Page 21 of Unrivaled Love
As soon as I have my World Cup Championship I'll be able to walk into that house with my head held high, knowing I finally achieved more than Bryson Fucking Svoboda.
Carrying the groceries with me to the door is easy since the only bag I have with me is my backpack from practice. It’s stocked with my travel skincare I never leave home without, an extra pair of socks, and my slides.
Maybe I'll spend a day buck ass naked while I wash the one pair of panties I have with me.
That'll be liberating. I haven't felt freedom like that… ever.
The key is in the faux rock as it's always been and after I unlock the door I replace it like we were trained to do as kids.
Crossing over the threshold brings a physical feeling of comfort. This was home as much as our suburban Grand Junction house. But this place has the special distinction of being where my parents weren't working or stressed or complaining about driving my siblings and I from one practice to the next.
I turn some lights on and move towards the kitchen. Al told me about the remodeling plans for the other side of the house but I will simply use the suite behind the kitchen.
That is Mr. and Mrs. Svoboda's room so it might feel a little weird to be in there at first but beggars can't be choosers when they secretly sneak off to their family's vacation home to hide from the world.
There’s an open package of vanilla wafers on the counter. That’s kinda gross, and unlike our families to leave food out. After setting my grocery bags on the island I slide the cookies into the garbage and step out onto the deck to get the hot tub warmed up. A long soak is exactly what I need at the end of today.
"Oh shit." I exhale with a squeak and a jump backwards when a spider scurries away from where it had been nestled under the jacuzzi cover. "Fucking spiders." I grumble as I use my foot to kick the cover the rest of the way off and just leave it on the patio where it landed.
I carefully approach the settings panel looking for other spiders waiting to torture me.
All clear.
Once the tub bubbles to life I turn back to put my groceries away.
I yank the large fridge door open. It's one of those with the front panel that looks like the cabinets and since this house usually has a dozen people in it, the fridge is massive and part of a twin set.
The light in the fridge hits my face along with the chilly blast of air and I freeze. "Ew, they left food in here too!?"
I can understand leaving ketchup or mustard or a jar of pickles behind but yogurt and lunch meat? No one has been up here since the spring ski season so this shit is months old.
That lunch meat might be green.
I hold back my gag as I pull out a serving spoon and nudge it to the other side of the fridge and into the back corner, ensuring the nuclear sack of nitrates is as far away from my organic artisan yogurts as possible.
After the groceries are unloaded, I drum my finger nails along the counter.
I never really imagined what being here alone would be like.
It's kinda weird.
But the hot tub is calling my name so I take my backpack with me to the bedroom and strip out of my kit. No wonder the cashier recognized me. I'm wearing my fucking jersey. I'd be in my cleats too if I hadn't toed them off, left first, then right, as soon as I could put the car on cruise control.
I sit on the bed and pull my socks down and off, left first, then right, and head to the bathroom.
Yeah, walking around naked is empowering. I feel like a fucking super hero. I take my hair out of the pony tail and fluff it in the mirror.
My hair falls against my shoulders and I watch my breasts in the mirror as they move with my arm movements. Tingles dance under my skin at the sensation of the open air. It's been a minute since I've had a good Jill off and I think a little self care is exactly what the doctor ordered.
As I walk to the hot tub I run my hands up and down my body. I've built muscle, especially in my ass, in the last few months and I'm appreciating how tight and firm I feel.
The romance novels I read usually describe the love interests as soft and curvy and unfortunately that isn't me. I'm solid, tall, my thighs could crack walnuts, and I can probably bench just as much as the average man.
Good thing I don't need an average man to get myself off.
The evening air is cool and the breeze causes my already sensitive body to pucker. Goosebumps erupt and my nipples turn to stone as I step into the hot tub. I groan with pleasure as I sink into the steaming, bubbling water and lift my hair on top of my head and secure it with a band again before lowering so only my head is above the surface.
A sigh escapes me as I lean my head back and close my eyes. My hands settle on my thighs and I know I'll relax better after a release so I get to work turning myself on.
