Jed Had to Die

He keeps kissing me, his tongue swirling deeper the faster he moves between my legs, and I let out a shocked gasp into his mouth when another rushing wave of an orgasm explodes out of me without any warning. No tingling in my toes, no slow traveling up my legs, or quivering in my belly, it hits hard and fast and my body rockets off the bed as I push my hips up to meet Leo’s. My sex pulsates and squeezes around him and he rips his mouth from mine so I can follow his orders, screaming his name until my voice gets hoarse.

Leo finally releases my hands as I move the lower half of my body faster and harder against him, wanting nothing more than to feel and hear him reach his own release. He slides his arms under my body and wraps them around me, holding me tightly against him as he buries his face in the side of my neck, drilling himself inside me so hard and fast that he inches us up the bed with each powerful thrust. My hands smack against his back, my fingernails dig into his skin, and I wrap my thighs around his hips and hold on tight until he slams against me one last time, holds himself deep, cursing and moaning my name against the side of my neck as he comes.

Aaaaaand it’s official. I’m ruined.

For all other men, women, and most definitely vibrators.

* * *

“This is amazing. What’s it called again?” Leo asks, digging his fork back into the pile on his plate and shoveling in a mouthful.

“It’s called slop. I know, not a very appetizing name for breakfast food, but my mom used to always make it and I haven’t had it since I moved away. Sounded like a good idea when I woke up,” I shrug as I drink my coffee and watch him finish off his second plate.

Slop was a staple in our house growing up and my mom made it every Sunday morning before church. It’s basically scrambled eggs, cheese, bacon, sausage and hash browns, all cooked together in a pan and “slopped” onto your plate. After I moved away, I was too busy with school and opening Liquid Crack to have time for anything more than take-out, and then when I met Benjamin, he was a health food nut and dragged me down into that pit of hell with him, making me feel guilty any time I so much as looked at a pizza delivery menu or walked by a McDonalds. I didn’t realize until I woke up starving this morning just how much I missed greasy, unhealthy food that clogs your arteries and lowers your life expectancy.

Damn, it’s good to be home.

“It’s fucking amazing, Payton. Not the most delicious thing I’ve had in my mouth in the last twelve hours, but it’ll do,” he winks, causing a blush to spread out over my cheeks.

After the first two orgasms Leo gave me, something I’d only read about in books and assumed was a myth like unicorns and leprechauns with pots of gold, we passed out in a tangle of arms and legs until a few hours later when he woke me up by sliding into me from behind and proving another myth true – it’s possible for a man to recover quickly and go all night long. Hence, waking up starving and feeling like I could eat a horse. Or two dozen eggs, a slab of bacon, pound of sausage, bag of fried and buttery hash browns, and enough cheese to feed a small country.

I also woke up with enough guilt for that same small country, realizing before the first time we had sex and through all four times after, that I am not a woman who can sleep with a man and keep secrets from him. That fact was made clear when Leo woke me up an hour ago with his head between my legs again. I almost confessed to everything right then and there. Shit, when he kept teasing me with that tongue of his and holding off my orgasm until I thought I was going to black out, I almost confessed to killing Kennedy and knowing where Jimmy Hoffa’s body is buried.

I didn’t just make slop because I was hungry and knew Leo would like it, I did it to suck up to him in the hopes that a full stomach would make him a little less angry when I told him about the pie and how the rumors and interviews people were giving to the sheriff’s office weren’t necessarily false.

“Although I will say, I’d enjoy this home-cooked breakfast a little more if you were sitting across from me naked,” he says with a smile around another mouthful of food.

“That’s just what I need, for a neighbor to walk by and accuse me of breaking another law with public indecency. What I’m wearing is probably cutting it close anyway,” I state with a roll of my eyes, thankful I had enough brain activity this morning to at least throw on a pair of tiny black cotton shorts that I usually wear to work out in when I’m in Chicago and a matching black and hot pink Nike t-back tank top.

“Luckily, I’m the sheriff and can make up my own laws. Those shorts are hot and make your ass look amazing, but from now on, it’s illegal for you to wear clothes. Go grab my handcuffs from the car, you’re under arrest.”

I have to rub my thighs together under the table when he brings up the cuffs, and really, he’s the one that should be under arrest for wearing nothing at the kitchen table but last night’s jeans that hang low on his hips and no shirt. Touching and kissing that massive chest and those cut abs of his the previous night with nothing but the moonlight to guide me is nothing compared to seeing it on full display in Emma Jo’s kitchen with the bright morning sun streaming through the windows. Unfortunately, my desire for Leo to use those handcuffs on me is short-lived when I remind myself that if I don’t come clean with him right now, he’ll be really pissed when he has to use them on me in an extremely boring, non-sexual way.

“Leo, I-”

“Knock, knock, anyone home?” a voice shouts from the front door, cutting me off right when I’d gotten up the courage to talk.