Page 89 of Text Me Baby One More Time

“Do you want bacon,eggs, and toast or waffles?”

“Biscuits and gravy.”

“That wasn’t an option.”

“Well it should have been.” She sips her coffee—which is loaded with her own creamer—and eyes me from across the kitchen island.

Memories of her moaning as she rode my fingers and face flash through my mind, making my cock jump to attention.

After she came down from her first orgasm, I brought her to another. When she tried to drop to her knees to reciprocate, I refused, tucked her into bed, and took the coldest fucking shower of my life.

I wanted to bury my dick inside her more than anything last night, but I didn’t let myself take it there, craving the anticipation us going away next weekend brings.

Besides, it was only three weeks ago that Denny hated me. I want to make sure when I finally fuck her, it’s not a hate fuck. I want to make sure it’s because she’s finally admitting she wants me too.

I want her to admit she never hated me.

“Who doesn’t have the ingredients for biscuits and gravy?”

“Normal people.”

“You know, I have this friend who always listens to rap music while she and her boyfriend make breakfast. They call it Breakfast and Beats and it’s the cutest thing ever.”

“Sounds cheesy.” I down the rest of my black coffee and set the dirty mug in the sink. “We’re not doing that.”

“We can listen to Sinatra or Michael Boobie.”

“Bublé, and it’s still a no.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m not?” She shakes her head. “Well I was going to suggest we order delivery and stay here all morning. You can feast on biscuits and gravy while I feast on your pussy.”

Her lips part on a small gasp and she crosses her legs together tightly.

“But since I’m no fun”—I lift a shoulder—“I guess going out for breakfast it is. That’s too bad, too. I can’t do the things I want to do to you in public. It’s just gonna have to wait.”

It’s right on the tip of her tongue to beg me for…well, my tongue.

But, Denny being Denny, she doesn’t.

Instead she pushes her shoulders back, takes a sip of her coffee, and says, “You’re buying.”

I shake my head, fighting a laugh as I make my way down the hall to get dressed for the day, leaving her sitting there regretting her decision.

I slide into my bedroom, not bothering to close the door, and strip down to my underwear while I root around in my drawers for something to wear.

“You know, we could always—what in the hell are you wearing?”

I spin around, trying to cover myself, but it’s no use.

She darts into the room, pulling my hands away.

“Are you wearingpugunderwear?”

“N-No!”

“Is he lying on a pizza floatie?”

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