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I have nothing to do today, and a walk with her to get breakfast sounds like something that cuffing partners would do. Stuff I’ve done in the past.

After grabbing a sweatshirt and brushing my teeth, Savannah and I walk out into the mid-morning sunshine. Breathing in the air, my lungs feel clean. Savannah puts a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and slips her hand into mine. “Mind if I hold your hand?”

“Not at all, cuff partner.”

She giggles, and I’ll miss the sound when she’s gone in February. I’ll also miss the way her hand feels so natural in mine. Like home.

Wait. Where did that come from? I’ve never missed any of them or felt at home with them. Everything about cuffing season is temporary. I leave and that’s it. I walk away. How is it possible that this librarian that wears flannel pajamas and hasn’t had sex with me yet has anything to offer that I’ll miss?

She babbles the whole way to the bagel restaurant, but I don’t listen. I should. It’d be respectful, and I hope she doesn’t ask my opinion on whatever she’s talking about because she’ll know I’m not listening. I’m too focused on this feeling of missing her in February or March. We haven’t even known each other for a month. It’s impossible to miss someone you haven’t known a month.

Before I know it, Savannah waves me into a small breakfast shop that looks like a standard grab-and-go coffee place. The line is almost out the door, and I take the time to inhale the glutenous bread smell that combines with dark roast coffee. “Why haven’t we come here before? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Well, I avoided you when you moved in. Then, you avoided me for a few days. Then, work got in the way. If you like the food, we can come here every weekend.”

“Like…this can be our thing?” I ask, putting my hand on the small of her back. It feels good there. Like it belongs.

Before she can answer, we move to the front of the line, order, and take the number card to our seat. She blows steam off her peppermint mocha, and I take a swig of my coffee, the hot liquid burning my tongue.

I look around the restaurant and tap my fingers in anticipation for my everything bagel slathered in peanut butter.

“Do you think this is going well, Wilder?”

“It was easy to order, and it’s not as expensive for a bagel as I thought.”

She chuckles. “I meant cuffing season. Now that we know each other a little better, do you think it’s going well?”

I look at her and reach for her hand. Tracing her palm with my thumb, I smile. “I think it’s amazing. I like living with you. Do you think it’s going well?” I ask.

A staff member appears with our bagels, a breakfast bagel sandwich for her, and a side of fruit along with my bagel for me, and I wait for her answer as she picks up the huge sandwich with both hands and bites through.

I look at my own food and laugh. “Is something funny?” she asks, swallowing. “Do you not like what you ordered?”

“No, it’s just I’ve never seen such a big bagussy before.”

She shakes her head and squints. “What the hell is a bagussy?”

I point my hand to the bagel and the warm peanut butter oozing out of the hole at the top. “You know…” I lean forward and lick my lips at her. She leans forward in her seat until our faces are inches from each other. “It’s the bagel pussy.”

“That can’t be a real thing.”

“Look it up. I’ll even use it in a sentence.” I clear my throat and smile at the hole again. “I can’t wait to get my tongue in that hot bagussy.”

I stop myself before I can discuss how the cream from the bagussy tastes because her face reddens. Fuck, I probably turned her off to me. Leave it to me to talk bread porn with the librarian I want to bang. She’ll probably hate me now and write me off as a sicko that wants to make face love to pastries.

I put my hand over hers again. It trembles at my touch, and her finger slides across the top of my hand like she’s dragging it across a polished piece of porcelain. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I won’t talk about bagel pussies anymore. Fuck, I won’t talk about anything. You talk. I’ll listen.”

She swallows a bite of food but stares at her plate. Her shoulders heave like she’s panting and trying her best to control it. Is she turned on or off by bagel pussies? I can’t tell, and I squint, examining her for clues of my fuck up or utter victory.

I double down in case she’s liking this. Picking up my peanut butter bagel sandwich, I scrape a few loose poppy seeds off the top. The seeds fall to the plate under me, and I meet Savannah’s eyes. I usually make doe eyes up at a woman while I go down on her, and I widen my eyes just a little for that effect, like this bagel’s hole is a tasty delicacy.

She inhales sharply as I stick my tongue out of my mouth and slide it from one end of the bagel to the other, covering the entire diameter as I drag my tongue across it. Seeds from the crust fill my mouth, but I don’t stop to chew them or swallow.

Once I make my initial pass, I flick my tongue over the hole in the middle and dart my tongue in and out as the taste of salty peanut butter fills my mouth. A little warm, melted peanut butter dribbles down my chin, and I dart my tongue out to catch it, humming with approval at the taste. “I like it when it drips down my chin.”

Savannah whimpers, and her foot slides up my calf. “That’s how I like to eat it,” I whisper. “Lick it up and down a few times and play with the hole before I take care of the surrounding…area.”

She grips the table and bites her lip. I can’t see her legs, but I’m pretty sure they’re clenched, and I imagine her toes curling in her tennis shoes.

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