After Hours (InterMix)(61)
“Take a shower,” he said, tossing the covers aside. “I’ll get the coffee started.”
“As you command.”
He smirked at me as he stood, mischievous and approving. He’d slept in his shorts, and my attention got dragged down his chest and abs and crotch and those big thighs. The blush drained from my cheeks, seeking other parts to heat.
“Get your eyes off my dick and get your butt in the shower,” he said, sleepy Kelly clearly punching out and handing the reins to Taskmaster Robak.
I did as I was told, warming to the idea of his domineering side returning.
Kelly’s shower nearly flayed all my skin off, and I had to turn it way down to keep from getting bruised by the water pressure. Parts of me already felt tenderized, my labia stinging as I soaped myself, my backside sore from his slaps. Even my eyes felt overly sensitive to the bright bathroom lights.
I rinsed the conditioner from my hair, then shrieked to find Kelly leaning against the wall, watching me through a gap in the curtain.
“Jesus!”
He didn’t apologize, just let his gaze drop down and rise back up, looking like some hybrid of hungry and amused, but in no hurry to pounce.
“How d’you like your eggs?”
“However. Just not runny.”
He nodded once and disappeared, drawing the curtain back in place on clacking plastic rings.
Once dry, I pulled on yesterday’s skirt, clasped a bra and found a clean tee shirt from my bag. I skipped underwear, liking how it felt. Like a secret, just between me and the cool morning air, until Kelly came prowling and found me out. I dabbed concealer under my eyes, threw on some mascara and declared myself presentable.
Following the ambrosial smell of bacon, I found Kelly in the kitchen, scrambling eggs in a glass bowl.
“Coffee’s ready.”
I filled a mug and stood on the other side of the counter. The condom wrapper was still there, and I picked it up and studied it, smirking.
He poured the eggs into a pan with a sizzle, then fetched glasses from a cupboard.
“Orange juice or milk?”
“Is there any champagne left? We could have mimosas.”
Kelly swapped our tumblers for stemware, and grabbed the bottle from the fridge. At some point he’d corked it with a rubber stopper, and it came out with a limp pop. I poured us each a measure and topped it off with OJ.
Soon enough he set plates on the breakfast bar, heaped with scrambled eggs and bacon and toast—two Kelly-sized servings. Then again, I’d need my strength, if today’s sex-a-thon was going to be a repeat of yesterday’s.
We pulled high stools to the counter and Kelly held up his glass. I tapped it with mine, not bothering to ask what we were toasting. To more nasty sex, I thought. Fucking cheers to that.
I sipped my mimosa. “There’s something awfully satisfying about a cocktail that’s socially acceptable before noon. Makes me feel like I’m getting away with something.”
“You’ll love Larkhaven then, if you stick around long enough to attend any inter-ward meetings. Anytime there’s an off-campus powwow to discuss some policy change, people come in totally hungover the next morning.”
“I noticed everyone seemed pretty thirsty at that going-away party.”
He nodded. “It’d be exhausting doing any of our jobs for a regular eight-hour shift. Make it twelve? That’d make a hobbyist drinker out of anybody.”
I stabbed at my eggs, thinking. “Do you ever worry about drinking? You know, because of how your dad was.”
He shook his head. “He wasn’t my biological father.”
“Oh. Do you know who was?”
“I think so.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“Kind of.”
Kelly wasn’t normally one to be cagey, and I wasn’t normally one to pry, but curiosity had me pressing. “Did you always know your stepdad wasn’t your real dad?”
“No. Not ’til he got real drunk and told me, when I was about thirteen.”
I waited patiently to see if he’d continue. After a few forkfuls of egg, he did.
“I remember it like it was a movie I’ve seen a hundred times. We were in the den, watching the Lions play the Vikings in Minnesota, and they lost. Bad. My dad was wasted, which is like saying the sun rose that day. I was just hitting my growth spurt and I was marinating in angry hormones all the time. I’d just realized I was too big and too quick for him to wale on, and how to detect if he was too drunk and tired to bother trying. So I’d goad him.”