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“What time is it?” Sarah asked, shifting beautify in my arms.
“Around nine,” I said, kissing the back of her neck.
“Nine!”
She leaped out of bed and rushed for the closet, taking out items and tossing them aside like a level three cyclone. I could have been crazy but got a distinct impression that Sarah had overslept.
“You might want to think about underwear too and maybe a shower first,” I suggested.
“Right! Good idea!”
As she went to shower before demolishing her underwear drawer, I got dressed in my clothes from the night before and walked, a stiff-legged zombie-like gait, into the kitchen. Noting the skillet already out on the stove, I was struck by inspiration.
“Something smells good,” she said as she wandered into the kitchen dressed in a business-like skirt suit, her still-wet hair tied back in a ponytail.
“Wow.”
“What?” Sarah asked, looking herself over for a problem.
“You look amazing.”
“I look ready for work.”
“Still, though.”
Truth be told, I was pretty sure she would look sexy in a potato sack. It was more about her and how much or little of herself the clothes showed that really got me. Something was happening to me, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I didn’t like it. I was also pretty sure that I liked her. Which would explain why I was cooking breakfast in her kitchen after a long night of beautiful sex that had seen a blackout at one point. I had heard about that happening but had never actually seen it. My first instinct was to actually check her pulse, nihilist that I could be.
I could see up Sarah’s skirt as she sat down. It was likely she didn’t even think about crossing her legs. It was just me after all, and we had gotten well past the modesty portion of our relationship the night before. Still, I tried not to abuse it. Alluring as her black silk panties were, peeking from between her creamy thighs. Unbidden, my mind flashed back to the luxurious, luscious beauty that was hidden under them. How sweet she had tasted on my tongue and how good she had felt on my cock. More than that, she had the right attitude. Attitude could count for a lot in such a situation, and her approach of willing enthusiasm had undoubtedly made an impression.
I was gravely tempted to get on my knees under the table and eat her pussy while she ate breakfast. However, the girl was already late, partly because of me, so I thought better of it. Though the fact that I wanted to be with her again at all was something of a new development.
“Could get used to this,” Sarah admitted, as I put the full English breakfast down in front of her.
It took a moment to sink in, but when it finally did, I realized that the sentiment didn’t immediately make me want to run away. In fact, I walked with her back to the bar and gave her a ride to work in my car, treating the traffic regulations more like they were suggestions as opposed to hard and fast rules, so she wouldn’t be late for work.
While the rules at my office were pretty relaxed, particularly when it came to dress-code, I had a funny feeling that most of my co-workers would object to B.O. and beer smell. Much more than they would object to me being a few minutes late to rectify the situation.
I couldn’t get Sarah out of my head. In the shower, getting washed, in my room getting changed, at the bakery getting Camilla’s morning eclairs, Sarah was on my mind. Not just the beautiful thing we had shared in her bed, but in general. It was clear that I had misjudged her, and I felt pretty bad about that. My only consolation was that she didn’t actually know about that, and there was no reason to tell her. Something I knew enough to know that I didn’t have to tell Camilla. She was nothing if not discreet. She was going to tease me. Probably savagely. It was what she did to show love. She wouldn’t tell Sarah, though. Or, at least if she did, she would be sure to put it in the best possible light. Like I was someone who really knew how to learn from my mistakes. She was always lying for me like that—one of the few people willing to.
“Well, someone is in a good mood,” Camilla teased as I deposited her eclairs on her big, fancy desk.
“And why shouldn’t I be, oh, dear sister mine?”
“I take it things went well with Sarah last night.”
“Okay, who blabbed? Did Sarah tell you?”
“No one told me, Rico Suave. She just sounded happy, so I guessed. Though, to be fair, you were also whistling a happy tune and started talking like a P.G. Wodehouse character. Something you only do when things are looking up, especially in the bedroom department. ”
