Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I already know what fits her.
I already know I need her.
I rock her body against mine so her clit is against my cock, those two layers of cotton between us, and I bring my mouth to her chest.
I toy with her.
She rubs against me until she comes in those perfect black panties. "Please."
I reach for the box of condoms on the bookshelf.
She helps.
Then she's in my lap, groaning against me, coming on my cock as I suck on her perfect tits. She works me until I'm there, then she collapses in my lap, sweaty and spent and mine.
This is what I want.
The beautiful, guarded woman offering something precious.
I've never thought of sex that way. It doesn't have to be special or intimate, but it can be.
With her, it is.
No matter what I do, how I take her, it is.
She shifts off me carefully. "I think you're trying to kill me."
"I think you're trying to kill me."
She smiles, proud and curious.
"Or was that so I fall back asleep?"
"Death. Sleep. Either way, it's quiet."
I love her sense of humor. "Want a drink?" I stand, take care of the condom, bring her a box of tissues for cleanup.
"Water," she says. "But I don't mind if you have something."
"Water is good." I'm not great with moderation these days. Not since Deidre died. I drink until I remember, then until I forget. The next day—
Not fun.
And, yeah, she's leaving tomorrow, but I still don't want to spend all morning nursing a hangover.
"Do you have a t-shirt I can wear?" she asks. "One that's actually yours?"
"Yeah, but I might take you again," I say.
"I can live with that."
I fill the glasses and bring them to the coffee table. Then I head up the stairs and find an old Inked Love t-shirt for her.
She changes into it right away. With only the panties this time.
She looks even sexier in the shirt bearing the name of the shop, but I'm out of juice at this point.
She takes a long sip, settles on the couch, scrolls through a list of classic films. She stops on The Shop Around the Corner, decides against it, keeps scrolling. "You don't mind black and white?"
"You realize I'm an artist?"
"And I thought this would get me out of the color theory lecture," she says.
"Oh no. You can't escape."
"What about orange? What does that say?" she asks.
"Were you writing something?"
"Oh. Yeah. Just, uh… thoughts, I guess."
"Thoughts?"
"An essay for a project," she says.
"Already on your homework?"
"Always finishing my homework."
"Do you consider yourself a writer?"
"I guess," she says. "But it's not a career goal."
"Not everything has to be."
"That's not what my parents would say." She laughs. "They don't think psychology is a worthy field of study. And they're not sold on economics either."
"Isn't it all math?"
She looks at me funny.
"It's data, isn't it?"
"It's not engineering or computer science of physics or medicine," she says. "It's funny. Medicine is almost as in flux as 'soft sciences' but pre-med students still act superior. Or maybe it's just my roommate."
"Sounds like painters."
"Looking down on tattoo artists?"
I nod. "It happens."
"To you?"
"Whenever I take a figure drawing class."
"Naked people?"
"It's art," I say.
"Art of naked people."
"I thought you were a sophisticated woman who loved black-and-white movies?"
"And naked people," she says.
I laugh. "Should we watch a French movie?"
"If it's sexy."
"Or an erotic thriller?"
"That's a genre?"
"Yeah? Body Heat, Fatal Attraction, The Last Seduction. A bunch of movies about men screwing shit up by thinking with their dicks."
"Are you trying to tell me something about our relationship?"
"Yeah. You can get me to do a lot of stupid shit if you want," I say.
"By getting you thinking with your dick?"
"Exactly."
"Move a couch?"
"A chance to show off my strength? Of course," I say.
"Teach me to surf?"
"You don't know?" I ask.
"I do."
"I figured," I say.
"How?"
"You're from Newport Beach."
"Can you?" she asks.
"No," I say. "You want to teach me?"
"Not really. I prefer swimming. But I do love the beach. The expanse of the ocean. It's beautiful."
"We're close."
"I would have brought my swimsuit if I realized," she says.
"Next time." I press my palm to her rib, over her new tattoo. "Once it's safe."
"Right. You're very strict with after-care."
"Always."
"You have any erotic thrillers in mind?" she asks.
"Hell yeah. You mind violence?"
"It's not my favorite," she says.
"Okay. I don't think there's anything too gory in this one. But there is some. If you want the nice black-and-white movie—"
"Well, are you up for subtitles?"
"Hell yeah."
"Have you seen Lust, Caution?"
"No."
"It's not an erotic thriller, exactly. Or maybe it is. Only it's about the woman. She's a spy of sorts, but she's the one who makes bad decisions because of sex."
"Progressive."
"It is, yeah. Very anti-oppression. And all about the things people hide. Classic Ang Lee. He's amazing."
"You're a movie buff?"
"No. My ex was a film major."
"Lectured you about movies?"
"Mostly Fight Club. And those kinds of TV shows about male anti-heroes. We watched the first episode of so many. I think I was sitting there, doing his homework with him. He thought that was a great way to spend time together. But I guess I got a free Intro to Dramatic TV writing class out of it."