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Kissing her has become familiar, like a favorite song played over and over again. In the shed. By the tree. In my office. In the restaurant parking lot.
Only now there will be no interruptions.
I slide my hands along her thighs, slipping my fingers in the gentle elastic of the stockings. There are straps that lead up, so I follow them to the bend of her hips, my thumbs slipping down between her legs.
But instead of finding a silky pair of panties, they press against warm skin.
My dick jumps into gear. Damn, that’s hot. I let out a groan. “You haven’t been wearing panties all night?”
Her breath feathers my cheek. “Nope.”
The growl is next, because I’m not waiting one more moment for what I want. I slip two fingers inside her with one hand, circling her clit with the thumb of the other.
She cries out, so wet and ready. Her arms clutch at my shoulders. I remember this expression, this feel of her. I want to know the sounds she makes, the feel of her body when she loses control.
Nothing will get in the way.
Except, I hear the tiniest sound.
Ensley must hear it, too, because she goes still.
I pause, and we both simply breathe for long seconds. My hand is inside her, and her muscles clench around me.
I’m about to pass it off as nothing when she asks, “Where is Sasha? Doesn’t she greet you when you come home?”
“Most cats ignore their owners unless they want something.”
We wait another moment, and assuming it’s nothing, I kiss her again, my fingers pressing inside her.
But the sound returns. The faintest mew.
I withdraw my hand from Ensley. “Okay, that’s the cat.”
“She sounds far away,” she says. “Is she locked in a room?”
“I’ll check.” This has certainly never happened to me before. Cockblocked by a cat.
I help Ensley down and stride quickly through the living room. Both of the bedroom doors are open, and so are both bathrooms. I open all the closet doors. She isn’t trapped in a room.
Ensley calls for her throughout the condo. I head for the treats, crinkling the foil bag. This always makes her come running.
But she doesn’t.
Now I’m alarmed. Ensley comes up behind me. “I haven’t heard her in a while.”
“Me neither.”
We hold still. Nothing.
We search and search. Under beds. Behind the sofa. I open drawers and go through the garage and even the car in case she hopped in when we came out.
I return to the kitchen, the only place we heard her. Ensley comes up beside me to hold my hand.
Then finally, I hear it.
Mew.
“I think she’s in here somewhere,” Ensley says.
