So what is a girl to do? She waits up for her two date maybe boyfriend to finish stripping in front of hordes of horny, drunk women, and come home to her, hopefully needing some relief of the oral variety. Or the vaginal variety. How about two for the price of one?
Remember, when I'm drunk I become very loose-lipped, so you'll have to bear with me.
For the past few days, all I've been able to think about is Zander's mouth...and his arms...and those firm biceps that feel so good under my hands...and that hard steel between his legs that I've felt on more than one occasion now...
So what is a girl to do? Get drunk, get horny...ier, and wait for her man. I want him to be my man, desperately. I find myself excited to wake up in the morning and see his gorgeous face waiting for me with a freshly poured brew in his hand. I'm eager to finish up work and get home in the hope that I beat him just so that I can make dinner for him, and I love snuggling up on the couch with him watching mindless television, just spending time together.
There has been no pressure from him for sex. Nothing more than the heavy petting in the park. I'm well aware of his penchant for public, outdoors sex, and although my sexual adventures have generally been indoors, and probably nowhere near as thrilling as his have been, I'm more than willing to give whatever he has to offer a try. Try everything once, maybe twice just to be sure.
I check the time and see that it's after eleven p.m. With him still not home, and my drunken mind wandering to rather dangerous places, I pour the rest of my wine into my glass and drink my sorrows away.
And that is the last thing that I remember.
ZANDER
After three gigs, I'm mentally and physically exhausted. I may work out, but dancing and performing for forty-five minutes is way harder than you think. And three of those in one night is borderline insane but the boss was caught short, so I offered to cover. My theory is that if I earn enough tonight, I can take a day off next weekend, or even the whole weekend to rest and spend time with Kate.
I've got it bad, and I don't even care if I sound like a sap. She is better than I could have imagined. Three times this week I've come home from the academy, and she's been cooking dinner for us with a cold beer in the fridge waiting for me. What makes it better still is that I'm totally not expecting her to do it, but she tells me she wants to. We still haven't had sex, we haven't even slept in the same bed together yet. But shockingly, I'm in no rush. I want Kate to stick to her three date rule. I don't want her to have any reason to question what we have and what we're building.
When I finally walk in the door close to midnight, I find a blank screen on the TV and a sleeping Kate curled up on the couch with her wine glass clutched in her hand like her life depends on it. I grin at her. She looks so damn cute and she's making these adorable soft snoring noises, but it's more than that. She was waiting up for me, and I've never had that. I've never had this intimacy, this level of anything with a woman before, and I like it. I like it a lot. Is this what happens when you embark on relationships not solely based on casual sex? If so, I think I might have been missing out.
I put my bag down, and after turning off the TV, I wrench the wine glass from her hand, and place it on the table behind me. I see an empty wine bottle on the coffee table and chuckle to myself as I lift her up into my arms, cradling her against me with one arm around her back, the other underneath her knees.
She buries her head in my neck as I walk toward her bedroom. The smell of her hair-a vanilla concoction I've seen in the bathroom-fills my senses, and f**k if it doesn't fill my brain with thoughts that are really not helpful right now. The warmth of her breath laced with her favorite wine taunts me as I pull the covers back and lay her down on her bed, softly placing her head on the pillow. She opens her eyes slowly, smiling when she sees me. She wraps her arms around my neck to stop my retreat.
“You came home.” Drunk or not, thinking that this is home for me isn't too short off the mark.
“Of course I did. Didn't want to be anywhere else,” I reply as I kiss her forehead.
“I want you,” she whispers in a soft drunken slur as her eyes close again. She tries to pull me closer, but I put an arm to the bed and hold my ground, leaning above her and taking in the sight of my drunken cute as hell firebird in person.
“I want you so bad it hurts, babe, but my plans involve you being sober, coherent and very much awake. So how about we wait for that third date and really make it worth our while?”
Her hands slip down my chest, gripping tightly to my T-shirt. “Hmmm. Stay with me then,” she rasps, opening her eyes again. I can see how much she wants this. One look like that, and I'll give her the world and ask her if she needs anything else.
“Never thought you'd ask.” She loosens her grip, allowing me to stand. I reach over my shoulder and pull my t-shirt off before stepping out of my jeans.
“Do you need to get changed, babe?” I ask, earning a shake of her head, her eyes closing again as sleep threatens to take hold. She's wearing a tight tank with no bra which I'm begging my c**k to ignore, and short, silk pajama bottoms.
“Nope…I'm perfect.” Yes, goddammit, you are.
I walk around the four-poster bed. All it needs is drapes around the sides, and it would be like those princess beds you see in movies. I remember when I first saw her room all those months ago, and thought it was a perfect fit for her. Never did I think I'd be sleeping with her in it. And only sleeping.
As I get into bed and lie down, Kate rolls over and straight into my arms. Oh shit. I'm in f**king deep trouble now. This girl...that body...those damn, silky shorts...my c**k jerks awake, cursing me for teasing him constantly.
No, this is not about sex. It never has been with Kate; otherwise I would have been in this bed, in various stages of nakedness, long before now. I might as well hand in my man card because this girl has gotten under my skin in the seven weeks it's been since I saw her in the bar on her date. Bullshit, it was well before that, but now I don't think there is any way I can get her out again, even if she tried.
My last thought before sleep finally takes me is how the f**k did I get so lucky.
KATE
I wake up plastered to a warm body. And I mean plastered. One arm is underneath my head, the other is over a slow beating heart, my legs are tangled with long, hard muscular ones and my pelvis is being stabbed by either a rather hard stick, or the stiffest c**k I've ever felt against me.
Nope, I must still be dreaming. There is no way I could have dragged Zander to my bed and had my way with him-finally!-and not remember it. That would be a violation of the 'all that is holy' girl code, and that wouldn't fly. You never just 'sleep' with a man like Zander, you let him own your soul.