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He grins and the true, mischievous man hiding under the shy exterior shows himself. He thrusts again, wrapping his arms around my lower back and ass to stop me from sliding back on the counter from the force of it. I bite my lip. It’s almost too much but as I’d suspected, he’s much more talented with his cock than he is with his mouth.
His pace is slow but hard, every thrust making me cry out louder than before. Connor’s voice returns, tormenting me.
What a good slut you are. Taking every inch of his cock. Over and over again. Isn’t it time for you to come? Fucking come for me.
I’m sent over the edge in a matter of moments, clutching at his body as my muscles shudder their release. David looks surprised but content when I’ve come down enough to open my eyes again. He’s slowed his pace and teases me with just the tip of his head drifting inside me.
I moan and shift toward him. He seems to decide he likes this turn of events, where he’s able to make me squirm instead of vice versa, and he pushes me down onto the cool counter. He holds my hips in place and reaches over to grip my breasts occasionally as he builds up the pace slowly. He still teases me with shallow thrusts but after a few minutes of squirming, he’s back to pounding me hard and deep.
The counter is not quite long enough for my entire body and my head hangs over the side. My breasts bounce with every thrust. I turn to look out the window and see Connor. Watching me. A thrill runs down my spine. He’s sitting in a chair, in shadow but lit enough I can see him running his hand over the front of his pants. If you weren’t looking for him though, he’d be hard to spot.
I watch him watch me and listen to David’s grunts growing louder. I’m close to the edge again, my pussy throbbing from the pounding he’s giving me. My clit is on fire. Connor watches and smiles, mouthing the word, “Come,” at me.
I do. Screaming with pleasure, tightening around the turgid cock pumping into me. It sends David over the edge as well and he clutches on to my body as I buck beneath him. Our cries echo throughout the kitchen before the stillness sets in. He’s draped over my body, his head near mine as we recover, breathing heavily. I look at him and he notices a few moments later, his expression back to the shy and embarrassed mix.
“Don’t,” I state plainly with a smile and he understands. He smiles in return and looks confident for a moment, despite the shy dip of his head away from me. Looking past him I see Connor has vanished from the window.
I lie on the counter as David tidies himself up. Propping up on my elbows, I watch him and wait for his next move. Once his pants are back on, he stares at me incredulously before ducking down for a tentative yet simmering kiss.
We pull apart and I break the silence.
“Thanks for the delivery.” I quip with a smile, eliciting a laugh from him.
“Anytime,” he responds and starts to move away. “I have to...” He trails off and I nod. He backs away, still staring at me until he bumps into the wall, and with an embarrassed wave, stumbles out the front door. I lie back on the counter and smile contentedly for a while before going back to uninteresting daily chores.
When I come downstairs later on, my landlady is pretending to dust the table in the foyer but stops as soon as I reach the last step.
“Your friend left this for you,” she spat with a venomous tone as she handed me a small white envelope. My friend? I thought, curious as to whom she meant while hoping it was Connor. My watcher. I felt a tingle between my thighs as I opened the sealed envelope. Surprised she bothered to pass it along but even more so that she didn’t take a peek, I smile thinking of how persuasive he could be, as I pulled the card out.
On a simple white piece of card stock he’d written:
Very good, girl. Tuesday. 8:00 p.m. Wear nothing. I’ll be by.
I stared at the words and felt my legs go weak, my well-sated pussy throbbing as if it had not been touched in years. Looking up to thank my landlady for passing the note along, I found myself alone in the foyer. She must have slipped away while I was paralyzed by his words.
Turning to go back up to my apartment, I smiled and whispered aloud, “Yes, Sir.”
A KEEPER
Sommer Marsden
What do you call this color?” John asked. He rolled the brownish, greenish, tanish paint onto the wall. His dark-blue shirt was dotted with paint. His surfer-boy blond hair was speckled with it, too. And his big chunky glasses were smeared with some more.
“Did you roll in it?” I laughed.
“Nope. I’m just a bit messy is all.”
“The color is called, I-have-no-clue-it’s-on-the-can. But I saw it in my cousin’s clubbed basement and fell in love. It’s one of those colors that changes with the light. One minute it looks green, then taupe, then silver...weird.”
“Like you,” he said, turning his back.
“I—what?” My throat grew a little tight. John was a bad-ass friend, a good guy, a fierce lover, but poor little me—burned by love one too many times—could not decide if he was a keeper. And yes, I say that poor little me with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek.
“Nothing.” It wasn’t a passive-aggressive kind of nothing, where he wanted me to coddle and pry and cajole. It was a straightforward, never mind—let it go—nothing. Another reason I liked this man. He was no drama and that was refreshing.
So many check marks in his favor and yet, I kept holding him at arm’s length.
“Thanks for helping me paint,” I said, suddenly shamed.
