Noa
The frosted light of a winter sun peeks through the translucent curtains of the bedroom.
I crack my eyes open and stretch, my arm bumping into Stone’s bed-warmed side. Pushing a tangle of hair out of my face, I study him in slumber, peaceful and boyish.
I don’t regret what we did last night. If this time with Stone has taught me anything, it’s that we are each other’s escape, and escapes always feel like the right decision. Against my better judgment, he’s endeared himself to me during these several weeks, gamely attending cooking classes taught by a chef who fast became his mortal enemy, helping me with Thanksgiving, adjusting to his mother’s illness by being present, spending time with her, and lessening his denial until nothing but a droplet remains.
I’m watching the boy who never grew up mature before my eyes, and while I don’t count myself lucky, I consider it to be fate.
The house is silent. I lift enough to check the clock. 7:00 a.m. Mrs. Stalinski won’t be awake for a few hours, and I should’ve put the turkey in an hour ago.
I flop back on my pillow, considering.
I’m all tingly and relaxed from our sex last night, and a part of me doesn’t want it to end. Too soon, this house will fill with company and holiday scents and the sound of football on a loop. It’ll be noisy, an amazing distraction, and brimming with social pleasure. We’ll all have fun.
Right now, though, all I want is him.
I tilt my head to study Stone again, biting my lip against a mischievous smile.
It’s so unlike me, too spontaneous, but I’m certain we’ll both be game.
Sitting up, I peel the covers off me and straddle Stone.
Around his head.
I knuckle the headboard as I press my pussy onto his lips and make tentative circles.
Muffled surprise comes from down below. Stone’s lashes flutter.
My heart skitters with embarrassment. Maybe this was too much. I’ve never woken a man up like this. Last night, he said he liked my pussy, but he could’ve just been saying it to be nice. I should pull back and pretend this never?—
Hands clap onto my butt cheeks. They push against me at the same time his tongue darts out, and he groans inside me.
My head falls back on a sigh, my balance against the headboard assisting in my fucking his face like his tongue is his dick.
When he circles my clit and sucks, I lose any reservations. I come against his mouth, and he licks up every drop, ensuring no place is unattended as he parts my folds and finishes his breakfast.
Then, with a determined grunt, he flips me onto my back and plunges into me with his morning wood.
Our sex this time is hurried, meant for quick pleasure, and while his girth and length are always pleasurable, I want this to be for him.
Stone seems to notice something’s off when I wrap my legs around him. He stops while buried inside me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
“You’re not about to come.”
“No, well, I just did. I don’t have to come every time.”
“Uh, yeah, you fucking do.”
If pillows weren’t underneath my head, it would’ve jerked back with surprise. Other than Stone, no man has ever been so determined to make sure I’m satisfied first. Even the teenaged Stone wasn’t this adamant.
“I don’t come until my woman does.” Stone must see a flicker of reservation in my expression, because he adds, “Right now, you’re my woman, Noa. And I’m not coming until I see you explode. Plus.” He nips at my lower lip. “The sounds you make when I bring you to orgasm help me get off, too.”
“Okay,” I whisper, unable to fight the flush in my cheeks.
“Good girl. Now, touch yourself while I fuck you.”
