Hungry For Curtis

“Thank you,” I say when he hands them to me.

“Let me help you,” he says softly, kneeling in front of me. My hand reaches out and touches his bearded cheek. He looks up at me and I get lost in his eyes.

“Thank you,” I repeat. “For everything.”

“It’s nothing, really. Nice belly button ring,” he says pulling my jeans up my legs. I lift off the bed and he pulls them up over my ass.

“Don’t think that I didn’t notice your hands lingering a little too long back there,” I say giggling. I am not a giggler, so I don’t know where that came from.

“A man doesn’t touch a woman’s backside if he doesn’t think she’ll notice.”

“That makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” he smiles at me and it’s disarming.

“So, I can make it home on my own,” I tell him.

“I’m a gentleman, Keitha. I’ll deliver you to your door,” he says standing. He walks back over to the counter and grabs my sneakers. I move to grab them from him but he’s already kneeling again and sliding them onto my feet. The cute turkey socks I picked out this morning seemed cute but now seems so childish. He says nothing about the socks as he deftly ties my shoes and stands back up. “I don’t know where your shirt is, but you can wear my chef coat.”

“What?” For the first time, I look down and see that I am just wearing my white bra.

“Huh. Okay. This day just keeps getting better and better.” I could get embarrassed, but the doctor was right. I am exhausted. My mouth goes dry and my pussy gets wets when he takes his chef jacket off and he’s just wearing a tight muscle tank. Holy shit. He helps me into the coat that smells like him and cayenne pepper.

“It’ll get better, Keitha.”

“Alright, Ms. Robinson, you’re free to go. Just sign this and the doctor said to drink lots of fluid and get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” I say, signing my name on the document she puts in front of me. She smiles warmly and leaves the room.

“Alright, let’s get some food in that belly and get you home.”

“I’m not feeling up to a restaurant. Can we do some takeout and have it at my place?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says holding his hand out to me. I take it gratefully and let him lead me.

Back in his truck, I buckle my seatbelt. I don’t know this man, but I feel safer with him than I ever have felt with anyone before. I am also nervous though. Nervous to be alone with this man because all I want to do is jump his bones.

“What should we eat?”

“Chinese? Pizza? Tacos? You decide.”

“Pizza,” I say instantly. “I have a nice bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon decanting right now.”

“That sounds good to me,” he says, starting the truck. The radio comes on and an old school NSync song comes on. I giggle. What is wrong with me?

“My sisters borrowed my truck the other day, I swear,” he says, and I nod like I think he’s lying.

“Uh-huh. So, when you got in the truck in the days since, you didn’t change it? I ask before singing along to the song.

“So, shall we?” he asks, ignoring my question, which makes me smile.

“We shall.”

I don’t have time to wonder why I feel so comfortable with this man, but I do and that tells me all that I need to know about him. It also tells me that I want to know everything about him and that’s going to be so much fun.Chapter ThreeCurtisAfter stopping for pizza, she directs me to a building on Dumaine Street. I park in front of it and we get out of the truck,

“I’m in apartment six,” she says automatically holding her hand out to me. Balancing the pizza in my other hand, I take hers and smile to myself. She’s like sunshine and oxygen and I need more of it.

Inside her apartment, it’s chic if not sparsely decorated. A huge TV, a couch and a coffee table is all that's in the room besides the wall of bookcases that aren't built in. The kitchen is bright, with yellow countertop appliances and accents everywhere. I do notice that she has two double ovens attached to the wall. That makes sense; she bakes a lot.

“This is a great place,” I tell her.

“Thanks. I can’t believe my luck that I found it and that it was pretty much in my non-existent budget,” she says laughing. That little laugh goes straight to my balls. “Let me take that,” she says, taking the pizza, setting it on the kitchen counter. “If you want to find a movie or something, I really need a shower. There’s still cake in my hair.”

“Of course,” I say and she heads into what I assume is her bedroom since this is clearly a studio apartment and I start looking for the TV control, finally locating under a soft blanket on the couch. Firing it up, I find a movie on her Amazon Prime and cue it up, pausing it. It's almost Thanksgiving, but she has a whole bunch of Christmas movies ready to go so I chose one of those When she comes back out, her hair dry and straight, much different from the curls earlier but just as gorgeous. She’s wearing a University of New Orleans basketball sweatshirt and a tiny pair of white shorts. I can see the outline of her pussy lips and my throat is suddenly dry. My mouth drops open and all I can do is stare at her. And dream about her sitting on my face. Damn, I gotta stop doing that.