We finish the loop with her dramatically gasping for air, and me trying valiantly not to laugh. At the bakery, she points at pretty much everything on display, except the ones with creamcheese because, according to her, cream cheese doesn't belong on pastries. It belongs on bagels.
Hard to argue.
But, as Emily pulls the first croissant from the bag, I try anyway. “Aren’t bagels pastries?” She immediately stops and looks at me with wide eyes and a serious look. “Alex, any man with this question will never get anywhere near my pussy ever again. Or, just to be clear,” she raises one finger in the air, then points it downwards, “my vagina.” I’m leaving Croissant out of this.”
I try to stifle my laughter, “Just winding you up, Em, I know bagels are bread, not pastries. I might be ex-military, but I’m not a neanderthal.”
“Neandertahl is perfectly fine with me, on my terms and in certain situations… situations like last night, for example.” Emily’s eyes sparkle. Her morning torture dwindling fast.
We both smile.
Emily bites into the first chocolate croissant and makes a sound that goes straight to my groin. "Oh my God. Worth it. Almost worth it. I knew I had a strong will to live."
See, this is nothing to her, but watching her eat is its own kind of torture. She takes small, careful bites, closing her eyes with each one, making tiny sounds of pleasure. By the third croissant, I'm thinking about all the other ways I could make her make those sounds.
Walking back to the apartment, she bumps her shoulder against my arm. "Thanks for this. Even though running is still evil, and I will never voluntarily wake up early to punish myself."
"You're welcome. And it feels good to run."
"I only feel good because of the croissants."
"A win is a win."
Emily links her arm through mine, and I realize how much of a touchy person she is. I have zero complaints because I like it. "Is this what you do every morning?"
"Six miles. Same route."
"Six? We did, what, three? And I nearly died."
"Three and a half."
"You're a monster."
In the elevator,her scent fills the small space. Her hair has mostly escaped its ponytail, and a flush still colors her cheeks.
"I need a shower," she says, pulling at her hoodie. "I'm disgusting and sweaty."
Without hesitation, I take her hand. "Come to my place."
"Y-your place?"
"My shower's bigger and we need to conserve water…"
"…by showering together, right? Genius idea."
The elevator dings, and we walk to my door in silence.
Inside my apartment, she looks around, taking in the sparse furnishings. I don't give her time to explore. Taking her hand, I lead her to the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting it heat up.
Emily keeps looking around. "This is your apartment. It's nice. Very ... you. Minimal, but in a good way. Not like empty or anything. What I mean is?—"
I kiss her to stop the nervous rambling, only pulling back to tug my shirt over my head. Without taking my eyes off her, I kick off my shoes and pull down my shorts and briefs in one motion, my cock jutting proudly against my stomach.
Emily's gaze zeroes in on my cock, and she whistles. "Oh, boy. You are gifted … everywhere. Okay, wait. My turn."
She takes her shoes and clothes off in record time, and I forget how to breathe.
Her body is all soft curves—full breasts with pale pink nipples, a gentle slope to her stomach, wide hips. Nothing like the hard angles of mine. I saw it last night, but it was dim. In the light of day, she looks like a fucking goddess.
