My eyes slowly flutter closed as I sink into the mattress I’ll replace first thing tomorrow morning.
They don’t remain shut for long. Nero’s slow slip as he removes his still-firm cock from my pussy has my libido awakening as if I haven’t orgasmed more times today than I have in the past three years.
The wetness coating his impressive manhood adds more slickness to the mess between my legs and heats my cheeks with more than lust.
We forgot to use protection.Again.
“I’m still on birth control.” Nerves shudder my vocal cords. I hate the thought of him thinking I stayed on birth control because I plan to stay with my cheating husband.
My religious pill taking has nothing to do with Roy. My lust-craving heart was hopeful what we just did was a possibility. That maybe the flames our exchange combusted into in the hotel would one day reach my home base.
My head told my heart it was living in a fantasy world.
It’ll be quick to apologize once it is at full function.
It will need more than a handful of wheezy breaths, though. My head is stuck in a fog it has no plans of escaping anytime in the next six to eight hours.
“Are you leaving?” I ask, hearing a ruffle, my voice still groggy.
A near-comatose state isn’t to blame for my sluggishness. The fear of rejection means even something as simple as getting my eyes to follow the prompts of my brain takes almost ten seconds to initiate.
I don’t want to watch Nero’s departure. My psyche, though better than it was only days ago, is still a little fragile. It may break if it thinks I’m being rejected by the only man who has ever shown legitimate interest.
Relief washes over me when Nero replies, “No.”
He continues for the open plantation shutters on the far side of the room. They face the road, but since we’re on the second story and the house across the street is vacant, I don’t bother closing them.
“But you should keep your blinds closed. You never know who may be looking in.”
I wet my bone-dry mouth before cracking my lips for a smile. “The house across the street has been vacant for almost a year. Roy said some rich schmuck bought it with the plan to flip it once the market improves.”
Air whizzes from Nero’s nose as he tugs the shutters shut, and then he slowly creeps back to the mattress now flopped on the floor.
I assume he is going to slip beneath the sticky sheets, so you can picture my surprise when he peels me off the material clinging to my skin and tosses me over his shoulder.
I’m naked, exhausted, and somewhat hungry, but I refuse to tell Nero that.
I’ve never been carried like I’m a damsel in distress or an up-and-coming mafia wife.
I’m also obsessed by the ease of his lift and the way it reminds me of my femininity. I grew up believing I’d be the caretaker of my home and that I’d blush every time I caught the admiring stare of my husband across the room. We’d make love against the railing of the water tower in my hometown after I was carried up its stairs without a bead of sweat dotting my husband’s brow.
I never considered the only time I’d sweat after marriage would be while wrangling a lawn trimmer into submission, or from trying to burn off the calories I consume in excess, because I eat when depressed, on rusty gym equipment in the garage of a home not in my name.
My life turned out nothing like I had planned, and only last week, I thought I was too old to change it.
How stupid have I been? Thirty-five isn’t close to ancient. I’ve not even lived half my life yet, and I refuse to waste another second on things that don’t matter.
With my mood suddenly perky, I don’t attempt to cover myself when Nero places me onto the vanity so he can switch on the shower.
My shower stall is one of those annoying, fully enclosed glass boxes that restrict movements. I hit my elbows while washing my hair, so although I admire Nero’s un-voiced suggestion that we wash the stickiness off our skin together, it isn’t practical.
I’ll wait on the vanity, enjoying the show while pondering how little I know about the man standing before me as naked as the day he was born.
It isn’t a hard feat. Nero is as striking out of his clothes as he is in them. Muscles upon muscles, lines and lines of ink, and a huge cock that never seems to deflate.
He is insanely attractive, and I’m more than happy to waste hours sampling everything he has to offer—both inside and out of the package.
“What do you do for a living?” Nero checks the temperature of the water pumping out of the faucet before twisting to face me. His nose is crinkled, and his brows are furled, but there’s a touch of playfulness in his eyes that frees me to say, “I’m assuming bounding and gagging your cheating spouse’s conquests and stuffing them in a closet is a side gig, so what do you do the rest of the time to earn a living?”
