He doesn’t answer, but slides a finger under the hem of my panties, pulling them to the side. Then the head of his cock is pushing against me, sliding inside, and I let out a guttural moan as he fills me. It’s perfect. The burn from years without sex is just a smidgeon outside of painful, but I love it. I’d almost forgotten how spectacular this feeling is. Or maybe in a method of self-preservation, I’d blocked it out. Because this? There is no way anything could ever top how extraordinary it feels to be fucked by Leo Santo.
“Jesus, El,” he grunts. “God, you feel so fucking good. This is gonna be quick. I need you to get there with me.”
I murmur incoherently, aware that my orgasm is barreling toward us at breakneck speed. Leo barely has time to pull all the way out before I’ve clamped down on him, my back bowing off the wall. A kaleidoscope of color explodes behind my eyelids as I cryout. Leo only manages a couple more pumps before he comes, resting his head against my neck.
“That was quicker than I intended,” he mutters sheepishly, chuckling against my skin. The sensation makes me shiver, and I feel him smile. “It’s, uh, been a while for me.”
“Me too,” I admit, suddenly shy. It’s like our first time all over again, but we’re middle-aged and sex-starved. I let my legs slide off his waist, and he slowly lowers me to the ground. As soon as his cock slips out of me, I feel empty. That familiar ache is there, but it feels wrong all of a sudden. Like Leo is meant to always be inside of me.
The familiar feeling of his release slipping out of me makes me grimace, and Leo’s eyes widen. “Shit. I didn’t use a condom.”
“It’s okay. Pretty sure it’s the wrong time of the month,” I tell him as I walk into the bathroom.
“You aren’t on birth control?” he asks.
“No. Not dating, so no need for birth control. Plus, that costs money, and I’d rather my funds go to food and utilities,” I call out as I clean myself up. I hear a knock on the door, and as I walk back into the living room, Leo is opening it to a frazzled Whitley. “What happened?”
“She’s got a fever, and she literally won’t stop crying. I tried everything, El.” Whitley looks exhausted, with a handful of hair out of her messy bun. As she walks toward me with Oliver trailing behind her, Violet lunges out of Whitley’s arms and into Leo’s.
“Hey, baby girl,” he coos, settling her against his shoulder. He absentmindedly kisses her forehead, then looks at me. “She’s really warm.”
“Let me grab the thermometer and infant Tylenol,” I say, dashing into my bedroom. Whitley follows me in, cornering me by my en suite bathroom.
“Did I interrupt something?” she hisses. “Crap. I’m so sorry. You look deliciously fucked, my friend.”
“You technically didn’t interrupt anything, but you would haveif you were five minutes sooner,” I admit with a grin. Whitley squeals, jumping up and down as she claps her hands.
“I knew it was only a matter of time! Good for you, girl. Get back on that horse!”
I shake my head as I stride past her, items in hand. Violet’s cheeks are red, and she looks miserable as she rests her head on Leo’s shoulder. I run the temporal thermometer across her forehead, finding it well over one-oh-two.
“Is the butt temperature only for really new babies?” Whitley asks, and Leo chuckles.
“The butt temperature,” he deadpans.
Whitley throws her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know what it’s called! You stick it up their butt.”
“It’s a rectal thermometer, and yes, it’s usually more accurate at this age. But,” I say, rubbing my hand down Violet’s back, “I don’t want to aggravate her any more right now. She clearly feels like crap. We’ll see if Tylenol helps.”
“What if it doesn’t?” Whitley asks.
I shrug. “Then I call the pediatrician in the morning.”
“You’re pretty blasé about this,” she says.
“My sister used to say, ‘treat the child, not the fever.’ So I’ll give her some meds, then see if she improves. If she gets worse, we’ll go to the emergency room.”
“Auntie Ella?” Oliver asks.
“What, buddy?”
“Can I get a snack?”
“How about some string cheese?” I ask, and he nods. After getting him the snack, I turn on the television for him, then walk Whitley to the door. “Thanks for watching them for a little bit.”
“I’m sorry I ruined your evening,” she says quietly.
I smile with a one-shoulder shrug. “It was probably over anyway.”
