“Sounds like a close call,” I muse. “I guess I never read them in order. I thought the author killed him off so no one else could write Sherlock Holmes stories.”
Daniel closes the book, tosses it onto my floor, and rolls toward me, his arm snaking over my lower back.
My body responds instantly, even though I’m half-awake at best. I push myself up on my elbows, back arched, and look at Daniel through my eyelashes.
Or, at least, I try. I probably look like a crazed muppet right now.
“Tell me more about Sherlock Holmes,” I purr, my voice still thick with sleep.
As come-ons go, it’s pretty bad, but it’s the best I can think of at the moment and besides, I’m certain it’s going to work.
Daniel grins. His hand slides beneath the sheet that’s covering me and palms one ass cheek, his fingers sliding into the crevice between my legs.
“Well, there’s my favorite Holmes story,” he says, his voice lowering. “The Mystery of the Soaking Wet Pussy.”
He pushes his fingers inside me and I gasp, arch, bite my lower lip as my fingers clutch my pillow. Daniel moves closer, his stiffening cock brushing my hip, as he lowers his lips to my shoulder.
“How the fuck are you already this wet?” he murmurs, his lips against my skin. “You just woke up.”
“I was watching you read,” I admit.
“Is that all it takes?” he asks, his weight shifting on top of me, his mouth on the back of my neck. He’s got his other hand in my hair, pushing my head forward, my shoulders still raised, my back still arched.
“I was thinking,” I say slowly, my brain still fuzzy.
Daniel’s fingers move deeper, pushing into my channel. My hips buck upward, already asking for more.
“About?” he prompts, my breathing faster, ragged.
God, what a beautiful way to wake up.
“Whether it would be rude to interrupt your reading by hopping on your dick,” I gasp out. “Or if I should ask first.”
Daniel moves a knee between my thighs, pushing my legs wide, and before I can even grunt, he adds a third finger. I put my face against the pillow and moan as he strokes me from the inside, then gasp when he finally puts his thumb on my clit.
“For the record,” he says, kneeling upright, his other hand moving down my spine, squeezing one ass cheek. “I will never consider it rude to hop on my dick.”
He pauses. I look up at the sound of a condom wrapper, watch over my shoulder as he rolls it on one-handed, his hips driving forward as he strokes himself.
Then he pulls his fingers out and plunges his cock into me in one fluid motion and I groan into the pillow, clenching it in my fists as I push back against him, taking him as deep as I can.
It’s relaxed, unhurried. Daniel and I settle into a slow rhythm and I swear I float, just savoring the delicious feeling of his cock filling me, taking me again and again, each thrust sparking a chain reaction that sizzles along my nerves. When I finally come it’s not a thunderclap but a slow-building rainstorm that leaves me gasping and wrung out by the end.
When we finish, Daniel collapses onto the bed again, still breathing hard, and looks over at me.
“We could just stay in your bed all weekend,” he says.
“Isn’t that the plan?” I ask. “Who knows when we’ll get the chance again.”
“Very true,” he muses, then closes his eyes. “If something explodes at the brewery and I get called in, I will be pissed.”
“Nothing bad will happen,” I tell him, finally sitting up, facing the headboard, grinning at him. “Just sex until we can’t possibly bang anymore, and then maybe Chinese food or something.”
He leans in, his smile devilish, and kisses me.
“Agreed,” he says.We do, in fact, get out of bed. I suck him off in the shower, water running down his body in rivulets, caressing his beautiful, sculpted muscles, until he comes growling oh that’s so fucking good Charlie. Then he bends me over my kitchen table and eats me out while the coffee’s brewing.
There’s sex on the floor. There’s more sex on the couch, in my armchair, and we try it against a wall but that becomes floor sex, too. Between rounds we have breakfast and read books and turn on the TV to see if it’s worthwhile and play stupid games on our phones, but mostly we talk.
We talk about absolutely nothing. He tells me the long, dramatic story of two brewery employees who were dating, then broke up, then she fucked his cousin, then they dated again, then he found out about the cousin and hung some ill-advised signs up around the brewery, took them down when they got back together, but by then Daniel and Seth had found a sign so they fired him.