All the while he felt her skin under the path of his hand; he watched her face change, get hungry. She did shit like that all the time. Hot. Fuck, he’d never had so hot. They’d just finished fifteen minutes ago and she wanted it again. She got hungry a lot and, to get what she wanted, she was a wildcat.
He f**king loved that about her too.
When she used her hand to curve his between her legs, he curled his torso up, his left arm sliced tight around her waist and her mouth instantly moved so her lips were on his. Her breathing was already labored.
He took over and slid a finger inside and watched her eyes drift half-closed.
He felt his c**k start to get hard.
“What you want, baby?” he murmured against her mouth.
“Can I suck you?” she asked, hot, hungry, wanting it but still hesitant.
Like he’d f**king say no.
He answered by sliding his arm up her back and his finger out, pressing in as it glided over her clit, going for and getting that sexy-as-fuck noise she made at the back of her throat, doing all of this while he laid back down, taking her with him.
Once he was settled, he whispered, “Yeah, mama, you can suck me.”
She smiled then she moved, taking her time, drifting down, using her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, her hands, her hair sliding all over him as she did and by the time she reached his c**k it was hard and pulsing.
She licked and played and stroked awhile before she got serious. He let her, her hair all around, he liked it and so did she. Then she took him inside and f**k, he liked that better because she was always eager, hungry, she could take him deep and she could suck hard and she did both really f**king well.
When he was close, he pulled her up, rolled her to her back and gave back as good as he got, taking his time moving down, working her tits until she was squirming and making low noises, tasting her, touching her then he got between her legs and he ate her, hard and hungrier than she did him.
He loved the taste of her pu**y, so much, sometimes he could be working or working out and he’d sense her on his tongue.
He loved that too.
He made her come and moved over her, driving deep inside before she was finished, thrusting fast and hard, watching her face settle then he moved a hand in between them and built it again. She lifted her knees high, pressed them tight to his sides, locking his arm between them, her hands moving on him fevered, he took her there again then he let himself go.
He buried himself inside her, gave her enough weight to keep her warm and worked the skin of her neck with his mouth while her hands drifted light on him.
He didn’t talk during sex and didn’t like his pu**y to do it either. Lexie talked but infrequently and when she did it meant something. She loved his c**k in her mouth and in her cunt and she let him know it. She loved his body. She loved his mouth. She loved his hands. She let him know this too. She liked him giving it to her however he wanted. He’d been creative; she never made a noise of protest, just offered her pu**y however he wanted to take it, as often as he wanted it and she got off, did it hard and didn’t mind him knowing she did that either.
He loved that about her too.
He pulled out and moved down, brushing his mouth across her chest, he rolled off.
She rolled the other way and moved to the bathroom to clean up. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling when she did but turned his head to the side to watch her walk back in the room. She tagged her panties from the floor, tugged them on, turned out the light on her side then put a knee to the bed and moved into him. She settled, pressed to his side, cheek to his pec, leg tangling with his. He reached out, turned out his light then down, pulled the covers over them then curled his arm around her and tucked her closer.
“Thanks for dinner,” she murmured against his chest, her arm draped around his gut giving him a light squeeze.
He didn’t answer. He’d buy her an expensive dinner to celebrate her getting a job and he’d buy her an expensive dinner to celebrate the fact that he woke up next to her. In time, she’d come to know that without him saying it and she’d come to know that because that was what he intended to give her.
Instead of speaking, he stared at the ceiling he could see in the moonlight. Wood planks and beams. And he felt the soft bed underneath him, Lexie’s softness at his side. Not cement and industrial paint overhead. Hard, thin mattress under him. Narrow bed that didn’t fit his frame and allowed no room to move. And no chance in hell of pu**y tucked to his side, definitely not sweet, classy pu**y who dressed nice, laughed often and didn’t give a f**k who saw her run across the forecourt of a garage on high heels and launch herself into his grease-stained arms just because she found herself a part-time job as a receptionist in a f**king salon.
He stared at the ceiling and waited for it.
Then it happened, her weight settled. She’d found sleep.
Then he waited again.
She detached in her sleep and rolled away.
When she did Walker did what he always did. He moved out of bed and across the room to one of three thermostats in the house. He jacked the AC up then turned to move back to the bed but stopped when he saw her purse on the dresser, it was open, the stuff inside spilling out.
Instead of going back to bed, he moved there and tagged the digital camera. He turned it on and moved his thumb over the buttons on the side, the screen displaying the pictures. Three she made their waitress at The Rooster take of them cuddled in one side of a booth. But he stopped on one.