Cake Love: All Things Payne(109)

"Please, Henrik."

I glance back at his hand which is now moving off me and gravitating toward my mouth.

"You want to suck it don't you, Morgana? You love to taste yourself on me, don't you?"

I nod my head just as his fingertips brush my lips. As his fingers push into my mouth with the scent of me and him mixing together to add to the taste I realize I am not lying when I agree with his words. My eyes flutter closed as he begins to thrust harder into me.

Within moments the urgent need of my release comes to the tipping point. Henrik shifts us so that I am on my back as he hovers over top of me. His fingers find their way back into my mouth so my tongue can swirl around them. While his other hand dips down to my clit and with just one brush of his thumb I am over the edge, hurtling down.

The orgasm is as long as it is intense. My head thrashes the pillow and I tremble underneath Henrik.

"God. Oh God, Morgana. You're so f*cking beautiful."

He groans and then surrounds me in his arms nuzzling into my neck as his climax consumes him. I wrap my legs around him as his breathing settles to a steadier pace. Henrik lifts his head and we smile at each other.

Our lips come together as we kiss. The kiss is passionate yet refreshing. After a minute or two of his sweet affection for me Henrik rolls to my side and removes the condom, tossing it in the trash by my bed.

He pulls me close as he lies back on the pillows. I curl into him and begin to trace the dark lines on his stomach.

"Don't think I didn't know what you were doing when we were having sex, Morgana."

"What do you mean?"

"Tricking me with letting you suck my fingers. I'm not na?ve, though I will say that is something I will fall for every time. Worth it."

I look up into his bright blue eyes and see him smiling at me.

"I figured as much. It was a risk I had to take, Henrik. You have to have one weakness; you can't be Superman all the time."

His eyes sparkle at that. I think it is me calling him Superman. Every man wants to be compared to a superhero.

"If I'm Superman, then are you Lois Lane?"

"Fuck no! I'm Wonder Woman. Pew, pew ... pew ... pew!"

I throw punches in the air as I fend off imaginary bullets with my awesome bracelets. Henrik laughs so hard I think he might roll off the bed. I try to save him with my lasso of truth which just ends with us having sex again. This scenario repeats itself most of the night until we fall asleep around two in the morning.





THE END


My Doodle Writing


These are little stories I start or writing prompts I participate in. I usually don’t do much more with them (like turn them into a book), but it’s fun to write little stuff. Also, if someone really likes it and tells me I might consider expanding it into a bigger story. You can let me know through my Fan Group: SWIM Meet, as I am always posting these there. Or you can message me on Facebook or Twitter or Email me. Sign up for my newsletter to get free stories or special deals too!



Halloween:

When I got home that night, I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern in my front yard was crushed. Sighing I shook my head as the trail of tears dried on my cheeks. Despite the chill in the air and only wearing a pink T-shirt and oversized flannel shirt with navy yoga pants I feel numb. Staring at the splattered orange remains I even release a small chuckle remembering how my six year old son, Franklin, was so proud of the drawing he made that mommy was to carve on the pumpkin. He worked so hard on getting the smile just right. Now that toothy grin is shattered and in pieces.

I sit on the cold cement step, a spot not spoiled by pumpkin, lifting a stray seed. My hand is shaking from the realization of everything. The tears start up again. Why did I have to yell? Franklin was just being a kid. So what if he threw the pumpkin at the steps causing it to explode. He liked destroying things. I joked he would grow up to work with explosives one day, causing me to parish with worry. I shouldn’t have screamed at him. It was my fault he ran away. Ran so far into a busy street causing that blue van to hit him.

Perhaps if I hadn’t yelled he would be here with me right now, not laying in a hospital bed fighting for his life. I didn’t want to leave his side, the nurses practically forcing me to go home and change. Maybe it was their way of saying a watched pot never boils, or a little boy in a coma never wakes with his mom by his side. It has been three days. I can even smell myself. He can’t smell me, he can’t do anything because of my temper. Even Franklin’s father, as he was leaving me last year like a cliché for his secretary, told me that at least she doesn’t get angry at every little thing. She makes him feel worthy. My temper has drove one man away and is stealing the life from a little boy.

Something is vibrating and I hear the chimes from my cell phone. Frantically my hands pats down my chest as I discover my cell phone buzzing to life in the front pocket of my worn flannel shirt. I stare at the glowing screen of my old black Android with a number I don’t recognize. But I know. I just know it’s the hospital. I can feel the blood drain from my body and notice for the first time how chilled my hands are. My heart is thumping loudly in my ear as a cloudy white overtakes my sight. My shaky finger presses the green accept button and I try my best to sound strong as I answer hello in to my phone.

I was right. It’s the hospital. I close my eyes and listen, pressing the phone to my ear a little too hard. He’s awake they tell me. The doctors want to run some tests that I need to sign off on. They explain a few other details but I don’t really hear them. I think I might have even dropped the phone. After a minute my phone goes dark so they must have hung up. It’s okay though because he’s awake. It’s okay I am laying in the middle of smashed, icy pumpkin shards sobbing so deeply I hear a few neighbors asking if I am alright. I try to respond but my throat is too full of relief, pain and understanding that words aren’t even a remote possibility. I feel a hand on my arm and look up to see a man. A neighbor? Someone just walking by? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. He is here to help and for the first time in my life I am going to admit I need help. To heal. To learn not to yell anymore.