Elouise
When I finally blink myeyes open, the need to pee is so strong I know I’ve slept past my usual wake up time.
My first attempt to move out of bed has every muscle in my body singing. The delicious ache is mostly focused between my legs, but every part of me is some level of sore. I had no idea sex could leave you feeling like you did a bootcamp style workout.
I take my time getting to my feet and shuffling to the bathroom, and when I finally lower myself, my ass cheeks give a sting of protest. But I find myself smiling through the discomfort, because last night was a series of new experiences for me, and if the heat simmering under my skin at the memory is any indication, they were all experiences I’d like to do again.
Finishing my morning routine, I pull on a comfy pair of leggings and a sweater and head downstairs. Beckett said he’d be by sometime today to fix my door, but he didn’t say when.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I glance towards the couch then turn towards the kitchen.
My cheeks are heating all over again at the memory of wiping our mess off the floor and I find myself laughing. I feel almost proud of what happened. Maybe it should’ve felt degrading to be left like that, but it didn’t. It was kinda hot.
The cum-soaked underwear however, was not as hot. By the time I got upstairs it was cold and sticky and I threw them in the garbage as I stripped down on my way to the shower.
I cover another yawn, as my coffee maker signals that it’s done brewing. I’m pouring out my first cupful when I hear Beckett’s truck rumble up the driveway.
Mug in hand, I open the front door and am surprised to see the passenger side open, followed by Beckett’s nephew doing a boneless slide out of the pickup.
It’s before 10:00 am on a Sunday so I understand the feeling.
Beckett smiles at me, as he comes around to close the kid’s door. “Morning, Smoky.”
“Good morning,” with my slippered feet, I take the few steps down from the porch to the front walk.
“You remember Clint?” Beckett asks, using a hand to ruffle the kid’s hair.
“I do,” my heart warms seeing the two of them together. “Morning, Clint.”
He mumbles something like good mornin’, giving me the quickest glance before looking back at the ground.
“Mind opening the garage door for us? Clint’s gonna help me fix your door today, and we need to measure a few things.” Beckett settles his hand on the kid's shoulder.
“I can do that,” I lift my mug to my lips in an attempt to cover my face.
Just seeing him standing there is making me blush. But his smirk is the only confirmation I need that he knows exactly what I’m thinking about.
Walking through the house, I open the garage door and wait for them to join me. In the time it takes to open, a notebook and pencil have appeared in Clint’s hands and Beckett is holding a tape measure.
“Thank you for doing this,” I tell them both, meaning it. I hadn’t really thought about that stupid door, since it’s been that way for as long as I can remember, but once Beckett pointed out – rather drastically – how unsafe it was, I realized how stupid I’d been to leave it.
Beckett nudges Clint.
“You’re welcome,” the kid says, scuffing his shoe on the concrete floor.
Beckett rolls his eyes at Clint’s shyness. He wasn’t this shy when we met at the Science Fair, and I’ve seen him in the hallways at school a few times since then, but I’m thinking that being at my house is making him feel uncertain.
“I don’t know how long it takes to fix a door, but I’d be happy to make you boys lunch.” Clint’s eyes dart up to me then over to Beckett. “Or something else…” I tack on.
“I promised Little Man we could do fast-food for lunch,” Beckett says with a shake of his head, “but this will probably take a while. His mom is on a 12-hour shift, so if you want to make dinner we can stick around for that.”
“I can do that.” I think for a moment, before I ask, “Clint, what’s your favorite dessert?”
“Brownies!” his exclamation is out before I even finish the question.
“Okay,” I laugh, “I can make some brownies. Any requests on the entrée?”
Clint shrugs, then seems to consider it, “Pasta?”