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I grind myself against her until I’m shaking hard. And Lola knows my body so well now. She knows what it means, so she presses her face in more.
And I let it happen. I let it build until it is all I can do, coming loud and hard all over her tongue and face. I fall back, my legs opening as I release her from my grip. But she still licks and laps until I can’t take anymore and then I reach for her. Pulling her up to me, so I can touch and taste her in return. Repaying the gift because she was such a good girl for me. My good girl.
11
Lola
The previous day I had woken up late, feeling groggy and a bit disoriented. After rubbing my eyes for a few seconds, I remembered that it was my day off from work at the club.
I rolled over in bed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as I contemplated what to do with my free time. Eventually, I decided that I could use a good cup of coffee and some window shopping, so I got dressed and headed into the city.
As I walked through the busy streets, taking in all the sights and sounds around me, something nagged at the back of my mind. Willow had been acting a little distant lately and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong between us.
I tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on enjoying my day out, but they kept creeping back in, no matter how hard I tried to ignore them. Finally, after browsing through a few stores and sipping on my latte, I decided to call her and see if everything was okay.
Willow answered after a few rings, sounding surprised to hear from me. We chatted for a few minutes about nothing in particular before I finally mustered up the courage to ask her what was going on. She reassured me instantly that she was just busy--a stupid work thing tonight. That she really couldn’t get out of and really didn’t want to go to. I felt it in her voice, could hear the honesty and frustration. I let that settle my doubts. “Well, you can end up at my place anytime, if you want. I am not at work later,” I tell her.
As I stepped inside my small, one-bedroom apartment, the mess overwhelmed me. The dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, the clothes scattered around on the floor, and dust was on every surface.
I took a deep breath, put on some music, and got to work. With each dish I cleaned, each shirt folded, and each piece of trash thrown away, I felt more accomplished. My efforts were paying off as my tiny living space began to transform into a tidy sanctuary.
I kept going until everything was spotless, even taking time to rearrange furniture for a fresh, new look. When I was finally done, I stood back to admire my hard work. A smile spread across my face. It might have been a small victory, but it was still an achievement that brought me peace of mind.
I plopped down on my bed, feeling satisfied and content. It’s amazing how much better I feel when my surroundings are clean and organized. Plus, now I would able to relax without any nagging guilt about having left chores undone.
It got later and later and I didn’t hear anything from Willow. Not even a text. I knew she was busy with her work thing, but I couldn’t help but feel a little down about it.
I don’t usually sleep early on my nights off because it just throws me off the next day, but I was so tired that I got into bed. I felt like I had only been there a few seconds when I heard Willow at the door, letting herself in with the key from under the mat.
Still half asleep, I watched her--unfocused as she appeared in the doorway. Still, I couldn’t help but notice what she was wearing. Expensive, fitted, named, couture—that dress was probably worth more than my entire wardrobe put together. But I couldn’t focus because Willow was taking everything off and she looked stunning. She looked like she had stepped out of a magazine. And I could smell her. I needed Willow so much that I couldn’t think.
“I want you to fall asleep. Deep asleep in my arms. And then wake up to me,” she says. “I want you to know how it feels to wake up being my needy girl. Will you do that for me?” she asks, as I look up into her eyes. The second she says it, I want it. I need it.
“I really want that,” I say.
And I do. And then we do. We wake up like that and I dive into it. I let myself feel all of the emotions that come when I am in that head space with her. Letting my body be a slave to her every desire. It makes me feel so good to do it. I am like an addict, needing and wanting more and more of her.
After catching my breath and waking up a little more, I realize that I’m a little sore and still disoriented. And my body aches. I pull myself out of bed and stumble into the kitchen. I need some coffee to help me focus.
I start brewing a fresh pot and try to remember how Willow and I ended up in bed together. It’s all a bit hazy, but I know it was intense and amazing. My mind drifts back to the feel of her skin on mine, the sound of her moans, and the taste of her lips.
But then something else catches my attention: the dress she was wearing last night. It looks like something a famous actress might wear to the Oscars.
“Willow, do you want coffee?” I call, even though she is only ten feet away from me. My apartment is smaller than her walk-in closet, but she still surprises me--standing in the doorframe in one of my long shirts, with smeared makeup and messy golden hair. Looking so fucking sexy.
“I would love one,” she says with a seductive smile, and I move to get her a mug.
“So . . . where were you last night again?” I ask.
I time my question to coincide with the moment I look up from the cup, so I can see her reaction. I don’t think Willow is dating anyone else and I don’t think she would come home to me after a date with another person. But I also know that we haven’t had that conversation yet, and that is a really, really expensive dress.
“I was at a work gala thing,” she says. “I didn’t want to go. I wanted to be here with you, but I had to make an appearance. I thought I could slide in and out pretty fast, but I had been seated at the table with my boss. Well, my boss’s boss. Which meant I really had to make sure I made a good impression. So I stayed until it wasn’t rude to leave.”
I study Willow. She is honest in what she is saying, but my spidey senses are still tingling.
“And did you?” I ask as I slide her mug over.
“Did I what?” she asks, a little confused. Another clue that she isn’t quite telling me everything.
