More Than Friends: Lazy Afternoon

Previous Chapter: Morning One

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Taylor

Sunday afternoon, I hold Chloe while she naps. I want to take her back to my apartment, to wrap her in a soft warm blanket and keep her happy and fed, and tired from the pleasure of orgasms. Watching her fall apart from my fingers or lips or dick is my new favorite pastime.

This weekend has been an immersive class in her body. I've studiously noted how my touch affects her. The way she sighs when I skim her lower back; the way she grunts when I brush her clit lightly; the way she moans when I pinch her nipples. And so much more about her pleasure points, and what she dislikes.

But loving her is as natural as breathing. I've loved her all along. I need her like I need sunshine and rain and color. She makes everything better and brighter. Before this weekend I never recognized it. If I hadn't stumbled on her as Cinnamon would I have realized?

I want to drink her kisses like water, to feast on her words like candy, to attend her voice like a concert for my favorite band. She's everything in my world, and it's like riding the rollercoaster of Cloud Nine all the way to ecstasy.

Sherry who?

I close my eyes and try to rest, but my heart races alongside my thoughts. Where are we going? She's never been one to be vulnerable or tender. She protects her heart and mind with a tiger's mouth, warning growls if anyone makes sudden movements, and I've seen teeth marks from those who got too close.

Tigers are only big cats however, and they're as susceptible to belly rubs and scratches behind the ears as any other animal. Our friendship may have let me closer than anyone else. Now I have to remain vigilant and look as harmless as a kitten until she trusts me with her dreams.

I realize all those nights I was crying in her arms, she rarely talked about herself. I love her, but I'm not sure I know her. I've told her about my parents, married for thirty-five years. I assume she has parents, but no concrete details. We've talked about our college days, she mentioned dropping out after her first year. The road to arts major was paved with high student loans and few job prospects, so she switched to learning to run an office, which was less glamorous but had a guaranteed job at the end. But she's never shared her dreams. Does she dream of running her company? Or would she rather settle down and get married, raise children behind a white picket fence, while trading recipes with the neighbours and running the PTA?

Perhaps the lack of details is just her caring nature, and those nights I was being selfish. I will fix that in the coming weeks. I will woo her mind as I have done her body. Learn what she likes, who she is, and what she dreams. I will explore what she wants for the future, and discover if we can build it like the third little pig, working together, brick by brick.

She's so beautiful laying beside me. Her hair spread across the pillow, her lashes resting on her soft skin.

I kiss her cheek and she stirs, her hand coming up to push me away. I catch her grasping fingers, and rub my lips over her knuckles. She sighs and settles again.

I want to wake her up with my mouth between her legs, but she must be getting sore and I don't want her to think I only want her body. I want all of her; mind, body, soul. I want to love her, know her, fuck her.

She snuggles closer to me and I close my eyes. I rest my hand on her, watching the rise and fall of her belly as she finds respite from her worries and my physical demands. Is she worried? What goes on in her head? Instead of another round of thoughts, I match my breathing to her pattern and drift off.

When I wake, it's filled with intense pleasure. Fuck, her mouth is wrapped around my dick, already hard.

I settle my hand on the back of her head and scratch her scalp. She lifts her head.

"I hope this is okay."

Okay? Being woken with a blow job is beyond okay. I cough to clear my throat as she looks at me anxiously.

"It's pretty fucking great." I curl my fingers into her hair.

She bends to her self-imposed task: mouth fucking my dick. My body gets tighter inside, racing for orgasm, despite having so damn many with her. I use my grip on her hair to pull her away.

Since Friday night, I have fucked her every way I can think of, and a few I hadn't considered. We've cuddled, watched television, ate Chinese food, and she did a cam show while I went to my apartment to shower and change clothing.

This is our final few hours in our bubble. She will want to talk and I don't have answers.

"I don't want to orgasm alone. I want you coming with me." I pull her hair until she stops.

She throws one leg over me and straddles my lap. With both hands she strokes my cock.

"Cinnamon, please baby."

She grins at me.

"Chloe."

I am desperate for her. She could break me. But she takes me inside, she moves around me. Like a fantasy, like my dreams, like paradise.

A buzzing makes my attention stutter. It comes from her body and hums through mine. After a moment, I realize it's a vibrator she pressed between her legs.

She arches her back as she fucks me, taking us higher.

"I'm going to come," she sings.

My body clenches, "I'm right there with you, angel."

Her feet twitch, her thighs quiver, her arms shake. She's lost in her pleasure, her moans echoing, but she never stops moving. I hold her hips, slamming into her until our bliss melds like our bodies, becoming one moment of perfection.

I sit up and kiss her, wrap my arms around her, and pull her down with me. I cradle her against me.

"That was the best wake up I've ever had," I whisper.

I want to leave. I want to end on a high note and nothing will be better than this moment.

Every bubble has to burst. She pulls back and there are tears in her eyes. I kiss her cheeks and hold her while she cries. When she's done I take her to the shower and wash away her tears.

We dress quietly.

"Let's go out, find something to eat, and play tourist," I say.

I can't stay in this apartment knowing this day will end and I have to return to reality. My apartment, work tomorrow, the rest of our lives.

I want to say I love you, but it's not enough to describe how I feel.

"Thank you," she says, kissing my cheek.

"For what?"

"For not asking questions."

About her tears. There were no questions to ask, I feel the same. I cradle her head and kiss her softly.

"There was nothing to ask."

I take her hand and we walk outside together.

A couple hours later, I park at her apartment. I kiss her again.

"I'll see you during your show."

She turns to me.

"No. We can't do that anymore. You can't pay me for my shows. We are involved. I'm not taking money for sex from my boyfriend," She tips her chin up.

"Then pretend it's not me. I don't think your income should suffer just because I accidentally found your show," I lean back.

"Not happening, Taylor. That's not how our relationship is going to work."

She sets her mouth in a firm line, arms crossed over her chest. She doesn't say it but her eyes say "fuck you."

I put my hands up, "Take some time to consider it."

She looks out at the building for the blink of my eye, then back at me...

"Okay, considered. Can you agree to my terms? I'm not a fucking charity case. I don't need you to take care of me. Okay?"

I open my mouth, then close it.

She pushes her door open, "Take some time to consider it."

Before I can answer, she gets out of the car. I think about following her, but she's too upset. Following will feel like pushing and she'll blow up. Rightly so. She needs space.

I watch until she's inside, then drive home. I send her a goodnight text and she responds with the same.

The bubble didn't just burst. It exploded in my face.

Next chapter: A Night Out