Chris would be so fucking jealous if he found out about this.
Those are my first thoughts when I wake up in Mal’s bed, staring up at the off-white ceiling, slightly sweaty, with my pussy sore from last night’s activities.
It wasn’t just my first time that I’m recovering from either. Oh, no. It was the time again after he carried me into the bedroom, again when I woke up horny in the middle of the night sometime and decided to be that-girl and wake him up with a blowjob that turned into more sex, and again sometime when there was a hint of sun coming in through the curtains when we had spooning-sex where he hung onto my boobs the entire time and kissed my neck, making me feel like I was being fucked by a vampire.
Awesome. All of it was awesome.
No. That’s not a strong enough word. Amazing. Fantastic. Incredible. Wonderful. Marvelous. Awe-inspiring. And to hell with anyone who says Mal is too old for me, or he’s preying on me, or I shouldn’t be with him for whatever intellectual reason they can come up with.
Nature is screaming at me to stop taking my birth control pills so I can have his babies. I’d love to see what I’d look like with a big pregnant belly, and I don’t even know what I want to do with my life yet. I don’t even have my shit together.
Is this love at first sight? Or am I just flooded with endorphins from losing my virginity and having my brains fucked out by a complete Adonis? I don’t know. What I do know is that I need some recovery time—some time to think about all this, and Mal probably doesn’t want a clinger hanging around his house all day, so I am going to actually let him drive me home later. The last thing I want to do is potentially screw up what we’ve got going so far.
I glance to my right, expecting to find Mal fast asleep beside me, but all I see is an empty side of the bed and a pillow with an indentation in it. I sit up, and then I hear the noise from downstairs—the sounds of cooking.
I quickly swing my legs out of bed, go into the bathroom, splash some water on my face and do something with my hair so I don’t look like a total scarecrow, then throw my clothes on. I find Mal in the kitchen making eggs, already with a cooked pile of bacon beside him and a stack of toast. He smiles at me as I come in through the door.
“I thought the smell of my incredible cooking might wake you.”
“Oh, you’re Gordon Ramsay now?” I tease.
“Goddamn right I am,” he replies, putting on a British accent that’s actually pretty decent. “And if you don’t get your ass over here right now, little missy, there’s going to be consequences. Serious fucking consequences.”
“Ooh.” I smile, swaying my hips as I make my way over to him as he stirs the eggs. “My cute little ass, you mean?”
Mal’s eyes brighten, and he nods, slipping a hand down my pants to give my left cheek a firm squeeze. “It’s as if you could read my mind.”
“It’s a trait I have. I just don’t tell most men about it. It lessens the strength of my powers.”
“Of course.” Mal chuckles. “That makes perfect sense.”
He kisses me in a way that makes me feel like just another one of his possessions—but in a good way. In a wonderful way. He points behind me and asks me to pass him a couple of plates, and I help him serve up our breakfast, then carry it over to the table, which is nicely situated by the large double doors looking out at the well-landscaped back yard.
We eat together, and I do my best to keep my mind in one place—focused on the man in front of me—but it’s just not possible. I think about what it would be like to gloat and break this news to Chris and see the stupid look on his dumb face that he wasn’t the one who got to claim me, I think about what it’s going to be like to explain all this to Sarah and whether or not she’s going to understand why I did it. And I wonder whether or not I should say anything to Mal about what he and I are going to do moving forward.
Thankfully, the breakfast is fantastic—Mal really is a great cook—and that helps to keep me focused a bit on what’s in front of me. When we’re both finished, we wash the dishes at his enormous farmhouse style sink. I try to do them myself since he cooked, but he just won’t let me.
“No, I insist,” he says, so there’s really nothing I can do. What are my options? Fight him off? He’s twice my size! So what do I do? Just as he’s finishing up on the pan he cooked the eggs in, I drop to my knees and tug his pants down. I guess he wasn’t expecting this, because he sort of gasps as I grab his cock and take it into my mouth. Still, even if he wasn’t expecting it, it takes him less than a handful of seconds to get fully hard and fill out my cheeks.
“Erika, you sure you’ve never done this before?” he asks, looking down at me with admiration that feels so incredible. It’s like pure physical praise being poured over me.
I can’t speak, so I simply moan a negative and look up at him with eyes that say nope and keep sucking. He finishes scrubbing and sets the pan aside, then braces himself against the sink and threads his fingers through my hair. They’re mostly dry but still slightly damp, which turns me on for some reason. I really couldn’t explain why.
My knees hurt—the floor of his kitchen is hard tile—but I don’t complain. I don’t even try to readjust myself. I just keep doing my duty, bobbing up and down on his warm, thick manhood, until I feel a pulse and hear a deep groan from above.
“Fuck, sweet thing, you’re going to make me come. Are you going to swallow for me?”
I nod the best I can but mostly communicate with my eyes, Of course I fucking am. I’m desperate to taste him. I’ve heard so many stories from girls about how guys’ cum tastes—so many jokes about whether you should spit or swallow—and I already know I’m not going to be one of those-girls that spits. I’m just not.
“Hell yeah, baby,” he growls, tightening his grip on my hair.
I reach up and cradle his balls, purely out of instinct. This seems to drive him crazy. His eyelids flutter, and he groans, signaling a deep pleasure before the release arrives.
The warm, salty mess spills all over my tongue, splashing everywhere, coating the insides of my cheeks as it sprays from the tip of his massive cock. I instantly swallow and scoff internally at whatever girls ever complained about the taste of cum. Mal keeps coming, and I can’t get enough of it.
“Fuck,” he growls, his cock throbbing as he sprays more of his deliciousness into my mouth. I keep swallowing obediently until there’s nothing left to swallow, then wait there until he releases the firm grip he has on my hair and breathes out a pleasingly masculine sigh of relief.
The head of his cock creates an almost amusing little popping sound as it slips out from between my lips. I smile as I stand and am pulled into his arms.
“You like that?” I whisper.
“Do pigs love apples?”
“I—I don’t know. Do they?” He probably thinks I’m giving him a hard time again, but I legitimately don’t know.
Mal simply chuckles in response and kisses me right on the forehead as he smooths my hair back. He takes me by the hand and leads me over toward the couch, but before we get there, I break the news to him.
“Actually, I should probably have you take me home now if you don’t mind,” I say, making it sound like I totally have some things I need to do, which I do not. Again, I really don’t want to be that girl that overstays her welcome.
“Oh?” Mal asks, looking surprised. “Busy day today?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “And I don’t wanna get in your hair.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be in my hair–”
He’s being nice. I can tell. “Bigtime sleazy landlord like you?” I tease. “I’m sure you have tons of clients to take advantage of.”
“Hey!”
I reach into his pocket and pull out his cell. “Why don’t I just leave you my number, and if you want to get in touch with me, you can?”
“If?” Mal asks, a smirk on his face. I respond with a shrug.
“Hey, you never know with you guys. Maybe I’ll never see you again.”
When Mal pulls up to my apartment, part of me wants to say, Hey just kidding, I’m staying for the rest of the day! But that would be insane. So I just lean over the center console, kiss him, then get out and go inside, feeling like I’m wrapped up in a heating blanket as I take the stairs to my apartment unit.
“I’m home!” I announce as I march into the living room and throw myself down onto the couch. Normally, I’m met by a Welcome back, bitch! Or a sarcastic Who cares? from my roommate Bianca, but today, I’m met with the delightful greeting of silence.
“Hello?” I call out again. I saw her car downstairs in the parking lot, so unless her boyfriend came and picked her up (which would be strange considering he should be at work), she should be here. Finally, I hear the sound of footsteps coming from her bedroom and look up to see her come into the room looking like she’s either had a very bad morning or has something she needs to tell me—which puts a big damper on my big story to tell for this morning.
“Go first,” I say.
“What?”
“I can tell you have something you want to tell me,” I reply. “So go first, because mine’s going to tell a while.”
“Oh,” Bianca replies. She doesn’t even smile, so whatever it is, it must be bad. I’m kind of worried, to be honest. She’s not great at dealing with emotional trauma in her life. “Well, this is your thirty-day-notice.”
It takes me a second to comprehend just what it is she’s saying. But then it hits me. Thirty-day-notice. This bitch is giving me thirty days to get out of the apartment—which is technically her apartment as she’s the one on the lease—and find a new place to live. And to think I was just worried about how she was doing.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask, but I know she isn’t.
Bianca’s eyes are focused on her toes. She always was a little scaredy-cat. “Jeff proposed to me, and he wants us to live together, so…”
“So you told him he could live here with you instead of me.”
She nods. It makes sense. Jeff is a real piece of shit, who’s always getting kicked out of whatever place he’s currently living. So I guess it’s happened again, and he figures moving in with Bianca will be a lot easier than searching for a new place. And I guess that just makes me collateral damage.
“I’m sorry, Erika. I really am–”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” I reply.
