Paul
I wastired from lack of sleep. I was grumpy because I was making bad decisions and I didn’t care. I was a little hot and sweaty from hanging the door.
Most of all, I was horny as fuck!
And she got herself off without me?
She’d lain in her bed, touched herself, and I hadn’t gotten to see it, be a part of it. Oh no. That was not cool. Given I’d already reconciled myself that last night was not going to be the end, it couldn’t be the end, I was totally okay with where this was going. I’d already accepted my bad decisions.
“Hmm, let’s see. Since I seem to be the wounded party in this…”
Another eyebrow lift from her. “Really? Would you call yourself the wounded party?”
“Yes, I would. I was left aching and unsatisfied for hours.”
“That does sound bad,” she said, a smile playing around her lips. “I can’t imagine the torture.”
I took off my hat and down vest, tossing them on the floor, all while stalking her, to get her to move in the direction I wanted. Which was toward the blow-up mattress with the blankets and pillows I’d set up in a corner of the lower floor of the house. Now that the door was hung, I could turn on the heat. Only I didn’t bother with it. It wasn’t that cold outside and I felt certain we were going to be generating our own heat very shortly.
“Oh, you won’t have to imagine the torture. I’m going to be inflicting some of my own. Get naked. Now.”
She gasped. But not in that way that said she was outraged or offended. She gasped like she sounded excited. I was right. She had been just as reluctant to leave me last night as I had been to let her go.
“Don’t be coy, Kay-Kay. You know you want this too.”
I pulled at the snaps on my flannel shirt so hard they popped open with a snap. While she was working on her winter coat, hat, and gloves. That was the one disadvantage of living in cold climates, there was a lot of shit to take off before you could get busy.
I was ahead of her, now shirtless and bootless, wearing only my socks and jeans. We were nearly to the blow-up mattress.
“Now, let me think. How do I want to get off first? I know. I think I want a blow job.”
I didn’t think I wanted a blow job. I wanted a blow job. All guys want a blow job. But with a woman like Kay-Kay, I got the sense that simply demanding one wasn’t going to work. I needed to plant the idea in her head and see how she responded. The way she was looking at my dick, pressed against the fly of my jeans, I thought my chances were pretty good.
Then she bit her bottom lip and the freaking wave of uncertainty that passed over this confident, kick-ass woman’s face almost brought me to my knees.
“The last guy I was with…he said I wasn’t the best at them.”
“A, fuck that guy. B, do you not like to do this? Because I won’t like it if you don’t.”
“No,” she said quickly, even as she was playing with the hem of her sweater. “I actually really like to do it. I think it’s hot. I just didn’t realize I wasn’t any good at it.”
I closed my eyes and nearly whimpered. Kay-Kay thought giving blow jobs was hot. This was going to be fucking epic. I moved around her and lay down on the air mattress, which was pretty comfortable and roomy enough even for me.
“Again, fuck that guy. You like to give blow jobs? It turns you on? There is nothing you can do wrong then. I promise you.”
She looked down at me from where she was still standing. I sat up to take off my socks, because socks were never sexy, and then shucked off my jeans and boxer briefs in one motion until I was buck naked.
It wasn’t that cold, but it was cold enough that I wasn’t taking any chances with the impact of that cold on my dick. I already had a number of strikes against me in the manly-man department because I couldn’t change her tire. I didn’t need to add to that.
“Are you going to get naked or what?”
She pulled off her sweater and I could see the faint outline of her ribs underneath her skin. I was going to feed this woman pasta and eggs and brownies until that wasn’t the case anymore. She did it for me. No matter how she looked. Dressed up in fancy clothes. Snuggled up in winter gear. Inside-out pajamas.
I didn’t care about her ass size or breast size or any of that. But I had this sense she hadn’t eaten to satisfaction in a long time. I wanted to do that. I wanted to satisfy her body and her mind.
It’s why I was so pissed off about the orgasms that she stole from me. I wanted to do that for her. Give that to her.
Now her sweater was off, her boots and socks were off, and she was shimmying out of her jeans. Finally, she was standing next to the mattress in just a tiny pair of white cotton panties and matching bra. I didn’t have to worry about my dick size then. I was tenting the blankets.
