Entry Five
It was the middle of a quiet afternoon when he texted.
“Hey, are you home? Mind if I swing by for a bit?”
He never worded it like that—if he texted me at all. It felt… strange.
“Sure, come on by,” I replied, heart already beating faster.
I hopped up from my desk and darted to the bathroom. I wondered how close he already was—how much time I had. I brushed my teeth, ran a brush through my hair, and reapplied a little lipstick that had worn off after lunch. Then I heard the door to his truck close.
I scurried back into the living room and realized I was still wearing panties—a strict no from him—so I quickly shimmied them down my legs and kicked them under the couch just as the door opened.
He peeked his head in and caught my eye as I tried to look casual at my desk.
“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, almost sheepishly.
What the hell was this? Why did he care if I was busy?
“No, just catching up on some emails,” I replied, already excited from the sudden presence of him in my boring workday. “What’s up?”
He stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him. He seemed stressed, almost panicked; not his usual calm, collected self.
“I’ve got this recertification I’ve gotta finish today, and the internet’s down at the station…” he started explaining, fumbling with a laptop and some folders.
“Oh, yeah, of course, no problem,” I stammered, doing my best to hide my sudden deflation. I led him into the dining table in the next room and he took a chair facing my desk. He connected to the Wi-Fi, spread his papers out, and was locked in immediately.
“Thanks so much, Kitten. You’re a lifesaver,” he said, eyes glued to the screen.
“For sure. Let me know if you need anything,” I offered as I slipped back into my seat.
I turned down the music—Beth Gibbons fading into quiet—and tried to settle back into work. Why was I so disappointed? I hadn’t even known he was coming. I’d been perfectly content five minutes ago. But having him here, in my space, and not touching me?
It was driving me fucking crazy.
Was this a test?
No—obviously not. Of course he’d rather have me bent over the couch than take some online test. I knew we were friends outside of our arrangement, but we didn’t see each other for anything other than hooking up. And part of me was flattered he felt comfortable enough to crash here and get it done—but that didn’t change the fact that the ache between my thighs had only grown stronger since the second he texted.
Fuck.
I tried to remember what I was working on when he texted and refocus and, soon enough, we were quietly working simultaneously. I’d glance up every now and then to watch him—how his brow furrowed as he concentrated, the way the fabric of his t-shirt hugged his shoulders when he sorted through papers on the table, how the fan gently stirred his hair. I had to force myself to look away more than once. Just being near him felt calm. Safe.
He never looked up at me—not that I saw, anyway—his attention hyper focused on his task. The thought to distract him crossed my mind once or twice, but I could tell it was important, so I just alternated between work and daydreaming instead.
About an hour later, he sighed loudly, leaned back in the chair, and closed the laptop.
“All good!” he said, gathering his papers. “Thanks so much for letting me use your space. I’ve got another shift starting in two hours and I had to get this done today.”
He walked over and kissed me on the head, giving it a little pat.
“You’re the best,” he smiled, and walked straight out the door—laptop and binders in hand.
What the actual fuck?
Wait, so that’s it?
I get that he doesn’t owe me a good fuck every time he’s here, but really? He was here! In my house! He barely touched me! I was practically steaming—unjustifiably angry at the lack of attention I had decided I needed the moment he texted me. Did I not look good today? I mean, I wasn’t prepared for company, but I still put on makeup and wore a cute little cotton sundress; usually his favorite. Was he really that busy?
I stood up in a huff and grumbled my way to the kitchen. If I was going to be frustrated, I was at least going to have a drink about it.
I opened the fridge and bent down to grab a bottle of chilled chardonnay—but I hadn’t even touched it when I felt hands at my hips.
I gasped and started to pull away, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, pinning mine to my sides. His stubble rasped against the curve of my neck—rough and tender all at once.
“You didn’t think I’d leave without making my kitten purr for me, did you?” he teased into my ear.
He turned me around, tilted my chin up, made me look at him. My face was flushed—partly from surprise, but mostly from how fast I’d gone from frustrated to breathless.
He brushed his fingers over my lips and kissed me softly, then pushed his thumb into my mouth while his lips lingered on mine. I moaned, wrapping my hands around his wrist—begging silently for him to stay. He pulled away just long enough to smile.
Then he lifted me.
He reached down, and, in one smooth motion, I was off the ground; slung over his shoulder, his arm banded tight across the backs of my thighs. I could feel the heat of his grip through my skin. He walked down the hallway to my bedroom and tossed me onto the bed. His hands pushed my dress up over my thighs revealing my bare pussy, and his eyes darted up to meet mine.
“Good girl,” he growled, pulling his shirt off over his head before unbuckling his jeans. I sat up, removed my dress, and tossed it to the side, before reclining back into the position he put me down in. I knew better than to go anywhere he didn’t specifically tell me to go. I watched him as he finished undressing, then he climbed on top of me. His body was strong, commanding in the best way. The bulk of him was quiet power, all steady hands and silent strength, the kind you only notice when you’re underneath it. He kissed my lips, his hand traveling up and down my side, caressing and squeezing, claiming me with his touch. He kept kissing me, moving his body to lean beside me, and ran his hand across my naked chest. His mouth migrated to my neck, then found my nipples; sucking and nibbling while I stretched out and enjoyed his touch with a heavy sigh. His hand groped and pawed at me while he explored my nipples with his mouth, pleased at himself for making me moan like he was already.
He sat up, repositioning himself, and placed a hand on either of my knees. His eyes were focused on mine as he spread me open, making me blush harder than I would have liked to. He’d explored every inch of my body, but he could still make me feel vulnerable and eager like the first time, every time. His gaze shifted to my already-wet pussy, and he reached out with one hand—placing his thumb on my clit, and two fingers inside me. I gasped and he glanced back up at me with that mischievous sideways smile. I could feel his palm pressed against me as he masterfully drew circles with his thumb. His fingers slid in and out of me, pushing me open, getting me ready to take him.
My back arched, my face pushing into the pillow, and I let out a breathy “mmmmm, thank you” while I got wetter and wetter. He slid his body away from mine, bringing his face down to his hand, and gently touched my clit with the tip of his tongue. The cool wetness of it in contrast to my warmness felt incredible, and I whimpered a little, instinctively pushing my hips into his face.
He pulled his hand away, grabbing both of my thighs and burying his face inside me. It was almost rough how he handled me, but his tongue was lapping me so perfectly and gently. Every flick of his tongue felt like a brush dipped in heat, dragging color into places that had only ever been grayscale. I took it all in, dripping and shaking, moaning and giggling, beyond content to be in his hands. He knew just what buttons to push, the exact code, and he could make me come as quickly or as slowly as he wanted. When he finally let me give in, it wasn’t just an orgasm, it was obedience in bloom. My body gave him everything, exactly how he wanted it. He sat back and smiled at me, watching me try to catch my breath through soft, giddy laughter. Even at my most vulnerable, he always made me feel so treasured and seen, adored and worshiped more than used.
He positioned himself back on top of me and curled his arm around the top of my head, cradling me into his neck and chest—then he thrust into me, hard. I heard him groan as he entered me and the sound alone made my pussy tighten around his cock. My hands slid around him, doing my part to pull our bodies as close together as I could, and he quickly found a fast-paced rhythm, pumping into me like he needed me. My body made instinctual noises of approval with each thrust, fingernails digging into his back as I took him inside me.
“Mmmm, good, babygirl, you feel so good for me,” he cooed at me, planting desperate kisses on my forehead. The praise sent me over the edge, and I knew he could feel what his words did to my body as I came like I was built for him.
I drooled into his chest, a complete puddle for him at this point, and he continued to pound into me—harder and faster now than before. I whimpered, my pussy stretched and wet, and rolled my hips into him to bring him in as deep as I could. I heard him whisper a gentle “fuck,” almost as if it was to himself, then he moaned my name—sharp, breathless—and he came, hard, cock pulsing with every stuttering thrust. He held me like he didn’t want to let go. His body trembled, and I wrapped my arms around him, steadying us both.
He fell onto me, my arms still around him, his body a heavy, calming weight on mine. I could feel his heart beating rapidly, like it was trying to jump out of his chest into mine. We panted together, catching our breath, the air between us thick and warm and real.
I ran my fingers along the sweat-damp line of his spine, slow and soothing, grounding both of us. He didn’t speak; just pressed his face against my neck like he needed the closeness more than anything. I stayed there, letting him rest, letting him melt into me, enjoying the rare tender moment.
Eventually, he stood, dressing again while I stayed in bed—naked, curled around a pillow, utterly spent. He smiled when he glanced my way, then leaned onto the bed and brushed my hair from my face. Sometimes when he looked at me, it felt impossible that I could ever belong to anyone else the way I belonged to him.
He kissed me softly, hovered for a second.
“You really are the best, Kitten,” he murmured, then stood, walked to the door.
“See you soon.”
I don’t know why I doubted him. He always finds a way to take what he needs— and gives me what I didn’t know I was waiting for.
I’ll write it down now. Just so I don’t forget how it felt.
How he made me purr.
How he made me his.
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Lovely..❤️