Page 61 of Property of Tacoma
I mean, we barely know each other.
But this has been the norm.
Every morning it’s the same thing.
I wake up alone, and shortly after, Tacoma rolls back in from dropping off his kids at school.
Once he’s back, he crawls up the foot of the bed and wraps himself around me like an octopus, where he proceeds to worship my body in the most delicious ways.
A smile steals across my face as my toes curl under the covers just thinking about the way he makes my body sing.
After he’s fucked me boneless, he kisses me soft and sweet, like we have all the time in the world to be wrapped up in each other.
It isn't’ just fucking, though.
Every time he’s inside of me, it feels like he’s touching my soul.
It’s perfect and simple and everything.
Our mornings don’t stop there, though.
No, not even close.
He brings me breakfast.
In bed.
And again, this is freaking crazy right?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad at all that he’s completely naked when he delivers my breakfast.
I thoroughly enjoy the view.
I enjoy it even more when he drags me out of bed and into the shower, where he washes every inch of my body before getting me all dirty again.
The man might be forty-three, but he’s a powerhouse.
He’s perfect.
The last few days have been perfect.
And that sorta scares the shit out of me.
Because I know I can’t stay here forever.
My brother’s calling every day, nonstop, leaving voicemails demanding to know when I’m coming home.
Don’t even get me started on the text messages. They’re becoming increasingly aggressive.
Have I fully opened any of them?
Not on your life.
I’ve been a coward, reading them through the notification bubble.
Don’t judge me.
The last thing I want to do is let my overbearing big brother know I’ve read them.
