Page 40 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy
“How long?” I asked.
She did a little double take. “How long what?”
“How long before she was back on the street?” I asked.
“Three weeks,” Kandis said. Abruptly, she changed the subject. “Where are we going to sleep?”
“In here,” I replied. “There’s a Murphy bed behind that big picture. We’ll have to share, unless you want to sleep on the floor.”
“Nope,” she said with a saucy grin. “I like being warm, and I bet you’ll make a good heater.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Meanwhile, if you don’t mind being the cook, you could start one of those instant meal things while I go see about the generator and the furnace.”
“Since I don’t know beans about generators or furnaces, I’ll accept the division of labor,” she said.
Fortified by the cocoa and nutrition bars, I pulled on dry socks and my shoes and headed for the basement. The wall thermometer at the bottom of the stairs read 45 degrees Fahrenheit which explained why the water pipes worked.
I’d meant to have someone come up and blow out the pipes andshut down the pump, but I’d forgotten. For once, my neglect of a needed chore was going to work in our favor. Fortunately, the propane had a specific delivery schedule, and it had been topped up in October.
When I got back upstairs, Kandis had spaghetti and meatballs heating up on top of the wood stove, and she was dicing spam at the kitchen table. I wasn’t fond of spam, but it was portable and didn’t require refrigeration until it was opened.
Kandis tipped the diced mystery meat into a frying pan, and soon the cabin was filled with the aroma of fried pork. I sat down in the chair she had vacated and checked my socks.
Still wet, but I’d bought a week’s worth for each of us. I leaned back in the chair and drowsed in the warmth of the fire, the nearness of a woman, and the scent of cooking food. It was the most relaxed I’d felt in months.
I came back to myself when the front chair legs hit the floor with a jolt. “Hey!” I exclaimed. “What was that all about?”
“Safety,” Kandis growled at me. “Have you ever seen anyone fall when a chair topples over backward?”
I thought about it. “Can’t say that I have.”
She glared at me, but I was having a hard time focusing on what she was saying because she’d unzipped her jacket and was showing a good amount of cleavage in her V-neck t-shirt, and she held a bowl and a spoon in her hand. That bowl was exuding a drool-worthy aroma. My brains reached a full stop under the double onslaught of feminine pulchritude and the prospect of food.
“I have,” she said. “All the football jocks in my high school used to do it, until Tommy Jenkins had his chair a little too far from the wall. He hit his head on the radiator and got a concussion. My cell stopped receiving about fifteen minutes ago, so about all I could do for you would be to cover you up and keep you warm. Oh, and hope nothing went wrong withthe generator or furnace, because my mountain cabin experience begins and ends with wood stoves.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling embarrassed. “I hadn’t thought about that. Sorry.”
“Didn’t think you had.” She thrust the bowl into my hands. “Here, eat this and keep all your chair legs on the floor.”
Bossy females were not my favorite, and I would have said more, but the stuff in the bowl smelled too good to ignore. I dug into it, sucking in air to cool it and keep from burning my mouth. “Mmmm,” I said, pointing at the bowl with my spoon, “Mmm, mmm, good.”
She grinned at my antics and said, “You’re welcome,” before tucking into her share.
Later, after we had eaten, cleaned up the kitchen, and set up the Murphy bed and gotten into it, I lay with my arms wrapped around her. She’d selected a fuzzy pajama set without an ounce of sex appeal, but somehow, she made them look good. We shared our warmth, spooned together there in the dark.
Her round little bottom pressed against me, giving my penis some ambitions ideas. I slid my hand up under her shirt (umm…warm. Nice!) and I slid a thumb across one nipple.
She turned in my arms, offering up her mouth for kisses. I slid my hand down the soft skin of her back and under the elastic of the sleep pants. No panties, I discovered, with a secret grin. I slid my hand lower, touching the sensitive bundle of nerves at the base of her spine.
She gave a little moan of pleasure and began working on the buttons on my sleep shirt. Her hands were like ice on my skin, causing my nipples to contract as hard as a girl’s, while my unruly lower member was rising to the challenge.
I reached lower, exploring sensitive private parts, thendipping into her well of delight. She was hot and wet, and squirmed against me. I shifted her so I could get a more frontal angle. Cupping her pubic mound in the palm of my hand, I dipped in again, letting her rub her clit against the palm of my hand.
After all the walking we had done and the long drive, I knew my hip wasn’t up to supporting me in missionary position, so I eased onto my back and pulled her up onto my stomach.
She was lightly muscled, yet warm and soft where it counted. She smelled of gas station soap, honeysuckle deodorant, lemon shampoo, and warm, eager womanhood. When we kissed, her mouth tasted of chocolate and marshmallows.
Kandis squirmed atop me, trying to position herself to gain what she most desired. I lifted her hips away from me, teasing her with the nearness of my member, letting it brush against her.
