Page 207 of Small Town Firsts

But I’m ready; and when she pounces, I catch her; and she wraps her legs around me. I can feel how hot and ready she is for me, but still, I want to make her feel good.

I secure her to me with an arm around her waist as I lower us both to the bed. I position us so that I’m on my back, and she’s straddling me. “Come up here,” I direct her, tugging on her hips.

She quirks a brow. “Up where?”

“Up here,” I say, lifting and pulling her to my face. The movement causes her to pitch forward, which works out just fine for me. With her on her knees, and her hands braced on the headboard, I set to work making her feel good, using my tongue and fingers to draw every ounce of pleasure I can from her. All too soon, she’s a trembling mess, rocking against my chin and chanting my name.

Right as she’s about to explode, I reposition us so that she’s on her back, and in one swift movement, I enter her right as her climax finds her. She clenches around my dick, and—no lie—I see stars. As her orgasm ebbs, I set our pace, loving her in long, slow strokes until she’s on the brink again.

Only this time, when she crashes over, I’m right there with her.

After we get cleaned up, I leave Natalie in bed and head downstairs to whip us up a little snack to restore the energy we burned. I return with a platter of meats and cheeses and fresh fruit along with two bottles of water.

All too soon, eating turns to playing, and we’re both ready for round two. This time, it’s slow and sensual—we don’t fuck, we make love—murmuring sweet nothings until we’re both sated and spent.

We continue in this holding pattern of rest and sex and touching until we’re both far too exhausted to continue. Tonight has been so damn perfect that I’m not sure which will be better, falling asleep with Natalie draped over my chest, or waking up with her—only morning will tell.

I wake with the sun,basking in the delicious weight of Natalie’s body wrapped around mine. I’m still not sure which is better—falling asleep with her or waking up. If pressed, I’d say it’s a tie and that both are an honor.

Slivers of light filter in through the blinds, and the way they hit her skin creates an almost angelic glow. I could lay here and stare at her forever, but the desire to make her breakfast outweighs my need to catalog her every feature.

As quietly as possible, I disentangle our limbs and slip out of the bed. I slip on a pair of gray sweats and give her one last glance before trotting down the stairs. Hopefully this time she sleeps long enough for me to actually serve her in bed.

I start a pot of coffee and quickly get to work whipping up some from-scratch cinnamon rolls from a chunk of dough I prepared earlier in the week. She loved them something fierce growing up—I hope that hasn’t changed.

While they bake, I start the icing. When my timer sounds, I pull the fluffy rolls from the oven and ice them instantly. I know some people like to let them cool, but I live for the way the heat sort of melts the icing, making it into more of a glaze. I lick a little off of my thumb, and instantly I’m imagining licking it from Natalie’s body—preferably her tits…or her thighs.

With deliciously dirty thoughts swimming around in my mind, I quickly plate us up two each, and pour two mugs of coffee, before heading back up the stairs with a tent in my sweats and a spring in my step.

In my room, I place the tray at the foot of the bed and walk over to her side of the bed—her side, damn, I like the sound of that—where I kneel and simply admire her for a minute. The covers are pushed down around her waist, revealing her breast and stomach to me. I study the stretch marks she was so worried about, and before I know it, I’m imagining how she’d look with her belly rounded out again. The thought is shockingly sexy, which totally catches me off guard.

I trail the pads of my fingers over the dip in her waist—up and down, up and down—until her eyes flutter open. “Alden,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.

She stretches and sits up, propping herself against the headboard. “Something smells good.”

I don’t even try and fight my grin. “I made us breakfast.” I move and retrieve the tray. “Cinnamon rolls and coffee.”

Her eyes light up. “One of my favs!”

“I know.” I pass her a plate and the mug with her coffee in it before rejoining her in the bed.

I watch eagerly as she takes her first bite. The moan she lets out is enough to get me hard as concrete. “Oh my God. This is divine. Why is this so good?”

“Homemade,” I offer simply.

She nods and moans again with her next bite. “I could get used to this.”

My stomach clenches. “I’d gladly do it daily if it kept that blissed-out look on your face.”

She sucks the icing from her middle finger. “There’s a lot of ways you can achieve that look, Alden Warner.”

The way she says my name—so teasingly—has me tossing my half-full plate down onto my nightstand. Like a mind reader, she does the same and simultaneously we lunge for one another.

Our kiss is heated and sweet tasting, which begs to my earlier thought of how the icing would taste directly from her skin. Too curious to not find out, I reach over and swipe two fingers through a pool of it on her plate.

She watches, wide-eyed, as I smear it all over her left breast. Her breath hitches when my mouth follows.

“Oh,” she hisses, as I bite down. She squirms beneath me as I soothe the sting. “Feels so good.” Her words are staccato with desire. I’m positioning myself between her legs when the sound of my phone ringing somewhere in the house stops me. “Ignoreit,” she pleads, lifting her hips, begging me with her body to fill her.

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