He stopped what I was doing so he could position his dick between my breasts. I squashed them together and held them there so he could focus on fucking them.
The visual of his cock pumping between my breasts, his body driving him towards his release, and the erotic grunts coming from him turned me on far too much. I was going to be left with a need I couldn’t begin to fulfil.
“Fuck,” I muttered while I kept my tits pressed together. “I’m so fucking horny right now.”
He kept thrusting his dick between my breasts. “I can take care of that for you.”
“Yeah. No.” I was still being stubborn. Maybe one day, if we were together for a long time, I’d be into period sex with him, but not yet.
“Christ,” he growled. “This is gonna be fast.”
He only managed two more thrusts before he came. Holding his dick while he directed the cum onto my breasts, he met my gaze and said, “Your tits and my cock need a standing date.”
“I’m on board with that. Especially because you’re gonna cook me breakfast while I take a shower.”
His lips curled up at the ends. “Really?”
“Yes, really. You wanna shoot your jizz all over me, you’re in charge of making food while I clean that shit up.”
“You fucking love that shit, sugar.”
“That may be the case, but I also love food. Almost as much… no, some days, more…. No, scrap that, I always love dick more, but right now I am starving, so you need to feed me if you’ve got hope of ever getting inside me again.”
He chuckled, and I had to say, I loved that sound coming from him. Moving off me, he said, “You got bacon and eggs in your fridge?”
“I’ve got eggs. No bacon. How about scrambled eggs?” I really was hungry, but I also wanted to see how domestic he was.
“Fuck that, we need bacon. I’ll go grab some while you’re in the shower.”
A man after my own heart. I grinned. “Thank God you love meat.”
He chuckled again. “I always did have that going for me.”
Yes.
Yes, he did.
The man could cook. Good God, could he cook. I hadn’t had bacon and eggs that good in a long time. And then he’d cleaned the kitchen again. Without me even asking. He’d taken charge and ordered me to put my feet up while he cleaned. What man did that?
“How long have you lived on your own?” I asked from the kitchen table where I sat watching him clean.
“Fourteen years.”
“Were you always this domestic? Or did that just come from all those years by yourself?”
“Always. My mother didn’t lift a finger most of her life, so I learnt pretty fucking fast that if I didn’t cook and clean, I’d be hungry and living in filth.”
My heart squeezed at the thought of any child going through that. I’d been blessed with my family. “How old were you when you figured that out?”
His eyes met mine, and I saw the pain there. “Seven.”
He went back to loading my dishwasher while I sat in silence wondering about his life. Now that we were doing the dating thing, I wanted to know everything there was to know about him. But I wasn’t convinced Hyde was the kind of man to share that kind of information easily. I decided to push him a little.
“Are you close to your parents?”
He was bent over the dishwasher, and I saw his body tense at that question. Surprising me, he glanced up and said, “I never knew my father. My mother died when I was twenty-one. She and I were never close.”
I’d figured he wouldn’t be close to them if they treated him like that as a seven-year-old, but I always held out hope that people could change. Mostly, though, they didn’t.