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Yet, I can’t help feeling it might be a good idea to hold off a little longer. Surely I can wait a couple more days. Now I know she’s going to be here all week, I should take the time to do this right. Just like she deserves. That is if it doesn’t kill me!

I take a deep breath and remind myself my balls can’t technically be blue due to the amount of times I’ve cum in the last twenty-four hours. Then I steel myself for a tough day. Or rather a hard day.

TEN

Mia

I’m restless. Luke Wilson is upstairs. In my house. I’m still tingling all over from the things he did to me yesterday. What I want more than anything is to get him to do them again.

No. That’s not quite right.

What I want even more than that is to get him to let me do the same things to him. I know he was hard for me yesterday. That was part of what had me so excited. It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt desirable, felt sexy. Luke made me feel like I was the sexiest woman on Earth. The way he touched me and held me and pleasured me, I can only remember feeling like that once before in my life and the same guy was responsible for it then.

And he didn’t even cum once. At least I don’t think he did.

I hope that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong. Could he be hiding some kind of sexual dysfunction?

No, that’s ridiculous!

Maybe I should ask him.

I shut that idea down quickly. I can’t imagine anything more awkward. How stuck up would I have to be?

Um... excuse me. You didn’t want to have sex with me last night, so you must have erectile dysfunction, right?

Instead of going to the hardware store to see if I can get art supplies like I was going to do today, I hang around wondering if I should go up there or if I already look way too keen. Like crazy keen.

I don’t know how this works anymore. I’ve been with Oliver for the better part of twelve years. He’s really the only guy I’ve ever been with. Well, apart from Luke, that one summer ten years ago...

How do adult women do this?

What I really need is an excuse to get Luke’s attention. Oh, that would be bad, though, wouldn’t it? I shouldn’t do that.

I last another ten minutes.

I’ll just go upstairs and check on his progress. I’ll say I want to see how the new feature tile looks against the white tiles I picked for the other walls.

I feel like a kid at Christmas, sneaking out of bed to squeeze the presents under the Christmas tree while her parents are in bed. As I reach the door of the bedroom, I hear music playing. Natalie Imbruglia. Above the music, an off-key male voice sings along. I grin. Sneaking to the doorway, I peek in.

Luke is on his knees in the shower, scraping grout into the gaps between the tiles. He’s stripped down to a white singlet and his cap is flipped backwards. He works with swift efficient motions, swiping the tool across the gaps in the tiles, then back down to catch any extra. The whole picture is so different from what I would ever find Oliver doing. He doesn’t know the first thing about DIY or home maintenance. If anything needs to be done around the apartment I either do it myself, or we hire someone. I mean, the guy won’t even change a light bulb.

Luke scoops more paste from the tray of grout and the muscles in his arm flex when he lifts it and scrapes it onto the wall. Then he uses his finger to wipe a loose splotch.

My pussy gives a brief flutter as I remember those clever fingers and hands working me to five orgasms yesterday. I think it was five. I pretty much lost count after the first few.

I press my thighs together at the frisson of warmth in my core. Then I have to stifle a giggle when Luke puts on a falsetto voice to sing the high part of the chorus.

I clap my hand over my mouth, but he turns and sees me. His eyes go wide and he turns his singing into a cough. “Ah, sorry. Was I too loud?”

“No. I just came up to see how you were going. I like your singing.”

He gives me a sheepish grin. “Not sure anyone’s ever told me that before.”

I laugh. “Well, if you ever heard me sing, you’d probably understand why. My singing sounds like cats fighting.”

“No way. I bet you do everything perfectly.”

I snort. “Don’t ask me to speak in Italian, then. That’s another thing you don’t want to hear. My high school Italian teacher actually asked me during a seventh grade oral exam if I had in fact got confused and tried to speak in French!”

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