by Kara Liane
Fuck, I still needed to find a place to live.
Just then, Ev stirred against me.
She lifted her beautiful blonde head and looked around as if just finally realizing where she was. I grinned when she discovered I was lying next to her. I could see the wheels spinning as she replayed the escapades of the night before. She bit her lip—I imagined in response to the images. I could get used to waking up next to her every morning. Her softness always took me by surprise; seeing it made her seem all the sweeter. She stretched, and I suspected she was sore . . . everywhere. Hell, I was even sore myself—but I was ready to go for more rounds whenever she felt up to it. I had lots of lost time to make up. Her curls were wild and sticking out everywhere. It was the sexiest bedhead I had ever witnessed.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I said in a sleep-roughened voice.
She smiled sweetly at me, then threw a pillow in my face. I chuckled, and she laughed back.
God, I fucking love this woman.
She never did anything or said anything I thought she would. Life with her would surely never be dull for one damn moment.
Her stomach grumbled, and mine answered back. We had slept through breakfast. I would gladly have made her lunch. I was shit at cooking, but I got by fine with my meager skills because I’d been taking care of myself and on my own since I joined the military. She made a face when our stomachs became overly vocal. I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or what, but I didn’t give a shit about stuff like that. I knew women’s bodies did all manner of things. I wasn’t one of those guys whose fantasies were ruined once a girl took a shit or something. Other men needed to grow the hell up if they thought that way. I mean, Christ, we were all human!
I brought her hand to my lips and kissed the top of it. I knew small gestures like that meant a lot to Ev. She always seemed so surprised by the little things. I even surprised myself at times when I was with her. I didn’t think she was one of those women who expected chivalrous guys, but I hoped on some level she’d let me spoil her. I considered her my equal, of course, and would never make her feel like a “little woman” who thought she was supposed to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. I couldn’t even conjure up that image. Ev would have my balls served up on a rusty platter if I was ever that way toward her. Although the barefoot-and-pregnant scenario sounded pretty friggin’ hot.
Fuck, that’s premature.
“Tell you what. Let me make you lunch. Then we’ll shower. I’ll have my parents pick me up so I can get my truck out of storage. Later tonight, I’ll come back for you and take you out for a real date. Then we’ll talk about—everything. I’m sure you have things to say that are probably burning a hole through that pretty fucking mind of yours, but you’re going to have to wait until then,” I informed her.
She tilted her head as if trying to gauge my mood or motive. Then she gave me that saucy smile of hers and bent down to kiss me on the lips. I still couldn’t believe she hadn’t spoken yet, but I was too busy with her lips to think more about it.
Then the minx suddenly twisted my nipple, giving me a goddamn purple-nurple.
What the ever-loving fuck?
In turn, I swatted her ass. She giggled and buried her head in my neck. She mumbled something, but her response was muffled by my skin.
“What?” I asked.
She laughed again and replied, “I said you’re adorable in the morning, Tech Sergeant Peters. I may have to keep you around just for my amusement. I don’t really eat that much for breakfast—or even lunch, for that matter. Coffee is what I run on, but I’m sure we can scrounge up something in my kitchen. You seem like a guy who needs to eat, given your body and appetite . . . for everything.” She waggled her brows and went on. “I’d love to go to dinner with you. A date sounds perfect. And yes, I agree that we need to talk . . . about a lot of things, actually.”
The way she said the last part made me a little nervous, but I wasn’t going to worry too much about it. We could get to it later. We both got up from the bed, and I threw on my boxers. She put on my T-shirt from the previous night—sans panties. That helped my dick get wide awake. Forget morning wood, I was having afternoon tree trunk.
We both took turns doing our business in the bathroom. I swished some mouthwash I found by her sink around in my mouth. When I walked out to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but admire the view. She reached up in the cabinet to grab mugs, and the shirt rose up her backside, giving me the sexiest view of her naked cheeks. She had the most perfect ass. I couldn’t wait to take it and make mine again. I didn’t care if I was caught gawking at her like a purse whore in a handbag store. I could have watched her all day, even though she was just doing the most mundane tasks.
She set out two steaming mugs of that fucking heavenly smelling brew. I was grateful to get something in my stomach. I was a coffee guy, even though I usually opted for iced coffee no matter the season. Hot coffee would do just fine, though. I was not a complainer. I could certainly go with the flow; you had to be adaptable in my profession. Half the time, on deployments, I was deprived of something I would have normally considered essential anyway. Even the smallest comforts weren’t always easily accommodated over there—that could be something as simple as not having your favorite body wash stocked at the military store.
“How do you take your coffee?” she asked.
“Believe it or not . . . I take it in a way that probably sounds like a pussy drink. Eh, fuck it! I take four spoonfuls of creamer and two packets of Splenda,” I told her bravely.
She laughed so hard I thought she was going to drop her mug. Tears streamed down her face. Well, I guess I was there “for her amusement,” like she said. I made an annoyed face, but I had expected that reaction. Besides, her laugh was infectious. I couldn’t not laugh at myself because of her response. She was so beautiful.
What a puss I am. Fuck, my drink is probably more of a chick blend than hers.
After she collected herself, wiped her eyes, and set down her mug, she sauntered up to me. She placed my mug on the counter next to hers and proceeded to sensually wrap her arms around my neck. She smiled as she kissed my lips softly. I groaned at the contact. God, she was so hot. I loved each and every side of her. I didn’t know how to pick just one; well, I guessed they were all equal because they were all her.
“I’m glad I amuse you so much,” I chided.
She gave a harrumph and kissed me chastely again. She slid her hands down my neck and to the front of my chest. She didn’t stop until she had cupped my manhood with her long fingers. I almost stumbled backward when I felt her—I didn’t expect that!
“You don’t always amuse me. Most of the time you drive me . . . nuts,” she said saucily. She applied a slight pressure to my groin area to emphasize the word “nuts.” Then she went on to say, “That is definitely a bitch drink, but I adore you for owning it. You’re always surprising me. And by the way, I take mine black—or with just a little sugar and creamer. I guess it depends on my mood. I’ll surely never forget your concoction though.” She squeezed me again when she emphasized the syllable “cock.”
Fuck me. This woman will be the absolute death of me!
Everly
Brent had left just a little while ago to retrieve his truck. His parents picked him up. They were the sweetest people. Brent’s entire group of family and friends was really growing on me. I was glad to have a little alone time, though, because I needed to process everything. We had the hottest sex of my life. But obviously, it was more than that. There was something so deep and pure between us, it left my heart aching when he wasn’t near. It’s like my heart recognized his absence. Of course, I could totally function without him; I just felt a loss when he wasn’t close by.
God, did that sound pathetic? I hope not. Well, fuck it. If it did, it was too late.
I was too deep into this now, with him. Last night had only confirmed that I was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with the sexiest, sweetest, most amazing man.
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br /> I would tell him about the letter. In fact, I would try and tell him about everything. Some of it was going to gut me, but I was willing to divulge bits and pieces if it meant we could forge a future together. I wasn’t naive in thinking it wouldn’t be painful. It might even send me into a tailspin, having to relive some parts of my rather unpleasant past. But for him, I would make the effort. Tonight would be really important. I knew it would be a pivotal turning point in the road leading to “us” as a couple.
I also really wanted to look good for him.
On the rare occasion when I decided I needed a fellow female opinion, I’d invite my neighbor over. I’ve mentioned Dawn before. I couldn’t very well call Caylan for this situation, so I figured Dawn would help sort me out. As I’ve said, we’d maybe see each other a handful of times a year, but we were still friendly enough. It wouldn’t be awkward for me to call her over randomly for such instances. Dawn was forty-five, divorced, no kids. She opted for pet goldfish since she told me she wasn’t going to be “that cat lady.” Well, I wasn’t going to be that cat lady either, if I had my way.
I needed her to help me decide what to wear for the big date. She causally laid across my bed, reading a magazine. She was waiting for me to make my appearance and do the fashion-show thing that we women like to do. I thought maybe leggings would work. I stepped out of the bathroom and did a twirl in front of her. I didn’t want to have camel toe, and I told her as much. See, I like Dawn because she doesn’t sugarcoat anything. She’s blunt, just like me. I needed an honest opinion.
“Girl, that’s not camel toe . . . that’s more like a moose knuckle!” She laughed so hard she had a river of tears sloshing onto her T-shirt.
I maturely gave her the middle finger. Then I huffed and puffed while stomping back into the bathroom. She continued to laugh her ass off. I heard the cackling of giggles through the damn closed door.
What a brat!
I wanted to smack her!
I obviously decided to change. Clothes were strewn all over the bathroom. They were hanging over the edge of the tub, hanging from the shower curtain rod, and stuffed on top of the sink in twisted piles. I should have just stayed in my bedroom. I wasn’t so modest that I couldn’t change in front of her. I wanted that “wow factor” moment when I came out, though, so she’d get the overall look and effect. Clearly, I was failing at this.
I was overthinking it. I knew it, yet I couldn’t stop myself from obsessing over what to wear. Damn nerves! I had already tried about ten different hairstyles and finally settled on straightening my curls with a flat iron to sport a new look. I guessed that Brent liked my feisty curls, but the dinner would call for a different look—one that would make me stand out. I was becoming one of those girls dressing for her man, not for herself.
Okay, for one night I could try and dress how I thought he’d like to see me.
I decided that I would forgo panties, no matter what I ultimately decided to wear; they would just get in the way. The bra was necessary to give my tits the cleavage and full roundness I wanted to achieve—I loved that about bras. At least I was lucky in that department, though—my tits were perky enough that I could have gone without a bra, but I always worried about my nipples being too hard and noticeable. With some women, I knew that was the point—pun intended—but it wasn’t my thing.
I came out next wearing a long, fitted black skirt. It was made of a clingy-but-stretchy material that hugged my torso and lower half perfectly. I thought it was just casual enough, but yet had that flirty appeal. I matched it with a pair of tan wedge sandals, a black tank top, and a tan knit shrug. It almost looked like the tank and skirt were one piece, if you just happened to glance. I thought I looked tall, lean, and sexy. I wore dangly gold earrings and put a gold, star-shaped stud in my nose. I felt like a star in the outfit, so I’d definitely deck Dawn if she thought otherwise.
“Well?” I asked her as I spun around.
I rolled my eyes, thinking she couldn’t snag me on camel toe, moose knuckle, or some kind of elephantiasis remark about my twat this time. Dawn didn’t say anything at first—I was hoping it was a good sign. Maybe I’d rendered her speechless, which could only mean winner winner, chicken dinner.
She finally said in a sing-song, “Nailed it.”
I blew out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I couldn’t wait until Brent got back, because I was dressed to impress. I thought to myself, “Toe-be-gone.” I wouldn’t make the mistake of putting my swollen pussy lips on display again . . . well, not until we were back in the comforts of my place and I was underneath him!
But as I said, we had a lot to talk about, so I would have to wait and see where we’d end up after dinner. I meant that literally and figuratively, by the way.
Chapter 17: Go Fork Yourself
Everly
We were sitting at dinner at a really nice steakhouse in Rittenhouse Square. The place was modern, clean, and had these really interesting glass fountains everywhere. I liked the sleek look and contemporary atmosphere. The lighting was just right. Restaurants that were so dark you couldn’t even read the menu were a pet peeve of mine, but this place was just perfect. The soft music was on point, and the grilled-steak smell all around us made my mouth water.
Brent loved my outfit. He couldn’t stop staring at me and complimenting me throughout our meal. He even said my hair was beautiful straightened; I was so surprised he noticed little things like that but I very much appreciated it. I was not used to the kind of attention he was giving me—it was genuine and from a place of unconditional adoration on his end. He accepted me, and it was a hard concept to grasp.
I had actually eaten a big meal, and we were waiting on our dessert. I never usually did sweets, but I was also trying to prolong our evening since I was not ready to have “the talk.” I was nervous, a sensation I was not accustomed to feeling given the fact that I grilled people for a living and always got to the story. I wondered if I often made others feel equally uncomfortable with my probing. It wasn’t like Brent had even asked me anything yet. I didn’t dare question him on many subjects either. But somehow I was still uneasy. I reached for my necklace for comfort.
“Relax,” he said, then gave me that megawatt smile.
I nodded in response. Crap, I wish I could share his calm demeanor. But I couldn’t do it. I kept sipping my wine and fidgeting incessantly. I took a deep breath to steady myself. I felt so introspective suddenly. I couldn’t even look him in the eye for the time being. Instead, I decided to focus on his body. That was always a very welcome distraction, and I knew it would overtake my other thoughts.
He was dressed in dark khaki pants, black boots, a black belt, and a button-down, striped gray shirt tucked into his pants. I wondered what the leather would feel like against my skin—not necessarily with him using it to whip me or restrain me, more like just caressing my naked body with it. Suddenly, I wished I could purr like Pussy. He had the first few buttons undone, and what shone through at the neck was a plain black T-shirt. He looked so damn sexy and edible. I’d definitely take him for dessert . . . to go.
Even dressed in this more-sophisticated style of clothes, his undertone of pure male ruggedness still stood out. He just exuded masculinity and sex appeal. The magnetism of his presence always sucked me right in. He didn’t even have to be doing or saying anything—I was just drawn to him by some invisible field. I hadn’t ever seen him with stubble before, so it was arresting to witness the sexy appeal of his unshaven chin and jaw. I imagined he had purposely refrained from shaving since returning home, especially since he didn’t have to be in uniform again until Monday. He told me that he would still have to in-process back into his squadron, and he’d informed me he’d be busy all week at the base but afterward would get to take leave for a few weeks.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even realized the scrumptious last course had been delivered to our table until Brent held up a forkful of chocolate lava cake, clearly suggesting I tast
e it from his fork. I snapped my head up and stared into his smoldering eyes. His look was a sinful one that conveyed feeding me was something he considered erotic. He could make the simplest tasks hot as hell. I parted my lips with a small gasp. I was totally rethinking the whole no-panties thing. At first, I had wanted to go commando because I thought he’d go wild when he discovered I was bare underneath, but now there was no barrier between my most, delicate lips and the fabric of my skirt.
His eyes were half-lidded and stormy as he placed the tip of the utensil to my waiting mouth. I opened and accepted the decadent bite. I closed my eyes and groaned as soon as the sweet taste overloaded my tongue. I was savoring the confectionary goodness, and he growled in return. He always answered my noise with a noise—whether it was a conscious response or not, I didn’t know. I loved that I could do things to him just as easily. I must admit, I was grateful we were going through this sensual act at the table instead of talking seriously. It was, in fact, making me relax, which I figured was his ultimate goal. My tissues were becoming swollen, and I suspected his cock was becoming engorged, if it hadn’t been already. I licked my chocolaty lips and finished swallowing the bite in my mouth.
When I opened my eyes again, I was enthralled by the hulk of a man I saw gazing back at me. I picked up the other fork on the table and fed him a taste in return. It was so sexy to feed another person and watch him enjoy the flavors. He looked at me the entire time, not breaking eye contact once. I couldn’t sit still. I was trying so hard to shift back and forth, as if that would alleviate the needy, burning feelings I was wrestling with. Yeah, good luck with that, I told myself.
