a glob on her hand. Then I tossed my chin toward her. Tori’s big eyes were on me, questioning me mutedly. Wisely, she rubbed it in her hands all without taking her eyes off of me. When I shifted myself toward her again, she caught on and took me in her hands. At first the gel was cold, but I carried patience until she developed a steady rhythm as hot water pelted on my shoulders and back.
This dual act of pleasure was different with her. No matter how mastery her hands were on my dick, the innocence Tori held was addictive. My knees buckled at her half-mast eyes but flexing arms.
“Do you trust me?” I croaked, feeling my explosion nearing. Tori’s eyes widened just slightly, but she didn’t answer. “Tori.” I pinched her nipple harder than necessary. She flinched, but didn’t stop with her fisting game. “Answer me.”
“I want to,” she whispered, weakened from gratification. “I swear, I want to, Spence.”
Though not what I wanted to hear, it was her honesty. I’d respect it and work damn hard to destroy the walls keeping me from her trust.
Her knees vibrated harder, thighs widening, and her grip on me intensified. Tori was ready to come.
“We’re gonna come together,” I could barely speak. “Okay?”
Tori, as usual, didn’t respond, but she jerked me harder, pushing her tits into her lower arms as they worked. I expected her to let go of me when her orgasm hit, but she didn’t. Tori kept working me over as I rocked into her hands. Her pelvis gyrated into the stream of water, pussy exposed. And my knees buckled as my seeds jetted across her face. If I could control my damn body quick enough, I’d move. My fucking faculties were delayed for seconds long. But Tori quickly managed to catch the rest in her hands.
When I knew her orgasm was cresting, I moved the showerhead, shakily placed it back on its hook then returned to her. My arms rested on the glass wall above her stretched out body, and I leaned over her to catch my breath.
“You’re gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.”
Thirty minutes later, we were back in my room, sitting on my bed while eating. I was finally feeding her. Tori managed to wrap my sheet around her breasts, her back exposed as she sat with her legs crossed and covered by the comforter. I lay horizontally across the bed, in front of her, wearing basketball shorts and socks.
Chewing, she wiped her mouth then tossed the napkin onto her plate.
“That’s it?” I asked. “You only had like two forkfuls.”
Tori shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“But it’s your birthday dinner,” I argued. “It’s spaghetti.”
Tori scooted back until she hit the pillows. Holding her breasts in the sheet, she lay back. “I know.”
“But I thought you loved spaghetti. Shit. I felt bad taking you from it on Thanksgiving.” Here I thought I was being…romantic.
Thoughtful, at best. I’d carefully selected the restaurant.
“Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “That spaghetti?” I nodded, confused. “That ain’t this. This Italian spaghetti. They ain’t the same.”
Oh…
I hadn’t considered that.
“What’s the difference?”
She shrugged. “Can’t tell you. I’ll have to show you.”
Stumped, I agreed, lifting from the bed. “Okay.” I collected our plates and took them to the kitchen.
After tossing the food in the trash and the utensils in the dishwasher, I noticed a package addressed to me on the ledge of the peninsula. Stephan must have brought it up earlier. The sender was Jimmy. Less annoyed than curious, I sat down in the living room and opened the rectangular, flat box. Inside were event tickets of sorts, but my immediate attention went to the small note on top.
Sir Ashton,
It’s always hard to find gifts for you. You’re a man of particular taste, and I have to be sure you don’t throw away my hard-earned money. This year I got lucky. I thought to get two of these. I’m sure you’d like for Miss Aivery to be your plus one.
Happy birthday.
James
Inside were two printed tickets to see none other than Mr. Tyler Thomas, my idol. Thomas was a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and a legend in publishing. He was a Black man with the most profound, prolific pen and brilliant mind. And he had a stop on his latest book tour less than two hours from campus—on my birthday.
“Holy shit…” spilled from my lips. Momentarily dazed, I murmured, “Bravo, Jimmy. At least your ass hanging around is meant for some good purpose.”