To Have and to Hate

Thankfully, he only rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Will you go to homecoming with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I’m still wearing the sweatshirt, appreciating its warmth.

His leg brushes mine and I don’t move away. In fact, I turn toward him just enough to ensure we keep that connection.

It feels like we’re sitting here only playing at civility. Every now and then as he eats, I’ll catch Walt looking down at where the sweatshirt ends on my upper thighs. My pajama shorts are tucked under it, but if you don’t know that, it looks like I’m naked underneath. I adjust how I’m sitting, crossing my legs, and he clears his throat.

On the flip side, I find it hard to stop watching him while he eats. Everything is beautiful with this man. The way he cuts through his food with the edge of his fork accentuates his arm muscles. His jaw flexes as he chews another bite. Oh my GOD, now he’s drinking his coffee like I’m not supposed to find that insanely attractive too?!

I’m nearly panting by the time he finishes and pushes his plate away.

I push my cereal bowl away as well.

Then he sets down his coffee cup.

I set mine down next.

His eyes slice over to me.

I turn toward him.

“Should we—” I ask.

“Let’s—”

And then he’s dragging me up and off my stool and plopping me up on the edge of the counter like, Well, I’m done with one meal—on to the next!

Our mouths connect in a passionate kiss and who fucking cares about coffee breath. I can’t even concentrate on any of that long because we’re already moving on. No simple make-out for us. We’ve been good for hours. We’ve slept like we were supposed to. We’ve eaten our breakfast and cleared our plates and now this is our reward. This. He breaks our kiss and starts tugging my pajama shorts down. At the same time, I yank off the sweatshirt and fling it clear across the kitchen.

His mouth is already moving down my body, over my collarbone, down across my chest and navel.

Then he kisses lower, in the groove of my hip as he spreads my thighs apart.

“Hold on to the counter,” he demands with a hot attitude.

“I’m trying!”

He’s too damn impatient to make sure I’m propped up right. I’m nearly tipping over the edge as his mouth descends between my parted thighs.

My breath is stolen as he tugs my panties aside and tastes me with one long lick.

I groan as one of my hands moves behind me to help support my weight on the counter. The other dives into his hair.

My foot finds one of the counter stools and I’m only barely balancing—not that he cares!—as he continues.

Pleas spill out of me with soft moans.

I’m wholly unprepared for how to respond to having his mouth between my legs.

He’s so good. Top notch, I tell him, and he chuckles before getting right back to it. He’s a man on a mission and I’m at his mercy.

I move the hand that’s placed behind me and accidentally knock over my empty coffee cup. Walt doesn’t even flinch as his hand slides down my thigh, joining his mouth.

I’m in pieces in a matter of minutes, shaking as Walt wrings every last drop of pleasure out of me. Then he stands and pushes down his boxer briefs, anxious and hot as he starts to pump his hand up and down his length.

He tugs me toward the end of the counter, perfectly situated for him to press inside me. He nearly does before I pound on his shoulder.

“Condom. Condom!” I tell him.

He curses and runs from the kitchen.

“Don’t fucking move!” he shouts back at me.

“I’m not!” I assure him, laughing.

He sprints down the hall and bumps into something, another curse spilling out of him, and then he’s back with the whole box of condoms, dumping them out onto the counter with impatience.

“I’m going to put them everywhere. A box in every room,” he says, tearing one open and making me laugh.

We have sex on the edge of his kitchen counter in a frenzy, like we don’t have the entire day together, like we’ll have to wait months after this.

His mouth is in the crook of my neck. He has my body hauled up against his as he rolls his hips and thrusts into me. When he comes, I feel it in every part of me. His teeth sink into my shoulder. His hands dig into my hips. I’m so utterly spent. Exhausted. Wrung dry.

We do manage to separate for a little while. He has work calls around 2:00, and I need to put some time in with my collection so I don’t fall behind.

In the late evening, I’m still tucked away in the library, a little lost in my own world when he walks in carrying his laptop. I’m not surprised he’s wandered in. The room is cozy with the lights dimmed and the fire burning.