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This.

One set of fingers abandons its post on her perfect ass to predatorily scrape up her spine and snatch a fist fill of her tangled curls. The snapping of her head backward frees a throaty moan and recalling that this position, this bestial claiming, is one she fantasized about for so long, a fantasy that onlyIwill ever fulfill, prompts me to rapidly pound. And yank her into the hammering. Grunt and curse and hiss over the perfect fucking sound my balls make each time they slap her.

Her pussy screams match those escaping her lips severing any chance I have for lasting much longer. The overworked muscles swell around my shaft, trapping it deep, and unyieldingly milk from it every last drop of cum it can. Spurt upon spurt is swallowed and guzzled as though her body’s still starving, desperate to be fed more of me despite the fact that’s basically the only thing it’s had all night.

Don’t look at me like that. I did feed my woman! I’m a man of my word. I fed her, fucked her, bathed her, fucked her, read four pages of some smut novel, and fucked her again. My plan was executed…I just…had to rearrange it a bit.

Finally sated the two of us collapse not only back onto the couch but into each other’s arms.

“Good morning, baby.” Jaye sweetly hums, nestling herself against me. “Can we start every morning this way?”

Pride can’t be prevented from plastering itself in my grin. “Wecan.”

“Hot sexand thenhot coffee.”

I lightly chuckle over the statement. “It’s a good plan, but you probably don’t wanna go to work smelling like sex every morning, so how about hot sex, hot shower for you, and then hot coffee?”

She slowly nods during a loud nod. “Your plan is better.”

My head tilts her direction, grateful to have her gaze meet mine shortly after. “How about we go another round in the shower, countthatas our gym session, and then stop at Loca Mocha Casabloca on our way to therapy?”

Excitement bursts through Jaye’s entire expression. “Andthatplan is better than the original.” Love and mirth overwhelm it next. “How do you keep doing that? How are you even thinking right now?”

More arrogance coats my chortles. “Can you not? Have Iliterallyfucked your brains out?”

“I think so.”

This time we laugh together but unfortunately have it cut short by the doorbell.

“Wonder who that is,” Jaye absentmindedly ponders while sitting up to get the pajamas she didn’t spend much time in last night.

“Maybe Mrs. Tippet returning a cookie dish?”

My suggestion is met with another impressed hum. “That would make sense. She’s usually up this early to go shopping for her bird.”

“Mathew Macawnaughey.”

We both grin at the terrible pun.

Yeah, alright. It’s a little funny.

Once we’re both properly dressed, we head for the door together, hands locked as if we’re incapable of being parted for too long.

This is the first time I’ve ever been like this. Kind of worried I look too clingy. Kind of don’t fucking care.

Jaye opens the door to reveal more than one surprise. The first is the sound of shouting coming from our least favorite neighbor and the second is her father.

Dressed completely in his lieutenant’s uniform.

Hat included.

Fuck. Me. He looks like a hit man trying infiltrate a local precinct to take out a target. What? It doesn’t matter that I read a book like that last week. It doesn’t make the shit less true.

“Dad!” Jaye squeaks, body immediately flying away from mine to hug him.

“Sugar.” He uses his free hand to warmly embrace her, suspicious scowl shot my direction over her shoulder. When she pulls back, he playfully asks, “Gonna let me in? It’s coldandloud out here.”

The two of us step out of his way to allow him entry at the same time she asks, “Is that Gwenith?”