How she would taste.
How all of her would taste…
Her skin…
Her tight, hot pu**y…
Fine. I spent all of my night either worrying about Mia, or thinking about all the ways I want to do her.
Mia was on my mind all goddamn night.
Happy?
Cause I’m f**king not.
Fuck this shit.
I push off the wall, arm raised with the purpose of banging on the door, when Mia suddenly opens it.
“Shit!”
“Jesus!”
My arm is still raised mid-air, and my heart is pounding like a motherfucker.
Mia’s eyes are on my raised arm, her breaths coming in quick, chest heaving.
Fuck, her tits look great in that top.
And I’m staring.
Eyes avert. I lower my arm to my side.
“Sorry,” I say at the same time as she does.
I lift my eyes to hers and grin. Her eyes smile at me.
“I just—”
“I was—”
She laughs.
The sound is so f**king sexy.
I want her. I can honestly say I have never wanted anything more in my life than her. My c**k is throbbing. It’s a pleasure/pain thing.
Pleasure at the sight of her.
Pain that he can’t get in her.
I think he’s dying of thirst. He needs to bathe in the fountain of Mia.
Am I experiencing sexual frustration? Shit … I think I might be. So this is what it’s like. It’s pretty torturous. How the hell do monks survive? I know for a fact that I’m not going to last much longer without getting laid.
“You go.” She gestures.
What?
Oh yeah, we were talking. Kind of.
I push my hands in my pockets and shift on my feet. “I just came to let you know breakfast is ready, and also to see what time you wanted to head out to Farmington?”
“You still want to go with me?” She looks surprised.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Her eyes drop to her feet.
I follow her gaze down, wishing her legs weren’t covered in denim right now. I see she’s wearing a pair of flip-flops and that her toenails are painted pink.
Is it strange that the sight of her feet is turning me on?
Yeah, well if it is, I don’t care. I want to push her back onto the bed, take those flip-flips off, then her jeans, and lick my way down her sexy instep, all the way up those gorgeous legs until I reach home.
“Because … well, uh…” Her soft voice pulls me back to her. “Because of last night.”
I frown. I can’t help it. “Nothing’s changed.” Everything’s changed. “Last night … it’s your business. If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If not…” I lift my shoulders. “I’m still here.”
Jesus, could I sound any more like a woman? I’ll be growing a vagina if I keep this shit up.
A smile touches the corners of her lips.
Our eyes catch, and I almost flinch from the pang that flashes across my chest.
That shit is getting on my last goddamn nerve.
I only get it when I’m with Mia.
Maybe it’s…?
No.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Are you ready to eat now?” I blurt out.
She looks a little taken aback at my abruptness. “Yes.”
“Okay. Good.” I turn and walk down the hall.
I was short. I didn’t mean to be, and I know I’m having mood swings like a hormonal teenager, but I just can’t seem to control my emotions around her. My head is all over the goddamn place.
I hear the door click close behind me, then the gentle sound of flip-flops slapping against her feet.
The sound is like a beat inside my chest.
I’m out on the terrace before she is. It’s a warm morning, so I thought she might like to eat outside.
I set the table already. I called Paula last night and told her not to come in today. There’s not much that needs doing, nothing I can’t do myself.
It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I like being here with Mia. Alone.
Nothing at all.
“You mind if I eat with you?” I check as she takes a seat.
She’s still a guest here, and I have to remind myself of that. Even if I am letting myself get a little entwined in her life.
Her smile is a puzzled one. “No, of course not.”
“Cool.” I start to back away toward the door. “What would you like to drink?”
“Coffee would be great.”
I head in the kitchen. I have the food already on a tray, so I just add the coffee pot, cream and sugar.
“I made a few things,” I say as I come back outside. “I wasn’t sure what you would like, but last night you said you were easy to please…” I grin as I put the tray of waffles, pancakes, bacon and toast down in the middle of the table.
“You made all of this … for me?” She gulps. Her eyes are glittering.
A feeling yanks inside my chest like the pulling of puppet strings. I shift uncomfortably.
“Yeah, well, you are a paying guest.” I shrug.
Her face falls. “Yes, of course.” Her words are quiet, but they’ve affected me more than if she had yelled them at me.
I’m such a f**king idiot.
“Shit, that sounded…” I take the seat across from her. “I don’t make breakfast like this for everyone.”
Actually, I’ve never made a breakfast like this for anyone in my life before, come to think of it. I don’t do breakfast for the guests. Paula or Dad do. And if I did, they’d be lucky to get a bowl of cereal.