Page 11 of Stone
I squeeze my eyes tight as I slowly wake, the morning sun blaring through my window, and I groan, “Dammit, I forgot to shut my blinds,” as I move to get up, but I freeze, feeling a little cold air on my breasts, and my eyes spring open as last night comes back to me hard.
“Oh my….” I gasp as the fine specimen of a man whose name I don’t even know lifts my left leg above my head and thrusts deep inside me, and I throw my head back with pleasure as he hits a spot I didn’t even know existed.
Okay, so I may now see what Donna meant about sex because with the right guy.
Six orgasms, something I have never had before, and it was amazing. Heck, my body is tingling, wanting it again and again.
I swallow hard and look to my left to see the bed empty, and a pit in my stomach fills me, something like regret. Not for last night because it was well, it was everything, all four times, but because I didn’t even get his name, let alone his number.
When he gripped my hips last night, I knew it was the guy who walked into the hallway. I got the same feeling I did as he disappeared for an hour, and the way Donna grinned.
I sigh as I slowly get up, my body aching deliciously, and walking past my torn dress, I go to my bathroom to quickly empty my bladder and brush my teeth.
We didn’t use protection last night, I’m covered, I’m on the pill, but still, it was reckless. Even though he doesn’t seem like the type, I think I need to get checked out.
I couldn’t exactly ask him if he’s clean halfway through sex, and now he is gone, left, like one-night stands usually do.
The regret builds, but I swallow it down and do my business, trying to convince my subconscious that one night is okay.
It freaking isn’t.
I walk out of my bedroom ten minutes later wearing leggings and a crop top, my hair in a messy bun.
I need food before I do a little bit of cleaning. I need to regretfully change the sheets, then I can get ready to go meet my sister.
I try to see her at least three times a week, keeping that sisterly bond alive, much to my parents' happiness. They lucked out really, because Kimmy and I never fought. Even now, she’s a teenager but so grown-up for her age, and my best friend.
I pause as I hit my living area and look into my small open kitchen, and my mouth parts a little.
A back full of tattoos, jeans hung low on his hips, the guy from last night is currently at my stove, making breakfast.
He’s here,he’s still here!
My heart races and I literally swallow my tongue with surprise and lust because seriously, a shirtless ripped man making breakfast and covered in tattoos at that… It’s a girl's dream.
“You’re still here,” I state the obvious, gaining the man's attention.
He turns his head my way with a smirk, his piercing blue eyes that I can get lost in, sparkling with humor. He takes in my attire, and lust shines, making me want to squeeze my thighs together as my clit throbs, but I push the need away.
He smiles and says, “Morning, red,” and my mouth parts in shock, and I question, “Red?”
He grins wider, his whole face lighting up as he admits, “It suits you,” and nods to my now curly red hair in the messy bun, the hour Donna took straightening it didn’t last through the night.
Licking my bottom lip, not really knowing how to navigate this, I walk towards the breakfast bar and ask, “I thought one-night stands usually disappear during the night?”
Honestly, I don’t really know what else to say. I’m happy he’s here, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t the norm.
He laughs and asks, “Do you have many one-night stands?”
He looks my way for a second, and I notice a glint in his eye, maybe jealousy?
No, that can’t be right.
I shake my head before scrunching my nose as I take a seat and admit, “I had one in college, gave him my virginity because according to my friend Donna who was with me last night, it was time. That and the Kappa boys at the university went through a phase of betting each other. Girls ended up raped… long story short, it was bad, so no I don’t normally have one-night stands. You are actually the first guy I slept with since that fateful and trying to be forgetful night.”
I clamp my mouth shut. Crap, I said too much, and by the grin he’s giving me, he knows I didn’t mean to word vomit.
Chuckling, he dishes up scrambled eggs and pancakes and asks, “And was I bad?”
