Alex chuckles but then grows serious. “Will you stay the night?”
I want to. Definitely. My only worry? I have to work in the morning. I look at my dress that lies in a rumpled heap on the floor.
He follows my eyes but misinterprets my lack of response. “You don’t have to. I thought maybe—”
“I’d like to, but I don’t have my car.” I duck my head, feeling all shy. It’s absurd. He’s still inside me, and I’ve been making my come face at him for the last half hour.
“I’ll drive you to work in the morning.”
“I also don’t have a change of clothes.”
“We can wash them, or I’ll take you home first to change.”
“Or I could call a cab in the morning—”
“Nope.” Alex shakes his head. “Not happening. I’ll take you home. Either tonight or tomorrow, whichever you prefer, but it’ll be me driving you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His hopefulness is as endearing as it is sexy.
“You can drive me to work in the morning.”Alex post-sex is a hungry man. He stands in the kitchen—which is surprisingly clean for a bachelor—wearing only his pants, with the door to the fridge wide open. After pouring me a glass of orange juice, he chugs the rest straight from the jug. Hydration is sexy.
Then he proceeds to empty half the contents of the fridge onto a plate and shove it in the microwave. I’m not hungry, so I sit on his lap while he inhales a plateful of carbs. I’m only wearing his T-shirt. My dress is in the wash with my bra and panties. Alex struggled with the whole delicate cycle thing and admitted he has a housekeeper who does the bulk of his cleaning, including his laundry.
When the plate is empty, he grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and leads me upstairs.
His room is huge and simply furnished. The bed is rustic, crafted out of solid wood. The dark sheets are rumpled, as if he was in a rush this morning, or this evening.
“Your bed is huge.”
“I told you it would’ve been more comfortable. I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities.”
The bathroom is very fêng shui with beige tile, a glassed-in shower, and Jacuzzi tub. It’s not as tidy as the rest of the house. His shaving kit and a few hair products line the counter. The cap is off his toothpaste, and a towel lies in a heap on the floor near the shower. It’s lived in but not a complete sty.
Alex finds me a new toothbrush and leaves me to freshen up. I’m prepared for the possibility he’ll want to make use of the bed before sleep. I don’t usually stay up this late on week nights, and I definitely don’t get this much exercise. After four orgasms I’m not sure my body or my brain is equipped to deal with another round of “fill the beaver hole.”
Once I finish with the oral hygiene, I join him in his king-size bed. It’s much like its own continent; I could sleep here and we’d never touch. Except the moment I slip under the sheets, he pulls me into him.
I lie with my head on his chest, listening to the powerful, steady beat of his heart. He tells me about the lineup of games for the next two weeks, the teams he’s confident they’ll beat, and the wins they’ll have to work hard for. The second-to-last game is in Toronto, near his home town.
Alex keeps running soothing fingers through my hair. The last thing I remember are his lips on my forehead and his rumbling laugh when I tell him he’s warm and cuddly like a hairless, domesticated bear.I must pass out hard-core. When I wake up, the sun is peeking through the curtains. I check the clock on the nightstand. It’s not even seven. I have loads of time to get ready. Alex is sleeping peacefully beside me. I turn on my side to study him.
I’ve hogged the sheets, which has left his torso exposed. I run my hand down his chest, marveling at the soft skin covering the solid wall of muscle. Even relaxed, he’s hard all over.
I continue my sensory descent, enjoying the feel of him under my fingers. He’s sound asleep, so I figure why not check things out. I lift the band of his boxers and take a wee gander. His monster cock looks much more innocuous in this state.
It lays on his abdomen, angled slightly to the left. It’s almost cute—kind of like Snuffleupagus. Well, not really. It’s huge, but not hairy, and also not nearly as daunting as when it’s hard. It is magical, though. I stifle a giggle because, goddamn it, I’ve never seen a snuffie up close. The head is tucked up inside the soft skin, an eye peering out from the turtleneck.
Alex is oblivious to my peter peeping, so I carefully shimmy his boxers down. I want to look at it without the risk of the waistband snapping against the head. I need my hands free to touch. It would also be cool to see if it grows like those things you order out of an old school comic book. The ones that go from pill sized to huge in a glass of water. Except I assume this will happen much faster. I haven’t had the privilege of seeing Alex’s dick grow yet. It’s always been hard when I get to it.