my pussy and presses his thumb to my asshole, and then he’s raining slaps down on my bottom while fucking both of my holes.
I don’t even recognize the sounds escaping out of my mouth. It’s a mixture of crying, grunting, pleading, and slurring Sam’s name until my thighs tense up, and then my body is convulsing and clenching around his fingers and thumb so hard that the table underneath me moves several inches across the floor.
“God, that was good,” I whimper through pants as I start to come back down, limbs heavy and weak, so incredibly happy that I never want to move.
“Now will you go get dressed?” he asks. I can hear the humor in his voice, even if I can’t imagine him smiling. He pulls his fingers free and then strokes them gently over my still stinging flesh.
“If I still have the ability to walk,” I remark.
“I’ll wait outside,” he says. “Otherwise, we’ll keep this up for hours.”
“True,” I agree as I hear the zipper on his pants go up before his footsteps retreat toward the door that opens and then closes.
It still takes me a few more minutes to recover before I’m able to finally push myself up and walk to the bedroom. Even though he’s waiting, I take a quick shower to wash the sweat and fluids away, then quickly throw on a yellow, strapless mini dress and heels, wanting to look nice since it’s my first time leaving the house since I got here two weeks ago. My ponytail that was tugged during sex is falling, so I redo it quickly before heading outside.
Sam looks so odd sitting behind the wheel of a golf cart. I doubt he’s the type of man who plays golf, and he’s so big and muscular that he barely fits.
“So, where are we going?” I ask him when I take a seat on the passenger side so close to him that our thighs are touching.
“You’ll see when we get there,” he says.
“Aren’t you worried someone could recognize me?” I ask as he takes off, going as fast as the cart can go down the winding, narrow paved road, maybe as high as twenty miles an hour.
“No one will be getting that close,” he says, which I assume means we’re not going into any stores.
But then he pulls up and parks in front of the strip mall. Several businesses are dark, signs turned to close, while a sporting goods store and pharmacy are still open.
“You in the market for a kayak?” I joke. “Or have you suddenly decided we should start using condoms?”
“I don’t kayak, and I watch you take your birth control every day,” Sam replies.
“Okay, so where are we going?” I ask when he turns off the cart and we both step off and onto the sidewalk.
“Here,” he says. Pulling out a set of keys, he unlocks the door to one of the storefronts. What’s he doing with a key to a business?
The door unlocks, and then he holds it open for me to go in first.
“It’s…empty,” I say as I glance around the dark open interior.
“For now,” Sam says, then flips on the overhead lights. “But soon it’s going to be a restaurant. Your restaurant.”
“What?” I ask with a chuckle as I spin around to face him, assuming he’s joking. “Did you say my restaurant?”
Rather than meet my gaze, he eyes the walls as if there’s more to them than the plain white paint. “It will take a lot of work. You’ll need to install a kitchen, maybe put up a divider wall to separate it from the dining area. But there’s room for several tables and booths around the outer wall. You could offer takeout too.”
“You’re serious?” I ask. “This isn’t some kind of mean joke where you say it’s mine and then laugh and tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m serious,” he says, coming over and offering me the keys dangling from the keyring. “It’s yours.”
My jaw drops comically as his words sink in. In fact, I see a smile spread across Sam’s face for the first time before he reaches up and lifts my chin with his knuckle.
“Did you want it or not?” he asks, holding the keys up right in front of my face.
I snatch them out of his hand. “Hell yes, I want it!”
“Then it’s yours,” he replies. He shoves his now empty hands into his pants pocket casually as if he didn’t just hand me my dream come true.
For a second, I think my