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I lean in. My lips part. I want him to start. But he pecks me on the cheek, pulls away, and tucks the blanket around me. “Sit tight.”
Talk about unmet expectations. “For what?”
“I’m making you a gourmet breakfast before you leave.”
“I don’t usually eat much in the morning.”
“Don’t worry. Gourmet was a stretch.”
I hear the freezer open and plastic crinkle.
“Do you still eat Toaster Strudels?”
“Blueberry and cream cheese.”
“I guess I’m not the only one who’s a little set in her ways.”
“Didn’t say it was a bad thing, sis.” There’s a pause while he warms them, then he brings a single plate with the pastries piled on it.
He holds up an icing packet. “Do you want me to spread this on your pastry, or on your body?”
I reluctantly point at the strudel before realizing it doesn’t have to be all or none. I grab the edge of the blanket and slide it off my shoulder. The oversized jersey has already exposed my skin. “A little taste for later?”
“Does this mean we’re starting our date?”
His evil smirk is followed by a delicate strip of icing and his tongue. My body melts.
He pulls my arm free from the blanket and trails the sugar over it, licking upward until his mouth is on the jersey. He detours to nuzzle my breast. My nipples are so hard he can flick them with his tongue through the heavy fabric. He leans me back and spreads my leg.
“You were driving us crazy last night. Can I add an orgasm to your breakfast?” He hands me a pastry, then slides off the couch onto his knees.
Warm kisses trail up my thigh. The tingling that had already sprung to life fully grips me as his mouth closes on my sex. Ballz did this last night, but Adrian has a little scruff and it tickles in a rough sort of way.
I try to eat the pastry, but it might be dangerous to swallow and deal with him between my legs at the same time. I’m about to set it aside when he hits the sweet spot and my body spasms. I crush the strudel in my hand, making a terrible mess as wave after wave of release washes through me.
He seems to know exactly where and how to please me. I choke on my own saliva before getting hold of myself.
He sits on his heels with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I forgot to ask what you normally do after your Morning Pages?”
“I take a shower.”
A wicked grin crosses his face.
Nine
Jeff
Snowflakeswarnoftheimpending storm, and if Cindy doesn’t get back soon, her car won’t make the drive. Did she lie to us that she’d come back to finish the dates after doing the invitations?
I’m going through my Tai chi motions on the back porch, which faces the sunset behind the mountain, when I rotate an arm back and angle my body to that side. Cindy is standing at the edge of the deck, her hands clasped in front of her Spandex-clad body. An overnight bag rests on the bench.
I relax my pose. All of the tension releasing this is supposed to do for me, recommended by my therapist in the anger management class, is replaced by another sense of tension—my need to be with her.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Every evening at sunset, if we’re not on the ice, I do Tai chi.”
“Is that what you did the other night?” She mimics the motion I’d been making by bringing her hands downward in front of her body and exhaling.
