From his spot on the dog bed, Baxter’s head pops up, the tags around his collar jingling. I grab a pair of shorts and stalk into the bathroom. When I head down the stairs, Baxter follows.
“You want to go?” I ask.
He wags his tail.
“Okay, but here are the rules. We’re running. You have to be able to keep up. No stopping to sniff things every five seconds.”
He lets out a bark, which I believe to be a verbal agreement to our contract. I grab his leash off the bench by the front door and we head out.
Gray clouds hang in the sky and the air is muggy. I take the same path as yesterday, down Main Street, running past the shops and bars. Baxter hangs with me for the first few miles, all floppy tongue and bouncing stride, but he gets distracted by the dog treat bowl that is out front of Tate’s Bake Shop. It’s all downhill from there.
The sky opens up on our way home. We’re already going at a snail’s pace, so when Baxter all but stops, I scoop him up and carry him the rest of the way.
“You smell like wet dog,” I tell him.
He pants in my face, then licks my cheek.
“We had a deal. This was not part of it.”
By the time we return to the house, we’re soaked.
Lucy greets us with towels and a cup of coffee. She’s been busy making breakfast. The amount of food she has prepared is excessive. It’s far too much for two people.
“When would you like breakfast?” she asks, fluffing Baxter’s wet coat with a towel.
“Soon. I’m going to take a shower first.”
She nods. “Coffee for Miss Chloe?”
“Sure.”
“How does she take it?”
“Two sugars and cream,” I rattle off like an expert boyfriend. The only reason I know that is because I overheard Rose asking Chloe last week so she could make it for her.
Lucy prepares the coffee for Chloe and hands me the mug.
With Baxter still enjoying his pampering from Lucy, I take the coffees and go upstairs.
Chloe’s still asleep. I take her in. Her head is the only thing I can see. The rest of her body is burrowed into the covers. Her red hair, wild and loose over the pillow, her long lashes hovering over her lightly freckled cheeks.
I set her mug down on the bedside table. Maybe the aroma will wake her up. The cold water sliding down my back redirects my attention to the shower.
In the bathroom, I strip out of my wet clothes and step into the shower. Any relief I had achieved from the run quickly dissipates as I stand under the water, my dick quickly springing to life again. This is becoming a routine. Run, shower, stroke my dick thinking about coming inside of Chloe. What I had put to an end in bed earlier, I let myself continue this time.
With my throbbing cock in my hands, I imagine Chloe’s face clouded with lust at the sight of my erection. Her hands wrapping around its thickness, her sweet, pink lips parting to welcome me into her warm mouth. I imagine bending Chloe over my desk and fucking her hard, my cum sliding down her inner thighs. Marking her as mine.
She’s the farthest thing from it. Maybe that’s why I want her so bad.
That’s why when her image appears in the doorway, through the steam of the shower, I don’t break my rhythm.
Chloe’s there, her wild red hair and expressive eyes watching me and I meet her stare head on.
Her baggy t-shirt covers her tiny shorts, making it appear like she’s got nothing on underneath. Even through the steam I can make out the peaks of her nipples through her shirt. My mouth aches to taste one.
I stroke harder, my hand tightening around my shaft.
Knowing Chloe’s eyes are on me, taking in every detail as I stroke myself, only urges me on.
