Monday Afternoon, August 1st
He's waiting by the mailboxes in the lobby when I get home – all tall and gorgeous with cheeks that are still pink from sleep. He stops me dead in my tracks. Just the sight of him. I wish I wasn't so fucking hot and sweaty and gross.
I'm nervous all of a sudden and I don't know why. I've been with him every single day since we met. It doesn't make sense. Well, honestly, none of this makes sense. I'm not the kind of girl that does anything like this. If someone would have told me a week ago that all of this with him would actually happen, I would probably have laughed and told them they were crazy.
"I thought you might need some help with your mail," he says, smirking that same fucking smirk.
He leans and pushes my hair from my neck. And then he blows a cool stream of air on my now-exposed skin that's still slick with sweat. And yeah…just like that, the mail is forgotten. Even my People magazine.
.
.
.
His hands are under my jacket and sliding against the silk of my shirt as we ride the elevator up to my floor. His breath that was cool before is now hot and heavy in my ear.
"One week," he whispers and I practically moan at the sound of his voice. "One week ago, I met you."
"It's been a good week," I say, breathlessly.
The doors open and he drags me out. He fumbles with my keys, finding the one that will open my door. Once it's open he says, "It's been the best fucking week of my life."
And I believe him.
Not only that, I feel the exact same way.
I close the door, trying to catch my breath. I turn around and his eyes are hungry. His chest moving up and down as he breathes slowly.
In and out.
And it's too much. All of this is too much. I feel myself needing him more than I should. Wanting him more than can possibly be healthy. But none of that matters. Not when he's here like this…looking at me that way.
His gaze…it fucking smolders.
Hot.
Desperate.
Reckless.
"Stay right there," I whisper. It's soft, but I know he can hear me because he obeys. He doesn't move an inch…except for the growing inches in his pants.
Nervous and altogether too ordinary to be doing this, I begin to take off my clothes while he watches. Piece by piece, they fall to the floor. And I stand there bare naked while he takes me in, while he looks at me like I'm beautiful.
I feel like I am beautiful.
I walk over to him, taking his hands in mine, twining our fingers together and I kiss his lips. Soft and seeking at first, then demanding and dominant as I continue. Holding onto his hands, I lower myself to the floor before him.
"Fuck," he moans as he realizes what's about to happen.
Even now, my hands still shake as I undo his belt and open his pants. My breath escapes in a whoosh as I slip his boxers from his narrow hips, freeing his gorgeous cock as it bounces back up, protruding and erect. My fingers scratch and plunder as they make their way down the trail of golden-copper hair that dusts his body. And my lips and tongue tease and taste both sides of the V that lead me to the place where I know he wants me.
Where I want me.
I look up before I take him and his eyes, his look…they fucking kill me.
Dead.
Right here in this moment.
Taking him inside me, I silently ask him to fuck my mouth.
And then he does.
.
.
.
A/N
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See you all shortly!