He pulls me into his embrace, his hands resting on my waist, his eyes radiating affection. “I’m sorry, Andrea. But the thought of you in my kitchen,” he starts, one of his hands reaching for the hem of the garment, “wearing only my shirt—”
“Poor thing… That’s why you didn’t put one on?” I tease.
“Yes,” he humors, his hand moving up along the smoothness of my hips. Soon, he gets to where my underwear would be if I were a good girl. “Give it back.”
His attempt at getting me naked makes me scoff. “You need a better wardrobe if that’s your only shirt.”
“And you need to cover yourself better ifyou don’t want me fantasizing about your bare pussy.”
With that, he bends and takes my lips, hungry and demanding. I don’t fight him, but when he pushes me toward the counter, I say, “Baby, the food will get cold.” He ignores me and lifts the shirt to my waist before propping me on the counter. “Lex, it’s better when it’s hot.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” he replies, his agile fingers grazing up my intimate folds. Fuck… I’m already wet. He rubs gentle circles around my waking clit, and all notions of breakfast vanish.
The shirt is discarded on the floor next to him, and he gazes down at my breasts, his irises darkening with desire. My insecurities kick in despite everything we’ve shared, and I instinctively cover my exposed mounds. Lex grabs my wrist and easily pries my arm away.
“Don’t hide from me, Andrea. There isn’t one part of you I don’t find thoroughly perfect, including your breasts.”
“You’re the first person ever to like them.”
I’m not fishing for compliments, only speaking the truth. While the general shape is rather round, they’re so small that it doesn’t even matter. And my areolas are too large for the overall size of my boobs and a little puffy. I know what I have to offer, and it was never enough for other men. Three bluntly pointed out I was too flat for their tastes, and two asked if I ever considered breast implants.
“I don’t get people then,” Lex argues. “I like how your nipples are smooth and a light shade of brown, but when I do this,” he says, bending to take one in his mouth. My breath catches in my throat as he bites, sucks, and licks the sensitive tip. “When I do this, they get small, dark, and perky. I like how they move when you’re riding me or when I’m taking you hard. I like how they fit so well in my palms,” he continues, covering both of them with his hands and fondling them gently. “But I think what I like the most is that they are attached to you. I love them because they’re yours.”
“And a little yours, too.”
The reminder that I’m his is enough to make him lose the little restraint he has left, and he kisses me like a starving man, desperate to own me. An elegant “ding” comes from the coffee machine, reminding me of everything I cooked.
“Lex, baby…” I whisper, framing his face to force him to meet my eyes. Not only am I starving, but I also want us to enjoy what I cooked to the fullest and not eat it cold. “Brunch first, please. Then you can have as much of me as you want,” I offer.
He makes a sound halfway between a huff and a groan, then lowers to pick up the shirt. “Let’s eat, then, so I can eat you after.”
It might have been ambitious to think we’d be up for sex after the gargantuan brunch she cooked. Neither of us have the capacity to fuck, so we migrate to the couch instead.
When she suggests we use this time to start the movie lessons she’s supposed to give me in exchange for all the sex, I tell Iris to set up the room.
Andrea watches in awe as the wide screen rolls down from the ceiling and a 4k projector comes out of it as well. The curtains close, and we’re left in near darkness. Once she’s fetched her hard drive with her movies, I help her plug it in and we get settled on the couch.
Her choice for this first lesson isThe Lord of the Rings, a trilogy I’ve heard many things about but never seen. I’ve always preferred science fiction and the projected future they depict to fantasy. I say nothing, though, and tell myself I’ll at least enjoy the three hours and twenty-eight minutes together. Fucking hell, who makes movies that long?
To my surprise, I find myself quickly engrossed by the story and its characters. Andrea is lying down with her head on the couch’s armrest, and her legs are over my lap. Every now and then, she reaches for a candy in the bag on the low table—leftovers from Lucy’s visit. She looks good in her booty shorts and my hoodie, but Frodo and his friends have most of my attention.
Despite the compelling plot, I realize we’ve never felt like a couple as much as we do right now. This is the kind of intimacy I never expected to have with anyone, but I now crave to share more of this comfortable easiness with her.
Out of nowhere, she sits up, grabs my face, and gives me an intense peck on the lips before lying back down.
“What was that for?” I ask, slightly disoriented.
“You looked too adorable, all focused and intense.”
I shake my head with a light laugh and return my attention to the screen. After a few minutes, when Frodo and Sam leave the Shire for their quest, my hands begin to gently massage and graze the softness of her legs. Yes, I definitely want more of these moments. In fact, I think I want them for the rest of my life.
Whenever I get too engrossed in the movie and stop, she wriggles her legs, silently demanding that I resume. I give her an amused glance every time and return to the task.
I don’t miss the way she slightly presses her knees together whenever my hands venture too far up her thighs, even more so when I graze the inner part of them. What started as a platonic endeavor soon turns into a game I’m the only one playing, and I make it my goal to make her discreetly writhe and twist on the couch.
Right after the chaotic Council of Elrond, she gives up and grabs the remote on the table. “We’re taking a break,” she decides.
“Everything okay?” I ask, feigning innocence.
