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He laughs and then groans as I reach under us and cup his balls.
My free hand clenches the high-quality bedding which smells like lavender as I whimper, seeing a vase of fresh white flowers on the nightstand. I turn my head and there’s a bottle of wine in a bucket on the other nightstand with two long-stemmed glasses. Riley’s mom may have been wary of me, holding a grudge, but she still spent effort on making this nice for us so that bodes well for the future as far as I’m concerned.
Riley sucks my throat at the claiming mark and then his fingers dive between my legs. He rubs my clit while plunging deliciously into me from behind.
I love the feel of the thrusts, the sounds he makes, the sounds our skin connecting makes, but then his knot comes out and I fall on my face, taking his weight on top of me as we groan out our orgasms together. This part – the part where he falls apart and I feel it both inside and out – is my favorite part.
***
I’ve had a shower in the plain but spacious ensuite bathroom while Riley naps and now I’m wandering the house. The master suite is spacious and masculine with lots of dark wood. And though there’s no reading nook in that bump-out, there’s nothing in it so it’s something I fully plan to utilize. It’s tied for priority with the greenhouse. Riley’s room is done with dark fabrics. Dark lamps. It needs a pop of color.
The bathroom is clean, white and spacious. The towels are black. It, too, needs color.
The other three bedrooms on this level are all ordinary and haven’t been renovated, likely since before his parents left. One room is very girlie with floral wallpaper. Another room is painted blue, and I somehow know this was Riley’s childhood room. The next room has been updated probably within the last ten years, but has more floral wallpaper that’s a little more neutral than the girl’s room. This is the only room with furniture, set up like a guest room, but it’s underwhelming. There’s a main bathroom, too, that’s clean and spacious but probably hasn’t been updated in about twenty years.
The winding oak staircase, which I’d love to stain darker, takes me down to the main floor where there’s a big foyer punctuated by a giant glass chandelier. To the left is a big living room decorated with chocolate brown furniture and a grey rug. The walls are white. There’s a lovely gray stone fireplace. I see a door to a bathroom and it’s white. White walls, white floor, white fixtures.
To the right is a big entryway closet and French doors that lead to a dining room, but it’s empty. It has great molding and a gorgeous ceiling but it’s just plain white and empty. This is a room where family comes together so I would love to see it reflect that with warmth and personality. It leads to a kitchen, which also opens up to the living room, taking up the back of the house. It’s updated, large, but also pretty plain.
White counters, cupboards, and backsplash. White floors. Black appliances, but it’s … sterile. There’s a big island in the middle. The place has great bones and it’s obvious that a bachelor lives here, started renovating but never put in any personal touches and didn’t quite finish the whole place. Maybe didn’t care all that much. There’s a door here to the backyard and a short hallway with a powder room, an empty office-suitable room that has a wall of bookshelves, and a laundry room.
There isn’t any art on the walls. The place has no plants. The furniture is comfortable but without much personality. Black, brown, white, grey.
Yeah… I’ll enjoy injecting my personality into this space.
“What do you think?” he asks, standing behind me. I see he’s in just a pair of dark drawstring lounge pants. And they’re a little tented.
My eyes land right on the target.
“Is the tent for camping or are you happy to see me?” I ask. “Because you could fit a couple people under there, easily.
“Both. But only you’re welcome in my tent. Come on over and get comfortable,” he replies, deadpan.
I smirk.
He lifts me up into his arms and carries me to his couch.
“What’s the verdict on the house?”
“Good bones,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“But boring,” I reply.
He looks surprised.
“I’m being honest.”
“Good, be honest.”
“It needs color. Life. Plants. Personality.”
“Do what you want with it, baby. Make it home.”
I clap my hands happily.
He thrusts his fingers into my hair and looks into my eyes.
“It’s gonna be a fuckin’ fantastic happily-ever-after, little witch.”
I wrap my arms around him. “I love you so much.”
And then I wince, because I just blurted it like that.
“Don’t,” he grinds out, emotion flaring in his eyes. “Don’t regret sayin’ that. Thank you for fuckin’ sayin’ it. I love you, too, Erica Savage.”
