Once I’m inside, I realize no one is home. I sigh. All of that rushing for nothing. But then I decide maybe it’s a good thing that she’s not back just yet. I don’t imagine I smell too great after working my ass off, and I know I’m dirty as hell, covered in rust and grit and God knows what else from the giant cargo boxes.
I send her a quick text: I’ve waited all day to see that beautiful face. When will I see you again?
I change out of my filthy clothes and turn the water on in the shower. It takes a while for it to warm up, so I shave in the sink and wait.
A minute later my phone chimes. I see Channa’s name and my heart does a little flip in my chest.
Channa: We’ll be back soon. We went to a museum.
There’s a heart emoji at the end of her words and I force myself not to read too much into it.
Me: Send me a pic.
She sends one, but it’s a picture of one of the paintings she’s looking at. I smile.
Me: Of you, pretty girl.
Channa: Oh, lol. Sorry.
She sends me a selfie of her next to a marble statue. Europe has some of the most beautiful art in the world and yet I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Channa. She belongs in that museum, as a monument, as something the world should celebrate and charge ridiculous fees to marvel at and take pictures of.
Me: Beautiful. I can’t wait to see you.
Channa: I can’t wait to see you too. Soon. I promise.
Reluctantly, I get in the shower. I don’t want to keep bombarding her with texts. I know this is her dream vacation and she wants to see all the sites. I can’t be selfish and keep her with me even though I want to.
I’m glad I bought a waterproof phone last year. I’m able to take it into the shower with me. I stare at the image of Channa until my cock starts to stir. I slowly stroke myself and picture her perfect, curvy naked body on the bed, her legs spread out while I eat her tight virgin pussy. God, that thing was amazing. She’d tasted so sweet, and her scent was addicting. The memory has my dick so hard right now that it hurts.
I pump faster, looking for some relief, stroking it while staring at the picture of Channa. I pay close attention to her lips, how full and pouty they are, and I imagine them wrapped around my cock. The daydream sends my body into overdrive. I place my phone on the little nook carved into the tile for the soap and stroke my cock even faster. I picture myself fucking that sweet pussy, how it convulsed, how it squeezed around me as she came, and the torrent of cum than poured from her when she was done. I’ve never seen a girl get as wet as she does.
Holy shit, I want her so bad.
I can’t take it anymore. My dick explodes. Ropes of cum pulse out of me, hitting the tile shower walls. I’d forgotten to breathe and have to lean against the wall and stabilize myself before I pass out.
I need her again. I want the real thing, not just the memory. I want her body wrapped up with mine. I want us so close it’s impossible to tell where she begins and I end. Just want every part of her: heart, soul, body. I want to be that couple who people can’t imagine one without the other. The kind of couple that people make up dumb nicknames for, like Kanna or Chain. I need her. The thought of her leaving at the end of the week is terrifying.
An hour later the girls arrive back to the house. My heart leaps into my throat when I hear Channa’s voice in the other room. I follow it into the kitchen. When I see her, my world lights up. She’s wearing a gray dress and long bulky black sweater with her boots. She’s barely showing any skin and it’s impossible to see her shape, but I’m turned on none the less. Her auburn hair is loose around her shoulders. I want to run my fingers through it, smell her shampoo, breathe that scent that’s purely and uniquely hers. I’ve never been around someone who makes everything better just by existing. It’s a feeling like no other, and one I don’t want to ever go away.
“Hungry?” she says, her beautiful smile beaming when she sees me. “We’re making dinner.”
I wish her friends could disappear into thin air, just for a moment, so I can run to her and kiss her lips and touch her body. God, she’s something else.
“Starving,” I say.
“Good. I’ve been marinating these steaks all day.” She hands me the plate of meat and I head out to the back porch. There’s a fire pit in the small back yard as well as a barbeque. I make a fire for the pit, using the wood stacked up by the garage door. Then I light the grill. Channa makes a potato salad and Deb cuts fruit. Apparently Lillian is not allowed to cook after poisoning a room full of people with undercooked chicken, so now she’s been designated the bartender. She might not be able to cook but she makes a mean Long Island Iced Tea.