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But I haven’t had near enough of her yet. I prop her up on the car seat, then get to my knees. “My turn.”
Still recovering and catching her breath, all Sierra can do is let out a low groan. I caress her thighs and she trembles. My lips pepper there with nibbles and kisses and she twists with still-sensitive pleasure.
As my lips kiss their way to her clit, my fingers tease her opening, circling round it before I insert one, then two. Until her pussy is shoved out, clasping desperately at my fingers, just as my lips land on her clit.
“Oh—Nolan!” she wails.
Too bad I’m only getting started. I lap her clit in slow sweeps just as my fingers sweep deeper inside her. Already, she’s shaking, close.
“Please,” she groans.
I finger-fuck her mercilessly as my tongue swirls over her clit. Seconds later, she’s coming, crying out and shaking, before slumping onto the car seat.
I get on the one beside her and take her in my arms.
As I’m holding her, a random thought pops in. I wait until a few minutes have passed and she’s about ready to go before voicing it, though: “Any plans tonight?”
Still naked and gorgeous, she eyes me with a faint half-smile. “Why—want to insert yourself in them?”
I’m all smiles myself. “That’s not the only thing I want to insert myself in.”
She gives me a playful smack. “Nolan!”
“Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t like that too.”
She bites her lip, although her tone is stern: “You still haven’t answered.”
I assume a nonchalant expression. “Sure—yeah. I might like to.”
“Might?”
“OK.” I glare at her. “Let’s sleep over at yours. Happy now?”
Her response is to give me a big kiss that wakes up my cock again. “Yes. Happy now?”
I grab my briefs and put them on. If we keep it up like this we’ll never get out of this car. “Yeah, now that you mention it.”
Inside her place, a little gray terror rushes to the door and barks at me until Sierra picks him up and scolds him. “Horatio!”
Although he is a cute little terror.
“Nice name,” I say.
She grins. “Thanks. Mom named him after her favorite British admiral when she gave him to me for Christmas. She loved that quote: Time is everything; five minutes make the difference between victory and defeat.”
“Oh yeah? And what do you think?”
She delivers me a quizzical look. “What do I think of what?”
“You really think that time is everything?”
She grins. “Maybe. Although it can’t fix everything—or ‘heal all wounds’, as the saying goes.”
I lift an imaginary glass. “Hear, hear. A girl after my own heart.”
Part of me wishes I had an actual glass—of alcohol. One of the wounds time hasn’t healed just decided to enter my head.
Why do I always end up talking about serious, real shit with this girl, anyway?
She just laughs. “Anything in particular you had in mind for us to do, now that we’re here?”
I shrug. “Any movies you’ve been wanting to see?”
She glances at her phone. “Whoops, actually it’s past one AM. I hate to be a buzzkill, but we should probably…”
“OK, OK, buzzkill,” I say. “Sleep it is. Although you did ask.”
Her smile has the graciousness to be guilty. And cute. “You can nominate me for worst hostess ever.”
I smirk. “That could still be balanced out by our amazing sex.”
Next thing I know, I’ve swept her up in my arms. “Alright. I’m ready. Show me to the bedroom.”
“Yes, sir,” she says with a giggle. “It’s the only room straight ahead.”
“Knew I’d need help finding it.”
We’re both laughing as we enter her room.
It’s filled with pictures of her with two friends who look like twins.
Wonder if I’ll ever make it into any of those pictures…
Crazy thought.
“You really have a thing for twins, eh?” I joke instead, right before I kiss her hard.
She just laughs and kisses me harder.
In bed together, under her white cotton sheets, her gorgeous naked body against mine feels so right. We make love again, then fall asleep in each other’s arms.
At seven AM, my internal alarm clock wakes me up, as usual.
What isn’t usual, though, is that I don’t feel like sneaking out. No, this weird undefinable buzzy pit in my gut brings me into her kitchen.
The fridge is an empty white coffin, though—no eggs to make, not even any milk to pour into a cereal bowl. This whole place is almost like an Ikea display kitchen, it’s so clean, empty and foodless.
Nothing, except one cupboard of…
Damn. This girl really likes her ramen.
With a shrug, I find a stainless-steel pot and a wooden ladle, dump in the package, and get cooking.
By the time I carry the steaming hot bowl into the bedroom, she’s propped herself half-up, squinting at me like she can’t comprehend what ramen even is.
I spoon out a bit and extend it to her. “Just taste, and you’ll see.”
