starts to rock his hardness against me.
I moan a little, and that’s all it takes. We’re rising out of the water. I’m being dried by Hunter’s big, deft hands. Wrapped in a huge, plush, black towel. And then I’m being carried to the bed.
He lies me on my back, drives himself into me, and makes me scream until my throat hurts. Then he pulls me under the covers, holds me close, and whispers, “I think I’ll invite them. If it goes badly, I’ll still have you.”
“Yes. You definitely will.”
*
MARCHANT
“Oh God. Yeah . Harder, baby.”
Suri giggles, and I strain to look over my shoulder. She’s behind me, grinning from underneath a helmet of tin foil she got at the salon. We’re on my bed, and she’s giving me what I’ve come to think of as my nightly back massage.
“You’re making me want to…do some other things,” I pant.
“Oh, is that right?” She keeps rubbing. “Maybe after this,” she says. “For sure, after this. And I want to hear about Marissa, too. Specifically, if she confessed yet.”
I don’t know why it doesn’t bother her, but Suri doesn’t mind hearing about Marissa. She’s in rehab in Denver, and her counselor thinks her addiction issues have something to with our mess, so she’s called twice these last two weeks. Most recently about an hour ago, while Suri was having her hair done. Neither time has Marissa been willing to admit that she came into my house and hurt Suri. But we all know she did. She’s the police’s only suspect.
Suri digs her fingers into my sore muscles, and I make noises in my throat.
“Ahhh.”
Another giggle. “You’re such a ham.”
“You’re fucking good.” I turn around and see her smug little grin, and I have to have her—now. I toss her gently down onto her back and start to stroke her pussy through the pink fleece robe she’s wearing, but instead of moaning like she’s supposed to, she sits up a little, looking tense. “Marchant…I’ve got foil in my hair.”
“I don’t care.”
She laughs. “You’ll mess up my new, copper highlights.”
She scrambles up, grabs me by the hands, and tugs me toward the edge of the bed, until I’m sitting there with my legs dangling off. My cock is hard, because I think I know where this is going.
Yep.
She scoots down off the bed, parts the flaps of my black robe, twirls her hands around me and grins. “Foil or no foil, I can still do this.”
“Hell yes.”
She leans down and takes me deep into her mouth, and I start groaning. I’ve never been loud before, but Suri brings it out of me.
I grip her shoulders, since her hair isn’t available to be tugged, and after a few more sucks, I’m really wanting to taste her, too.
I pull her up onto the bed, lie beneath her, and murmur, “Let me eat that pussy.”
I do, and she returns the favor, gobbling me down, and when we’re finished, she shrieks and says, “It’s time to wash the dye out! Help!”
So I take her into the bathroom and do it in the sink. A couple of days ago, I got her a little chair to do her makeup. I sit her down in that and lean her had back into the sink, where I wash out what she tells me is organic dye, and rub her head a little longer, just for shit and giggles.
I lean down and kiss her lips and smile at her. “You look good with some sud, baby.”
She gives me a sleepy smile, and I go back to massaging. “Thanks.”
I try to do something like this for her every day. More than one thing. Something to make her want to stay. And I think it’s working, because since the day Marissa was here—she says she didn’t come here, but we know she did—Suri hasn’t gone back to California once. Well, she has once. I flew with her, even though I fucking hate to fly. We got some books of fabric swatches she left under her bed, but she flew back with me. She got me nice and drunk and did me on the plane. One of the better flights I’ve had.
My garden house is starting to feel like home with her
I moan a little, and that’s all it takes. We’re rising out of the water. I’m being dried by Hunter’s big, deft hands. Wrapped in a huge, plush, black towel. And then I’m being carried to the bed.
He lies me on my back, drives himself into me, and makes me scream until my throat hurts. Then he pulls me under the covers, holds me close, and whispers, “I think I’ll invite them. If it goes badly, I’ll still have you.”
“Yes. You definitely will.”
*
MARCHANT
“Oh God. Yeah . Harder, baby.”
Suri giggles, and I strain to look over my shoulder. She’s behind me, grinning from underneath a helmet of tin foil she got at the salon. We’re on my bed, and she’s giving me what I’ve come to think of as my nightly back massage.
“You’re making me want to…do some other things,” I pant.
“Oh, is that right?” She keeps rubbing. “Maybe after this,” she says. “For sure, after this. And I want to hear about Marissa, too. Specifically, if she confessed yet.”
I don’t know why it doesn’t bother her, but Suri doesn’t mind hearing about Marissa. She’s in rehab in Denver, and her counselor thinks her addiction issues have something to with our mess, so she’s called twice these last two weeks. Most recently about an hour ago, while Suri was having her hair done. Neither time has Marissa been willing to admit that she came into my house and hurt Suri. But we all know she did. She’s the police’s only suspect.
Suri digs her fingers into my sore muscles, and I make noises in my throat.
“Ahhh.”
Another giggle. “You’re such a ham.”
“You’re fucking good.” I turn around and see her smug little grin, and I have to have her—now. I toss her gently down onto her back and start to stroke her pussy through the pink fleece robe she’s wearing, but instead of moaning like she’s supposed to, she sits up a little, looking tense. “Marchant…I’ve got foil in my hair.”
“I don’t care.”
She laughs. “You’ll mess up my new, copper highlights.”
She scrambles up, grabs me by the hands, and tugs me toward the edge of the bed, until I’m sitting there with my legs dangling off. My cock is hard, because I think I know where this is going.
Yep.
She scoots down off the bed, parts the flaps of my black robe, twirls her hands around me and grins. “Foil or no foil, I can still do this.”
“Hell yes.”
She leans down and takes me deep into her mouth, and I start groaning. I’ve never been loud before, but Suri brings it out of me.
I grip her shoulders, since her hair isn’t available to be tugged, and after a few more sucks, I’m really wanting to taste her, too.
I pull her up onto the bed, lie beneath her, and murmur, “Let me eat that pussy.”
I do, and she returns the favor, gobbling me down, and when we’re finished, she shrieks and says, “It’s time to wash the dye out! Help!”
So I take her into the bathroom and do it in the sink. A couple of days ago, I got her a little chair to do her makeup. I sit her down in that and lean her had back into the sink, where I wash out what she tells me is organic dye, and rub her head a little longer, just for shit and giggles.
I lean down and kiss her lips and smile at her. “You look good with some sud, baby.”
She gives me a sleepy smile, and I go back to massaging. “Thanks.”
I try to do something like this for her every day. More than one thing. Something to make her want to stay. And I think it’s working, because since the day Marissa was here—she says she didn’t come here, but we know she did—Suri hasn’t gone back to California once. Well, she has once. I flew with her, even though I fucking hate to fly. We got some books of fabric swatches she left under her bed, but she flew back with me. She got me nice and drunk and did me on the plane. One of the better flights I’ve had.
My garden house is starting to feel like home with her
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