Page 56 of Pucked Up Plans
“Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck. So good. Too good. How?”
Her incoherent words elicit a chuckle. Rubbing my hand across my jaw, I clean up the evidence of her.
Tate lies boneless on the bed, her chest moving up and down in an erratic pattern. She’s a beautiful sight. Sated with her orgasm, coming down from the high.
And the image is too much.
Should I be ashamed to admit I lose the battle with myself?
As I stroke my dick, I groan, more out of relief than embarrassment. That’s going to be a bitch to clean up.
“Wow,” Tate breathes. “I didn’t, um, I didn’t know it could be so good.”
I grunt my agreement.
After sex cuddles aren’t my thing. But damn if I don’t lie down next to her, pulling her on top of me. It’s way too much effort to clean us up, pull clothes on, let alone actually leave.
Tate settles her head on my chest, the pounding of my heart vibrating against her ear.
“I don’t know whether I should feel bad you’ve yet to experience something so great or be grateful I was the one tomake you experience it.” She interlaces our hands together, the contrast of her small palm against my larger one catching my eye.
“I can’t wait for actual sex. It’s going to be the trifecta.”
“I’m sorry it can’t be now. I feel?—”
Her finger covers my lips as she picks up her head. “Don’t apologize again. What we just did is way more than I thought I’d get to do today. It’ll happen when the time is right.”
“Whenever it is, it’ll be before never.”
She relaxes back against me. I can’t remember the last time I felt this at ease with a woman without having sex. Was there even a “last time”?
Megan,my mind provokes.
Which is most likely true. We experienced a lot during our four years together, Lennon being the best thing to come from our failed relationship. Meg taught me a lot about myself, a lot about love, and also, what I don’t want with a long-term committed partner.
“How much longer do we have before we’re due at your house? I feel like I need a shower.”
“There was mention about seven,” I admit, pulling the detail from the sex fog in my head.
“Alexa, what time is it?”
“Good afternoon. It’s 4:36 p.m.”
“When is dinnertime?”
“Most nights, around six. Should we shoot to be there for then? Enough time to shower without rushing, right?”
She’s quiet for a long while. Or what seems long. I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. I wouldn’t blame her. All blissed out on an orgasm, no kid to care for. A quick rest is a clever use of our time.
“Tate, you awake?”
“Want me to return the favor?”
I have an inkling of what she’s referring to, but I need her to voice the words.
“The favor?”
“A blow job.” Her voice shakes on the word blow, making her seem uncomfortable. I never want her to feel that way, nor like she owes me anything.
