Just a Number(81)
I look up at him as he smiles down at me, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes. “Owen, these are brand new,” I chastise weakly, unable to really find it in myself to give a shit that he wants to literally rip my clothes off my body.
“So, I’ll buy you a new pair…or several. One in every color,” he informs me, yanking once more and leaving the fabric tattered in his hand. I whimper, the muscles in my legs tightening and pulling him closer as a result. His thick erection grazes me, and then suddenly, he’s thrusting inside of me, our simultaneous moans filling the room.
There’s something different about the pace he sets as he moves above me, and I have a feeling it goes back to his earlier agitation with his ex. We’ve made love slowly, and we’ve fucked hard and fast, but this is…different. There’s a feeling of desperation and urgency that surrounds us, as well as an overwhelming sense of his need to prove something to…me? The world? Gretchen? I don’t know, to be honest, but as I stare up into his blue eyes, I see a somewhat vacant look in them, like he’s somewhere else, but still here with me. He sees me—I know he does—but he’s also somewhere else.
All it takes is my touching his cheek to draw his focus back to me entirely, and he shakes his head, unrelenting in his pre-set pace as he brings me closer and closer to achieving my orgasm.
“Stay with me,” I pant beneath him, lifting my head and pressing my lips against his in an effort to ground him here with me.
It works, and soon his hips pulse unevenly against mine as he comes, and I follow close behind, crying out against his lips and clawing at his back to hold him close while we ride out the waves of our climaxes together.
Owen collapses his full weight on me for a second, and I revel in the feeling of so much of our bodies being in contact. Soon, he rolls off of me, kisses my cheek, and excuses himself to use the washroom. While he’s gone, I slip off my sexy red shoes and grab a pair of white cotton panties and a basic white tank top and pull them on. After he returns, I use the washroom and then join him in bed, listening to the rain outside as it picks up and hits the windows and the side of the building. It’s a comforting and familiar sound that lulls us both right to sleep.
Through the night, the rain doesn’t let up, and Owen and I remain in bed most of the morning. We get up to make breakfast, then lunch, but for the most part, we’ve grown quite content to have a lazy day between the sheets…
Though, I suppose the things we’ve done between the sheets are probably considered far from “lazy.”
Dinnertime comes and goes, and Owen decides I don’t have enough food in my cupboards to make anything decent. I remind him that this is because I’ve been staying at his place more and more, so I’ve had no need to go to the market. Laughing, Owen pulls on his pants and dress shirt, leaving the top couple buttons open and foregoing his tie. As he pulls his jacket on, he leans down and gives me a kiss, telling me he’ll head down to the Chinese place and pick up takeout.
Alone in my apartment, I pull on a pair of shorts and start tidying up. The sound of the rain hitting the apartment building is so loud, it’s hard to drown out, so I turn on my stereo and start dancing and singing while I clean. I’m feeling pretty good about the few things I’ve gotten accomplished in a short time—making my bed and laying my dress across it until I can hang it up, cleaning the living area and bathroom—and I’m just about to start on the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. I laugh to myself, tossing the dishcloth on the counter and drying my hands on a towel as I make my way to the door.
“What? Did you forget your keys?” I ask, pulling the door open…but it’s not Owen on the other side. “D-dad?” I stammer, gripping the edge of the door hard to keep the shake in my hands from being noticeable. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting for breakfast tomorrow?”
Dad shrugs. “There’s supposed to be a storm headed this way, and I didn’t want to chance the icy highways tomorrow morning.”
I glance behind me out the window and see that it’s still raining, but the wind has picked up. He could very well be right; it’s not like I’ve turned the TV or radio on to hear a weather forecast that could prove him wrong.
This is the least of my problems right now, though, because Owen should be back soon with our dinner. Fuck.
Frantic, but trying to hide it, I turn around and search for my phone. Where did I leave it? I need to text Owen. Dad steps into the apartment behind me, but I don’t notice him until the door closes behind him.