With everything that went down, a bunch of my interviews and appearances got canceled. Everyone understood, of course. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t chomping at the bit to know the details. They were only trying to bide their time so that they wouldn’t look like a bunch of assholes to the public. The press these last few days have had a bit of a turnaround with everything surrounding me. They’re being nice for now. Something I know won’t last long.
The Randle Beckstrand crap is all but forgotten, and now they are chasing Sawyer’s and my love story. All of the headlines are about how he saved me from almost being kidnapped and how he almost died in the process. Everything is so dramatic. Unfortunately, that’s what sells these days.
They are saying us falling in love sent this stalker over the edge. Which might be true, I suppose. Now all everyone wants to know about is if I’m still a virgin and when Locke will be popping the question. Next they’ll be asking if I’ll be playing myself in the movie retelling.
Thing is, there haven't been any I love yous or talk of marriage. I know it’s too soon for that, but Sawyer’s remarks about me doing whatever I wanted if I quit acting and saying he’ll take care of me makes me think maybe it's not too soon. It doesn't feel as though it is. Not if I’m going by what my heart is telling me at least. With Sawyer, everything feels right. To be honest, I felt that way from the very first day when he walked into that hotel room.
“Sawyer!” I snip, closing the dishwasher when he comes walking into the kitchen. “You’re supposed to be resting.” I put my hands on my hips to prove how serious I am.
“That was when I thought you were napping with me.” I don’t miss the adorable pout I hear in his voice. I can’t even be upset with him. He strolls over toward me and pins me against the side of the counter. His hands go down on either side of me so I’m trapped. Being trapped under him is my favorite place to be. “Did you try and wear me out?”
“Try? I’m pretty sure you were snoozing when I slipped out of bed.” I’ve never thought of myself as a temptress. That was until I had a sexy man in my bed who hates taking his pain meds. I am really good at getting him to do what I ask. Especially when I’m naked. My plan hasn’t failed me yet.
“I wanted to return a few favors.” He leans down, and his tongue darts out to lick the seam of my mouth. “You know my favorite thing to do is eat your cunt right after I wake up.”
“Sawyer!” I squeak as heat rushes to my face. I love his dirty talk. No one has ever talked to me the way he does. Not that I’d want them to. As much as I love it, I'm still getting used to it. I think he enjoys making me blush.
“Want you,” he says between kisses. It’s hard to tell him no, but I want to take care of him. I enjoy doing it. So much so I could see spending my life doting on him. Not only him but maybe a few little ones too. The last few days have been so eye-opening for me. They’ve really put a lot into perspective.
“Sit. Let me make you something to eat, then maybe I’ll let you eat me.” I nip his bottom lip, trying to tease him. His only response is to grunt and then pick me up and set me on the counter. “Sawyer! Stop lifting me.”
“If you stayed in bed I wouldn’t have had to.” I gasp as his mouth trails down my neck. “Love you in my clothes,” he says as he drops to his knees in front of me, throwing my legs over his shoulder. “No panties.”
My fingers tangle into his hair as his mouth goes to my sex. He zeros in on my clit. In no time, he has me coming and screaming his name.
“Best meal I’ve ever had.” He smirks as he rises to his feet.
I smack his bare chest. “I don’t know if you’re complimenting me or poking at my cooking.” I’ve been trying, but it’s going to take me longer than a few days to master cooking, I’m sure. I want to, though. Who knew something as simple as making a meal would bring me so much joy?
“Just enjoying eating you.” He drops a kiss on my mouth. I love that I can taste myself on him. I think some of Sawyer's caveman ways are rubbing off on me. I reach for the string on his sweatpants. We’ve yet to have sex in the kitchen. I think it’s about time we rectified that.