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I really don’t want him to leave. Truth be told, I want to spend the day with him. I had fun last night. I know it won’t last forever and will be over in February, but last night felt like I had a real boyfriend.
I liked it. I liked his coworkers and their wives and girlfriends. I liked dancing with Wilder and seeing him happy around other people.
I also really liked his leg last night, what I can remember of it, and the fact that he didn’t take me up on my offer to ride his dick warms my heart. I wouldn’t have woken up with an ounce of regret this morning if we did have filthy sex last night, but I appreciate the gesture of making sure I give good consent. Not many guys I know would have been so considerate.
I look him up and down from behind as he reaches into the fridge and brings out his lunchbox and a breakfast sandwich wrapped in a yellow wrapper. The urge to run my hand up his spine as he fumbles for a piece of fruit to add to his lunch is strong.
“I have to go to work today,” he says.
“On a Sunday?”
“They do oil changes on Sundays, too.” He gives a short laugh and hands me the breakfast sandwich. “For you. No hangover ever wins against a greasy bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit.”
I take the sandwich and fiddle with the wrapper while he stands in front of me. We’ve been kissing each other goodbye in the mornings, so he must be waiting for his peck on the lips or cheek. Our kisses haven’t been hot or filled with want in the morning, but they’ve been nice.
He steps forward, and I put my hand on his chest, not to stop him, but to accept that he’s in my space. “Do you want your goodbye kiss, Wilder?”
“Yes,” he deadpans.
I purse my lips in a peck position and stand on my tiptoes, expecting the simple, dry kiss that he’ll press to my lips before walking out the door.
“A real kiss,” he whispers, stepping closer and cupping my cheeks.
My eyes open, and his are right in front of my face. His nose practically touches mine, and his eyes are black holes of desire.
He strokes my jaw with one hand and runs the other down to my throat, not squeezing. He lets his fingers rest there, probably feeling the speeding pulse moving through my neck. His heart pounds under my own hand. I move up a fraction of an inch just as he moves down, his lips crashing over mine.
I haven’t kissed him like this yet unless drinks were involved or we were putting on a show for my mother. Our lips move in perfect tandem like we’ve been together for years. I move my hands from his chest and slide them up his back, moaning a little against the tongue exploring my mouth. He tastes like black coffee and biscuit, and I devour his mouth like breakfast.
He breaks the kiss first and nuzzles my cheek with my nose. “Have a good day, Savannah,” he whispers, his voice husky, and I can feel his erection through his jeans.
Should I offer to handle that before he leaves for work? My mother and Melissa would both tell me to give him a quick jerk or blowjob in the kitchen before he left for work so he’d remember me for the day, and my mouth waters at the thought. I’ve only blown one guy and was terrible at it. I’d probably cause him to be late for work because it’d take forever.
While I debate helping his boner, he kisses me on the forehead. Melissa has always talked about how that’s the sweetest thing a man can do to you, and I understand it now. He lingers there for just a second, but I can still feel the warmth of him when he pulls away.
He turns to leave, and I reach out for him, my fingers barely grazing the fabric of his shirt so gently that he doesn’t feel it or turn around. If he turned around right now, I’d drop to my knees and vow to do my best on him.
Instead, he heads to the door. “I’ll see you when I get home, snickerdoodle,” he waves over his shoulder.
“I close this evening. I’ll be home late. Also, I have a library conference this week. I’ll be out of town until late Thursday night. I forgot about it. Will you be fine here all week by yourself?”
He pauses at the door, and his shoulders slump. “I’ll see you when you get back,” he sighs, shutting the door to the apartment before I can call him back to me for dirty fun.
November 6- Wilder
A soft knock at my door startles me since I’m standing close to it. I open the door with a smile to find Savannah wearing her flannel pajamas with lambs on them that I want to rip off of her even though they’re the unsexist pajamas I’ve ever cuffed with. I run my hand through my bed head and stare at one of the lambs near her left breast. Fuck, I want to bite that stupid lamb.
“You hungry?” she asks, smiling.
I stare at the lamb again. It moves with her chest as she breathes. Yes, I’m hungry, but I’m not sure if we’re both talking about the same thing.
I shrug and flash her a smile of my own. We’re warming up to each again since she’s been back from her conference, and I’m starting to enjoy the hugs before I leave for work and the warm kisses I get when she walks in the door at night.
I missed the company while she was gone for her conference, and it was awkward when she came back a couple days ago. It was like we were starting over again. I say I missed the company, but I wonder if I missed her. Gus and I went out on Wednesday night, and a woman and her friend invited me back to their place. I could have had both of them, but I didn’t feel like it. I’ve wrestled with that over the last few days, wondering if I have feelings for Savannah that only Savannah can fill. Did I instinctually know those other women couldn’t meet what I really needed?
On Friday, I handed her a hot mug of coffee when she left for work before me. She returned the favor yesterday and made me bacon, leaving it on the counter with a note telling me to have a nice day. I’m not above admitting that I took the note to work with me, and it stayed in my back pocket all day.
“I was thinking bagels,” she says. “There’s a shop a few blocks away if you want to walk. It’s nice out.”
