The Feel Good Factor(53)
Love your sweet pussy.
So tight.
Love the way you grip me.
Love fucking you.
Soon I’m coming again, and he’s chasing me there, our shouts mingling in a chorus of sweat and ecstasy.
The best part isn’t the orgasm that rocks my world. It’s the way he wraps his arms around me, kisses my neck, and tells me I better spend the night in his bed again.
Somewhere out there, a warning sign flashes, telling me that all these nights together will zoom us straight down Feelings Street. But I ignore it, maybe because I’m already there.
*
I ignore it, too, because the moments with him are wonderful. After he brings me into his arms, he runs his fingers through my hair. “Thanks for taking me out with your friends tonight.”
“They’re your friends too.”
“I know. But I still appreciate it.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah, I kinda like this town.”
“You should think about staying,” I whisper. But I don’t say the next thing. I don’t mention where he’s going to stay or what happens when this month ends, if we keep living together or if something gives. Instead, I flip around and change the subject, wincing as I say it because of the reminder of the ticking clock. “So, that kissing contest next weekend?”
“Yes, the deal, the deadline,” he says, and it almost sounds like it pains him too to think of it.
“We only have a handful of nights left to practice kissing.”
“Don’t remind me,” he mutters then nuzzles me, kissing me like he can’t stop, like neither one of us is trying to meet the screw-till-we’re-out-of-our-systems deadline.
Even so, I need to pick a category for the contest by tomorrow, so I pull apart from him briefly. “What category do you think we’re best at?”
He brushes his finger against my top lip. “Seems we’ve always been good at the most passionate one. We would make everyone jealous, you know that?”
I tremble. “I do know that.”
“Doesn’t it feel like no one has ever kissed the way we do?”
The tremble turns into a full-body shudder. “It feels that way.”
He drops a soft kiss to my lips, and I wriggle against him. “Like nobody else could kiss this passionately.”
“It’s felt that way since the first time you kissed me.”
“It makes me want to keep kissing you,” he says, and he does.
He kisses me nearly all night long, and in the morning, it still feels like I didn’t get enough. He’s not any closer to being out of my system than he was a few days ago. In fact, he seems to be even deeper in it.
So deep, there’s a four-letter word for it.
29
Derek
I shoot a few hoops with Travis at the park on my day off on Monday.
I make a beaded bracelet with Molly in their backyard.
And Devon spends a whole lot of time working out her mouth on a teething ring. By the time seven thirty rolls around, I’m whistling a happy tune as I stroll down the street with the three monsters I love.
Because life is fucking good.
The job is firing on all cylinders.
The kids are well-adjusted, and Jodie’s managing her hubby’s deployment with my help.
The nights, though, are the best part. Perri and I have fallen into a rhythm of work, work out, eat, screw, sleep.
Later? Rinse and repeat.
Nothing like great sex to make a man feel as if he walks on water. And with Perri, I’m speeding, skiing, and boogie boarding over waves.
Nothing can get me down. Not even when Jodie calls and asks if I can hang around with the rug rats for another hour so she can finish her invoices. Absolutely, I tell her.
“Can we watch a movie, Uncle Derek?” Molly asks when I hang up.
“I want to see Wreck-It Ralph,” Travis adds, flashing the winning smile that nearly always gets him what he wants.
“What do you think, Dev?” I inquire of the little blonde baby hanging in the BabyBj?rn on my chest.
She coos her agreement.
Since I’m a few blocks from our house—I mean, Perri’s house—I head up the steps with the kiddos and knock on the front door.
With her red hair swept up in a messy bun and a curious glint in her eyes, Perri sweeps open the door. “You don’t have to knock.”
I gesture to my plus-three. “It’s the front door. That’s your domain. Plus, I have a crew with me.”
Molly pushes forward. “Perri, can we watch Wreck-It Ralph in your house with Uncle Derek? We’ll be good.” She bats her eyelashes.
“We promise we won’t be too loud,” Travis says, making the case too and pressing his little palms together.
Devon gurgles.
And Perri? Her smile is golden, like she’s lit up inside and glowing.
“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” She sweeps the door open.
She grabs her knitting from the table and stuffs it into a bag next to the sofa.
We pile into the living room, find the movie on Netflix, and stream it on the TV. The kids climb onto the couch with Devon in Molly’s arms, Travis wedged to my side, and Molly glued to Perri. That also puts the gorgeous redhead smack dab next to me, where I want her. We’re thigh to thigh, knee to knee as we watch.