“Hmm”—he pauses, thinking—“you on the table, naked.” My mouth falls open. “Legs spread.” I lift my hand to block his mouth so he will stop talking. He laughs and then kisses my palm.
“Okay, well, I can’t eat that.”
He winks at me. “I have something for you to eat.”
I can’t help but laugh, and the tightness I’ve felt going back to Montgavin is gone. He did it, he helped push it away. “Okay, so I’m going to make what I want to make, and you’ll eat it.”
“Then I get to eat what I want to eat?” he asks, as if eating my pussy is a meal. “I’m okay with all of that.”
“You know that I win in this whole thing, right?”
He smirks. “You would be wrong. Making you come on my tongue is my third-best thing today.”
“Third?” I can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah.”
“What are the first two?”
“Making you laugh and smile is my number one.” I roll my eyes, but at the same time, I want to giggle like I’m still in high school. “Number two is making you come on my cock.” The grin on his face looks like the cat who just caught the mouse when he was out running amok. “That is very close to being number one. After you come on my cock and my tongue, you give me a sleepy smile, which is almost like number one.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” I hold up my hand and almost squirm in my seat. Sex with Theo the first time was mind-blowing. After having him again the last two days, I can say—without a shadow of a doubt—he’s everything I thought he was. I mean, he was only the second guy I ever slept with and after our night together, I kept replaying it over and over in my head. But nothing could have compared to the real thing. Having him on top of me, touching me, was everything I had remembered but so much more.
“Are you as turned on as I am?” he asks me as we reach my street.
I slide him a playful glance. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you are more turned on than I am right now.”
He parks in my driveway behind my car. I wait for him to stop the truck and turn it off before I open my door.
“I’ve got your bag,” he tells me, walking to the back door of the truck.
The heat hits me right away as I walk in.
“Why aren’t the fans on?” he asks from behind me.
“Because I wasn’t home.” I turn on the fan in the bedroom while he sets down my bag. “It would be a waste to have them running for no one.” I start for the kitchen to turn on the other fan.
“Wait, there’s something I have to tell you.” I stop in my tracks. “While we were gone, I had some work done to your porch.” I look toward the front door. “Not that porch, the one in the back.”
“What?” I go out through the front door and around to the back. There’s a brand-new patio, bigger than the one I had. “What in the world?” I walk up the steps, and none of them feel like they are going to snap under my feet. A small cast-iron table with a matching chair is in the corner, but leaves enough room to move. “Theo . . .”
“It’s not for you”—his hands are on his hips—“it’s for the baby. I know how you like to sit outside, and this will give you the chance to do just that.” He comes up to the porch. “If you had given me your keys, I would have had the door changed so you wouldn’t have to walk around to get here. We can do that next time.” I’m about to argue with him when he kisses me. It’s long, it’s wet, and by the time he lets me go, I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.
“I’ll call you later, before I come over, to see if you need anything.” He kisses me again. “Now walk me to the truck.” He slips his hand in mine and pulls me toward the front, and stops beside his door. “Try not to miss me.” He wraps his arms around my waist. “I know it’s going to be hard, but I have faith that you can survive it.”
I throw my head back and laugh, giving him the opportunity to kiss my neck. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it until then.”
This makes him laugh as he kisses me and then gets in his truck. I wave him goodbye before turning and walking back into the house. “Your father built you a porch that you won’t be able to enjoy until you are about maybe six months old,” I tell the baby. “I don’t know what to say about it.” The sound of my phone ringing from my bag has me going to the table to retrieve it.
It’s my landlord/seller, Mickey. “Hello,” I say, putting the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Collins”—his voice is soft, just like his father’s—“how you doing?”
“I’m okay,” I answer, confused. He almost never calls, and he certainly doesn’t check up on me.
“Listen, I think you know why I’m calling.”
The back of my neck tingles. “I actually have no idea why you’re calling.” I look out the window. “Is it because of the new porch? I am so sorry, I would have run that by you first, but I had no idea that it was being done.”
