Man Juice
“Thanks,” I grumble and give him a tip as he pushes the cart inside the apartment.
The bellhop thanks me for the tip and turns to leave, going back down the same hallway he came from.
I close the door behind me and bring the tray to the bedroom, gently placing it down on the bed beside the still sleeping Molly.
I’m surprised that the doorbell didn’t wake her up; she must be a heavy sleeper.
At any rate, I’m getting fucking bored as shit having to sit here by myself, and I’d rather enjoy the meal with her than without her, so I decide to kiss her to wake her from her dreamy slumber.
“Hey,” I whisper and gently rub the small of her back, right above her juicy ass cheeks. “Wake up, sleepy head.”
Molly stirs and sighs, but she doesn’t come out of her dozing state. I kiss her cheek, then her neck and feel her reaction by chill bumps raising on her skin.
Molly opens her eyes and blinks while she adjusts to the light in the room. She props herself up on her elbows and looks at me in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I have dinner here for us.”
I point to the tray of delicacies from the five-star kitchen of The Avalon, which has also been featured in tons of swanky magazines for its top rated, world-renowned chefs.
“Um…” Molly chuckles and eyes the food.
“My offer to you was and still is to buy you dinner,” I explain. “I never ever break any of the promises I make.” I eye her with a cocky grin.
“I suppose you don’t,” she laughs, and shakes her head. “You’re proving your point well, sir,” she says with a smile.
“Thank you,” I say as I open the lids to the plates. “Shall we dig in?”
“Where did you get this food?” Molly scratches her head and yawns. I fucking love how comfortable she already is around me. Most girls I sleep with want to fuck and leave, not even getting to know me.
I know what you’re thinking, that I’m a punk who needs constant attention. Well, you’re only partially right on that front. I don’t know why it is, but…after sex, I feel the need for companionship, however fleeting that moment turns out to be. And it is always fleeting.
“I ordered it from downstairs,” I say.
“Downstairs?” Molly repeats in apprehensive question.
“Room service.” I take the lids off the trays.
“Wow,” Molly says. “That’s quite impressive. The only thing my apartment building has is a laundry room,” she chuckles.
“I have to pay extra for this feature,” I admit. “It’s worth it, though. I
spare no expense for convenience and luxury.”
“I can see that.” Molly nods in agreement, a slight smile on her lips.
She wraps a blanket from the bed around her body and sits on the seat I graciously pull out for her. See? I can be a gentleman if I really put my mind to it.
I hand her a plate of filet mignon with a side of cranberry salad and white truffle cakes for dessert. “What if I can’t finish all this food?” Molly’s eyes grow wide.
“Just eat what you want,” I say and take a bite of my own steak.
“Thanks for ordering this stuff,” Molly digs right in.
“I admire a woman who’s not afraid to eat,” I admit.
Molly grins. “Then you’re about to see something really special,” she jokes and starts practically fucking inhaling the food on her plate.
I laugh. It is kind of refreshing to see her give no fucks attitude about eating in front of me. The typical models and actresses and strippers I date let all the good meals I buy them go totally fucking to waste.