My grip on her tightens at the sound of that little bastard’s name, and she brings her gaze to mine, watching me warily.
“Because Theo had me,” she finishes, holding my gaze. “You were jealous.”
I lock my jaw, irritated that she’s bringing that up, but she offers me an unexpected, almost playful smile.
“You were better,” she tells me, rubbing my cock again.
That shouldn’t soothe my damned soul so much, but it does. “Oh, was I?”
Alyssa nods, curling her hand around my now entirely hard cock and stroking it. “More loving. More passionate. Less selfish. Just better in every way.”
All of that sounds right. Goddamned Theo.
“You made me come three times, then again in the shower,” she offers rather casually. Then she releases my cock and shifts, reaching over onto the bedside table on my side.
“What are you… doing?” I ask, turning my head to look. She grabs a bottle of lube that’s sitting there.
Wordlessly, she pops it open and squeezes some onto her fingers, then she lifts her hips, slides her hand down between us, and spreads lube inside her pussy. My cock jerks, then her lubed-up hand curls around it.
A moment later, she’s sliding down over my cock, and I’m throwing my head back against the pillow, helpless as I push through her wet heat.
“Fuck, Alyssa.”
She reaches over and puts the lube down then grabs my shoulder. “You only came three times last night. I owe you one.”
“Three times?”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs back as she moves up and down on my cock, her pretty little tits bouncing with the effort. “Once in my bedroom when you fucked my pussy and came inside me. Once in my ass, after you fucked my pussy for a second time, but not until you came. Then after you fingered me in the shower, I couldn’t leave you uncomfortable, so when we came back to bed, I sucked your cock.”
Goddamn, it sounds like I had a hell of a night. “Pretty pissed off I can’t remember any of that.”
“Last night I would have said it doesn’t matter, you could experience it all again tonight if you felt like it, but now…it seems like you’re not going to get a repeat performance.”
“What does that mean?” I ask with some effort as her tight little pussy clenches around me and steals some of my ability to think rationally.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says instead of explaining.
Since Alyssa’s fucking me, I can’t focus on the conversation anyway. She rides me until I come, then relaxes on top of me and lets me hold her for a little while.
Once I’ve recovered my strength, she climbs off and heads wordlessly to the bathroom to get dressed. I leave her to it, pulling on some clean clothes and heading downstairs to start a pot of coffee.
When she comes down, she’s wearing a pretty little sundress, lavender with dainty white flowers, the neckline cut to show off her cleavage. It has tiny buttons down the chest, and when she turns around, I see the material is cut out so most of her back is showing.
I can see from the backless part she’s not wearing a bra, and I’m sorely tempted to walk over and take those tits in my hands. Before I can convince myself that’s a good idea, she starts moving around my kitchen, making us both breakfast.
I let her do her thing in peace, ’cause I like watching her and I don’t like making her mad, and reminding her I don’t recall anything that happened last night seems like a sure way to do that. I wait until she puts my plate down in front of me, then goes to the other side of the table and sits down with her own plate before I bring it back up.
“So, uh, what was said during this talk we had in my bed last night?”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it again.”
“Well, I know you did, but that doesn’t seem fair to you. Seems like I must’ve said some things that made you happy to wake up to me this morning, and I’d like a chance to…”
She gives me a minute, but when I’m not sure how to finish that sentence, she offers her own suggestion. “What? You’d like a chance to backpedal and tell me I should’ve known by the things you were saying it was just the whiskey talking? Maybe I should have, but you were damn convincing…or maybe I just wanted you to be, I don’t know,” she mutters, stabbing some scrambled eggs with the tines of her fork and popping them in her mouth.
“I was gonna say, I’d like a chance to explain myself,” I tell her evenly.
Shaking her head and looking at her plate, she says, “Trust me, you don’t.”
“Why don’t we let me decide that?”