Page 97 of Fresh Tracks
I step in behind her and she flicks on the light switch. She waves her hand out in front of her. “Welcome to my shoebox.”
I take in the studio apartment in front of me. I’m immediately brought back to my first place in Seattle. It wasn’t much, but I still remember the feeling of having a place that was mine compared to a bunkbed in a small bedroom at a foster home. Looking around this place, I can see that Grace made this place hers. There’s an eclectic mix of Mid Century Modern furniture around a brightly colored southwestern patterned rug in the center of the room. I step past her into the room.
In one corner, there’s a cozy bed covered in an assortment of colorful knit blankets and throw pillows. Above the headboard is a slim, wide window letting in a sliver of light, cast all over the room by the little crystals and stained glass trinkets hung in the window. Opposite that is a small kitchenette with plants in macrame hangers in each window, matching the ones hanging behind the bed.
Yes. This is definitely my girl’s place. Everything about is so perfectly her.
I set my jacket on the small round table by the kitchenette and walk over to the bed. I hop all the way on it and prop myself up on my elbows. I’ve spent almost all day on the go and laying back in her bed that smells like her feels beyond good. “I love it. It’s one hundred percent you.”
She stays over by the door watching me with curious amusement while she unties her boots. She drops her coat by the door and comes over to the bed. She plops down next to me on the bedsitting cross legged. Then she lifts my feet off of it and lays them in her lap before taking off my boots. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners? Feet off the furniture. Were you raised by wolves?”
I shrug. “Foster families, remember?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I—” I smirk at her and quirk a brow. She groans, grabbing a pillow, and throwing it at me. “Ass.”
I laugh, reaching over and wrapping my arm around her. She squeals when I yank her down onto the bed beside me, burying ourselves in the pile of pillows along the headboard.
“Oh my god, stop it,” she gasps between giggles while I try to tickle her. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.
Suddenly, I find myself on top of her, looking down into her sparkling green eyes. Her hair flows over the pillows behind her and the streaks of color flow with the patterns on them.
She flicks her eyebrows and her teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I see you really missed me.” She rolls her hips up and presses herself into the bulge in my jeans.
A low groan rumbles through my chest. “You could say that.”
I see the mischievous glint in her eyes and she reaches between us, running her hand up and down the seam of my jeans. I rock myself into her hand, desperate for more contact, desperate for her.
Her fingers find the fly of my jeans and deftly open them, relieving some of the pressure on my cock.
“I missed you too,” she says, her eyes flicking down between us. She cups my already aching erection.
“Fuck,’ I hiss and my shoulders squeeze together when I shudder.
Her hands find the waist of my jeans and boxers and she shimmies them down over my ass, finally freeing my cock.
I sigh in relief, loving the feel of her soft, warm hand when it strokes my shaft.
“I think you’re still wearing too much.” I thrust myself forward, grinding my shaft against her core, over her leggings. Even through the fabric, I can feel how much she needs me, how wet she already is for me. “You should do something about that so I can feel your tight cunt squeeze my cock when you come.”
Her lips part and she whimpers, letting go of my dick. Her hands frantically work to pull her leggings down. In seconds, my throbbing shaft is pressed against her slit and, yes, she’s fucking drenched for me. I grab my cock and flick the head back and forth over her swollen clit, watching her eyes roll back at the contact with her piercing.
“Does my girl like that?”
She nods and bites her bottom lip, running her hands up and under my t-shirt. I take my other hand and reach over my head, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. Her eyes track the movement, lingering on something. I follow her gaze and see the nightstand.
“Did you already pack your toy collection?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head excitedly. “Take a peek inside. We can play with whatever you want. Your pick.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” I lean over the side of the bed, pulling the drawer open.
Fuck. My girl likes to have fun.
I mean I sort of knew that already. I know she needs constant stimulation. Nothing about her is vanilla, but damn was she serious when she said she had a collection. A few different vibrators, a metal and crystal butt plug, some clit sucking toy, and what I think is probably a tentacle dildo? That’s just what I can see without rummaging around. I can’t make a decision with either head right now, probably due to the lack of blood in one and too much in the other, because I want to explore every option with her. I make a mental note that the rest are getting packed up and brought back with us on the jet.
“I can pick one out for you if—” She starts to tease me while she takes her long sleeve flannel shirt off. One of the toys catches my eye.
“Nope. I got it.” I reach in and grab the big, white wand vibrator.
