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When my feet hit the tile, I’m met with the delicious sight of her heart-shaped ass. She’s bent over, rummaging in the fridge. I take a moment to enjoy the view.
Mia pops up and turns, shocked to see me. Her eyes bulge, and her mouth parts so she resembles a kid who’s been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Oh! Hi. Did I wake you?”
“I don’t think so. I just woke up, and you weren’t there.”
She glances at the plate she’s holding, then at me. “Sometimes I have trouble sleeping. Want some cake?”
With the comical smile of a madwoman on her face, she jabs the plate in my direction. It looks to be a giant slice of raspberry lemon cake.
I can’t suppress the involuntary cringe it invokes in me.
“What’s that face for?” She tips her head to the side, eyeing me suspiciously. “Do you not like cake?”
Craning my neck, pursing my lips, and wrinkling my nose, I wordlessly communicate my disdain for the subpar dessert.
She gasps, setting the cake plate on the kitchen counter, and takes three large steps toward me. Her eyes are wild and huge, and her chin is lowered. “Shut up!”
I chuckle. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to use words; your face says it all. And it’s saying the wrong damn thing. Who doesn’t like cake? What kind of maniac are you?” She takes a step backward, hand to her chest. “Are you a serial killer?”
Feigning offense, I suppress my laugh and replace it with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not that I don’t like cake, Mia. It’s simply that cake is the lowest item on the dessert hierarchy scale. It barely registers as food. It’s that low.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I point my finger to the ceiling, halting her rebuttal. “Correction. It’s not the lowest. I forgot about gelatin. So cake is the second lowest.”
“You take it back!” She pokes me in the chest and stomps her foot. “Take it back right this instant.”
I scrunch my lips at the corner of my mouth and shrug. “I didn’t invent the hierarchy, Mia. It’s been written since the dawn of time.”
Her shocked expression morphs into something naughty, and I can see the wheels turning like she’s plotting something.
Revenge probably.
This feels good. Messing with her this way.
For so long, I’ve been angry and bitter, especially where Mia is concerned. I’d forgotten how much fun we had together that first night.
Perhaps it wasn’t all fake. Maybe some of that magic was real.
She grabs me by the wrist and drags me into her bedroom, flicking the light on as we pass the switch.
My dick likes where this is going, and it perks up.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t toss me on the bed and have her way with me. Instead, she parks me in front of a floor-length mirror and turns me sideways.
She grabs my chin and twists my face toward the mirror.
With me positioned to her liking, she stalks around to stand behind me. “Look at this!” She opens her arms wide, spearing her hands like knives that frame my ass between them.
“What? My ass?”
“Yes!This ass.” She flails her arms around and moves them pointedly in front of my rump like she’s directing traffic toward my butt.
“What about it?” I squint as I study my profile. “Looks like a nice ass to me. It took a lot of squats and lunges to get it.”
Louder now, she exclaims, “I’m pretty sure this is the type of ass that inspired the phrasecaked up. And I refuse to believe you don’t eat cake three times a day.” My shoulders shake with laughter while she rants on, getting more outlandish as she goes. “This physique requires daily cake injections to stay in this shape.”
I huff jokingly, “I can’t abide by fat-shaming, Mia.”
