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“Yes,” she breathed, throwing her head back as her one hand tightly gripped my free shoulder and the other on top of my head. She tasted as good as I’d imagined, her exotic taste overpowering my taste buds. I ran my tongue up and down her sex, allowing her to grind her soaking core against my mouth as her moans echoed off the shower tile. Her legs trembled as I sucked her clit some more. She moved her hips quickly, blindly searching for her orgasm and attempting me to rush her into it. I looked up at her, watching her breasts rise and fall in rapid succession.
Her nails dug into my shoulder. “Oh god, I’m almost there,” she moaned. I detached my mouth from her clit and shook my head.
“Not yet,” I murmured, standing back up. She shrieked in surprise when I turned her around and bent her over. I rubbed the head of my cock up and down her slick core. “You sure this is what you want?”
She bit her lip and nodded, watching me over her shoulder. I slowly pushed inside of her, feeling her walls clamp down around me. Her throaty moan echoed inside the small space as I thrust into her, slow at first, but then settling into a good rhythm.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” I groaned, gripping her hips tight as I pumped into her. Her walls squeezed me tight as I moved inside of her, making my—
“Hey, Aquaman, save some water for the fishes. Plan on getting out of the shower anytime soon?” Ashton called out from the hallway, pounding on the door. I blinked and looked down, my hand squeezing my hard cock.
I blew out a breath. That fucking woman was causing me to lose my mind and I haven’t even been inside her yet. “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” I answered, my voice tight.
“Good. Dinner’s waiting for you in the living room,” she said.
I turned the hot water off, allowing the cold water to spray me for a few moments to shrink my erection. Why was this woman invading my thoughts? I thought about her even when she wasn’t around me, still able to smell her strawberries and cream body wash, taste her arousal on my tongue, and feel her heat around my two fingers. I closed my eyes and put my head under the cold water as an attempt to douse the steamy thoughts from my mind. Finally shutting the water off, I dried off and rushed into my bedroom to quickly get dressed before joining Ashton in the living room.
She was curled up on one end of the couch in her silk robe, casually sipping a glass of red wine. Her eyes traveled along my body, stopping at the front of my shorts. A light blush touched her cheeks as she quickly turned her eyes to her wine glass.
“I'm sorry, but I only made enough for the two of us,” she said, refusing to meet my gaze. I looked around with a raised brow, expecting to see someone else.
“Isn't it only the two of us?”
“It was.” She finally looked at me with a slight smirk as she nodded toward my shorts. “That is, until you invited your dick print.”
I looked down, sure enough seeing what she meant. I shrugged, plopping down next to her on the couch. “Eh, he’s not hungry anyway. Doesn't like this kind of food,” I replied, wiggling my eyebrows. “And sorry, not sorry for the view. Didn't have much time to air dry like usual, so I just needed them to hang loose for a bit.”
“What's the difference between shorts and boxers? They're still covering you.”
“While my cock is glorious, I told you I don't really know CPR that well. Wouldn't want you to choke on your food while marveling at me, now would I?” I asked with a wink. Though she rolled her eyes, I didn't miss the hint of a smile that pulled at her lips.
“Ugh, it's cringing to know that the thin material of your shorts is the only thing separating your balls from my couch,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Hey! I just washed them! Show a little more respect! I’m not saying anything about your sketchy robe.”
“Whatever you say. I’m just finally glad you came out the shower. I thought you drowned in there,” she muttered, the smirk on her lips betraying the irritation she tried to display in her voice. I gave her a nonchalant shrug.
“Had a lot of grease on me.”
“Then I hope you cleaned the tub. Grease rings are harder to get out.”
“I wasn't that damn dirty,” I said with a frown. She giggled, a light, yet sweet sound.
“I couldn't tell. You were in there for a long time. Either you were filthy or were in there doing filthy things,” she mused, picking her plate up from the coffee table. Oh, I was doing filthy things, all right.
“Anyway, let’s see what you made here,” I said, picking up my plate. A slice of steaming lasagna, salad, and garlic bread filled the plate, the smell of the pepperoni and melted cheese on top making my stomach rumble with anticipation.
“Does that look like pizza to you?” she asked, an I-told-you-so look on her face.
“Eh,” I responded. “It looks okay, but let's see if you know how to utilize a spice rack.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is this one of your jokes about white people not knowing how to season their food?”
“Not at all. I've met plenty who do. It's a joke about a woman who lives off of TV dinners and whether or not she really knows how to cook or if she just knows how to follow a recipe.”
She watched me in anticipation as I cut into my piece of lasagna with my fork and put it in my mouth. I chewed without a word, making sure I kept my face blank. “So?” she finally asked, her brow creased with worry.
“Hmm…” I mused, taking another piece in my mouth.
