Page 49 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Good, because I’m not doing this for you. I’ve had a very bad day and the only thing that will make it better is the taste of your pussy and the sound of you screaming my name while I make you come. Got a problem with that?”
She smiled. “No.”
“Good.” I stroked up her center and felt the tremor in her legs. “Now let’s get started.”
* * *
When we finally wandered downstairs after a ninety-minute nap (neither of us had slept well last night), it was about six o’clock and both of us were hungry.
“My kitchen is a mess,” she said, picking up my coat from the floor at the foot of the steps. I followed her through the living room, where she tossed my coat on the couch, and into the dining room. “I started the cabinet rehab today.”
“Wow, you did.” I switched on the light and examined her work. “Nicely done. I like the stain. Needs another coat, huh?”
“Yeah, that was the plan, but I got—”
“Naked?”
She giggled. “I was going to say distracted.”
“Not sorry.”
“Me neither.”
Our eyes met, and something happened inside my chest, a quickening. It was slightly terrifying, and also kind of nice. “What if we order in and get that second coat on tonight?”
She smiled. “Sounds good to me. Pizza?”
“Perfect.”
She ordered pizza and a salad and opened a bottle of wine while I retrieved the paint brushes from the basement sink, stirred up the varnish, and got started. “Want a glass?” she called from the kitchen.
“No, thanks. Actually, I don’t drink.” It felt like a safe piece of myself to share, and for some reason, I wanted to share a few pieces with her. Just a few.
“At all?” She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“Nope.”
“Are you…recovered?”
“You could say that.” I painted the cabinet doors with long, even strokes.
“How long?”
“I never went through rehab or anything. But I quit drinking about six years ago. Right after my first niece was born.” Another safe piece.
“That’s…that’s great.” She paused. “But now I feel bad for drinking in front of you.”
I looked at her guilty expression. “You don’t have to feel bad. I don’t drink because I didn’t like how it made me behave. It was hard to stop once I got started, and I made really bad decisions when I was drunk. But I don’t miss it.”
“You’re sure it’s OK?”
“Yes. Promise.”
I got all eight doors coated by the time the food arrived, and Claire did the facing in the kitchen. While I washed out the brushes in the basement, she set the kitchen table with dishes from a box in one corner of the room.
“So what’s next after the cabinets?” I asked her as she filled two bowls with salad.
“Th
