to be doin’ other shit—but much as I love when you’re bent over in front of me, I can’t see your face and that kind of bums me out.”
His hips ground against my ass and his cock wasright there,and then slid away again.
“Wouldn’t want you to be bummed out,” I joked softly, my eyes on his.
He watched me as his hips ground forward again and he slid inside, filling me up until I was straining onto my toes, my back arched against him.
“Oh fuck yeah,” he whispered, his gaze traveling down as he pulled out slowly and pushed back in. One hand stayed around my throat, gently holding me in place against his chest, and the other roamed all over my torso. He pinched my nipples and then soothed them with his fingertips, ran his palm lightly down my belly, slid his middle finger between my legs so he could swirl it around my clit.
“I like your mirror,” I gasped, watching as he played my body like an instrument.
“Me too.”
I watched Rumi for as long as I could, taking in how he softly kissed my shoulder and his thumb rubbed tenderly against the side of my neck and his arm banded around my waist as he thrust harder, but when my eyes met his in the mirror, I let them fall closed.
If I hadn’t, he would’ve seen too much. Because I’d had plenty of sex but I’d never ever felt as cherished as I did when Rumi touched me.
We both came like that, standing up in front of the dresser and mirror he’d bitched about for the last five years. When we were done, Rumi carried me over to the bed and left to take care of the condom. He came right back and flopped down beside me.
“I guess I should probably fix that washing machine drum now,” he griped, laughing when I tiredly reached out and poked him in the side.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t everything you’d hoped for,” I mumbled dryly, not bothering to lift my head from the pillow.
“The hell it wasn’t,” he said happily, grinning at the ceiling. “I’ve still got that mental snapshot.”
I snorted halfheartedly. I was already starting to doze off.
Rumi woke me two more times that night, his hands roaming over my body. It was like he couldn’t get enough and I happily obliged. By the time his alarm went off the next morning I was laying there in a boneless heap, wondering how the hell I was going to force my body upright for work.
“You’re going on Saturday, right?” Rumi asked as he tiredly climbed out of bed to shut off the alarm.
“Yeah,” I muttered, not even wanting to think about moving for the next few days. “I work the day shift.”
“Perfect.”
As soon as he was dressed and left the room, I climbed out of bed and stumbled out to my clothes. I’d never look at any laundry room the same way again. I’d barely pulled on my shirt when Rumi came to the doorway and glanced at the dryer.
“You know—”
