I was okay with the first two, but the last never turned out how I wanted it to.
It never failed. My bread was always too thick. On the verge of being brick-like thick.
Bread machine. By hand and baking in the oven. Old recipe, tried and true recipe, new recipe. Nada. They always turned out the same no matter how hard I tried.
Luckily, she’d already made them, and now all I had to do was take them out of the oven when they were done cooking.
Score one for me.
So as I busied myself with cooking the fried chicken and mashing potatoes, I thought about all that had happened today.
My beautiful house was no more. In its place was a shell of its former self.
But then I managed to smile as I remembered that Foster already had that part handled.
It’d be back to its old self in no time.Chapter 14I’m sorry for the things I said when you woke me up. Next time just bring me coffee and run. Fast.
-Sincerely, not a morning person
Blake
“Well that was the most awkward dinner of all time. Do you think your friends noticed anything wrong?” I asked Foster, falling forward onto his bed and slamming my face into a pillow.
Foster followed me into the bedroom, stopping at the bottom of the bed and said, “Nope.”
His fingers started to work at my tennis shoes, unlacing them when I would’ve just kicked them off, and then placing them nicely on the floor.
My shorts were the next thing to go, and suddenly all of the sleep that’d been on my mind was gone in a flash. In its place was hot, sexy thoughts of the man currently pulling my panties over my ass.
He stopped once they were midway down my thighs, and kissed each ass cheek before biting lightly.
I jumped, pushing my hips into the bed as I looked at him over my shoulder.
“What,” I said, turning over.
Then his eyes, which had been on my face, found my mound.
I blushed.
My face was on fire.
Luckily, I’d gotten into the habit of being totally shaved down there since I’d left David.
I don’t know why. It’d just been something that he’d hated me doing, and now I kept it shaved out of spite.
Foster swallowed thickly, finally pulling his eyes away from my pussy to catch my eyes.
“I haven’t had sex since my accident,” he admitted, licking his lips nervously. “In fact, it was nearly four months before my accident. So it’s been…a while.”
I smiled, sitting up.
My hands found their way to his belt, hooking my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer to me.
“Take your shirt off,” I ordered. “Now.”
“Yes ma’am,” he complied, ripping the shirt from his jeans where he’d tucked it in, and pulled it roughly over his head with a hand at the back of his collar.
He tossed it across the room, aiming for the dresser but not quite making it.
He did manage to knock over our drinks we’d gotten on the way home, though.
Neither one of us moved to clean it up. It didn’t matter.
We’d deal with the mess. Later.
I worked the belt loose from his pants, dropping it on the bed beside my hips, before I started working on the button of his pants.
His eyes watched my movements, taking it all in with sharp, quick senses.
He allowed me to do what I wanted to do, and I was grateful.
I wanted this so bad I hurt.
I’d wanted Foster since the moment I saw him in the police headquarters’ lobby.
I licked my lips once I worked the zipper down over his bulging erection, stopping before I went too far.
“Condoms,” I said. “I think we need some.”
He snorted, but turned and went into the bathroom, tossing me a look over his shoulder.
I licked my lips at seeing his pants hanging so low on his hips that I could see the top swells of his well-defined ass.
He came back moments later with a handful of condoms in his hand, tossing them down onto the bed beside his belt.
One knee planted in the bed at my feet, and he stopped, waiting for the next move.
I liked that he was deferring to me.
At least this time.
I suspected he wouldn’t be so accommodating in the future.
My shaking and sweating hands went to the waistband of his black boxer briefs, and lowered it.
The first thing I saw was that he had a tattoo.
It made me freeze as I read the words.
“Does that…does that say what I think it says?” I asked, laughter gathering in my throat.
Looking up at him for confirmation, I couldn’t help the laugh that burst free of my lips at the sheepish grin on his face.
“My brothers are dicks,” he said. “I got drunk and then they proceeded to take me to the nearest tattoo shop where I got this.”
I have a small wiener was tattooed in black bold letters just above the base of his cock.
And the saying couldn’t be further from the truth.
Which I let him know the moment I saw his cock up close and personal.
It was massive.
Bigger than any I’d ever seen, which, granted, wasn’t a lot, but he was also bigger than my purple eight inch dildo I’d bought after my divorce.
Easily.
“Oh, my,” I said, placing my small hand onto his hard cock.
It was thick. So thick my hands could barely fit around it.
It was also soft. The skin felt like silk wrapped around a steel pole of muscle.
His cock was beautiful.
I’d never thought of cocks being much of anything before, but Foster’s was just that.
Long, thick, with a darker mushroomed shaped head.
Veins popped out along his shaft, and one long, thick vein ran along the underside.
It even pulsed with the beat of his heart.
“Jesus,” he hissed as my hands squeezed him tightly.
I smiled at him as I leaned forward, squeezing the head to milk out a pearl white droplet of pre-come.
He growled, and his fingers burrowed into my hair, not directing my movements. Rather, more so he could have something to hold onto.