Sophie’s naked body is draped across mine, her head resting on my chest. The sheet lays across her just low enough to expose the dimples in her lower back. Her breaths are long and slow as she sleeps peacefully. I’d be content to lay here holding her all day. But Dopey is at the side of the bed whining for me to take him out.
“Babe,” I say and brush my fingers through her hair.
Nothing.
I continue running my fingers through her hair trying to rouse her. “Babe.”
Sophie’s eyes open a smidge. “Hmm? Where are we?” She looks around the room before her eyes settle on mine.
“Sorry. I need to let the dog out.”
“The dog?” She blinks and looks around again.
“I’ll be right back.” I plant a kiss on the top of her head and scoot out from under her. Upon my standing, Sophie gasps. I crane my neck to find her staring at my bare ass, mouth hanging wide open. I wag my eyebrows and shoot her a smirk before pulling on my jeans and walking out of the room.
Eager to get back to Sophie, I don’t take the time to play ball with Dopey the way I normally do in the morning. As soon as he does his business, I usher him into the house and speed back to my room.
There’s nothing sexier in this world than the sight of Sophie lying naked in my bed. Even hung over, she’s sexy as hell.
She spots the hickey she left on my hip and licks her lips.
Correction.
There’s nothing in this world sexier than Sophie, naked in my bed, and panting at the sight of me. If only I could read her mind.
“How do you feel?” I ask and crawl into the bed alongside her.
“Not bad at all.” She scrunches her eyebrows. “How is that possible?”
I gaze into her eyes and brush her cheek with the back of my hand. “I fed you a cheeseburger, two ibuprofen, and made you drink two glasses of water before we came up to bed.”
“Thank you.” There’s an unspoken question in her eyes.
“So you don’t remember last night, do you?” I say playfully as I stroke her palm with the tips of my fingers.
“Not all of it.” Her voice is small. Shy.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
Her face turns a light shade of pink. “I remember showing you my double sided tape at the bar.”
I shake my head and cackle. That happened about an hour before we left. A lot happened between that time and when she passed out. “Would you like me to fill you in?”
“I think you better.”
I scoot up and prop myself up with a second pillow. “First, you should know, we did not have sex.”
“We didn’t?” She seems relieved.
“Of course not.” I wouldn’t have allowed it to go that far no matter how hard she tried to convince me otherwise.
She raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Babe,” I gaze into her eyes, “our first time making love won’t be when you’re trashed.”
I’ve never used the terminology “making love” before and I’m surprised by how naturally the words roll off my tongue. I shouldn’t be surprised though because when it does happen that’s exactly what it will be. Making love. It could never just be sex with Sophie.
“Okay, so why don’t you fill me in on what did happen?”
I roll onto my side to face her. “Do you want a play-by-play from the bar, or just the good stuff?” I ask with a chuckle. There was a lot of good stuff.
“The good stuff,” she answers.
I decide to skip the stuff in the limo and the heavy petting in the club. As fun as it was, the really good stuff happened when we got back to my place.
“All right then. After we got home and ate, you told me you had something you wanted to show me and dragged me in here,” I point to the bottom of the bed, “where you proceeded to strip.”
I give her a moment to let that sink in and allow myself to remember it in detail.
“And this is where it gets interesting,” I go on, “because of the tape. Apparently, it hurts when you try to remove it, which of course I was more than happy to help you with.”
“Of course you were.” She grins and bites her lip.
Standing at the foot of my bed she began her rendition of a strip tease which as I recall wasn’t too bad. A bit wobbly from the copious amounts of alcohol she’d consumed, but still hot. She lifted the halter strap over her head, but the tape held the front of her dress up, covering her breasts. She tugged on one side and cried out in pain. Sexy dance ceased at once, but she insisted on getting the dress off so I helped her gently peel the tape away from her skin. It took a few minutes, but we were able to peel the tape away without doing any damage. Not exactly the sexy strip tease she’d wanted to put on, but that didn’t matter to me.
“So after getting you out of the dress and carefully removing the tape,” I reach over and grab the body chain from the nightstand and hold it up in front of her, “I got my wish.”
“Okay, go on,” Sophie says, her face a deep shade of red as she picks at her fingernails. Her eyes follow my hand as it slides into my jeans and I readjust my rock hard dick.
“Babe, let me just say, hottest lap dance ever.”
She covers her face with her hands, embarrassed, but I pull them away with a chuckle. Her face, ears, and chest are flushed. Embarrassment aside, something in her eyes conveys curiosity and excitement. A hint of the confident, sexy, determined woman from last night. Perhaps I can help her to remember. I pull the sheet down, exposing her breasts and point at the hickey I left alongside her nipple.
“That’s when you told me to put my mouth on you. A request I couldn’t possibly refuse.” I bow down and lick the mark.
Just as I’m about to take her hardening nipple into my mouth, she says, “Let’s not get distracted,” and turns my face to hers.
“I thought a reenactment might help you to remember.” I wink and prop myself back upright.
“Just tell me. You can show me later,” she says, but doesn’t cover herself up.
I rub my hands together as I prepare to tell her the rest. “This is when it gets really good.” Unable to resist, I trace the outline of her hickey with my fingertip and recall her standing before me nearly naked in those come fuck me pumps. My balls ache. This may well be the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever suffered. “You told me you wanted to touch, kiss, lick, and suck every inch of my body and ordered me to get naked. I stripped down to my boxer briefs, and that’s when this happened,” I point to my own hickey. I can still feel the heat of her mouth on my skin.
“Go on,” she insists.
I sweep a lock of hair away from her face and look deep into her eyes. As much as I wanted her, and as good as her touch felt, I somehow found the strength to put on the brakes. “I told you I thought we should stop. Save the rest for later. You said you were tired of waiting.” I point to my straining hard-on. “You grabbed a hold of my dick and said you hated that other women have touched me and you haven’t. You all but ripped my boxers off,” I snicker and brush her arm with the back of my hand. “Do you want to know what happened after that?”
Bashful, she turns away, but nods.
“Nothing,” I answer.
She takes in a breath and with her fingers pressed to her lips, looks back to me. “What?”
“It was so cute.” I kiss her palm. “You were staring at my cock with eyes wide as saucers and then you passed out cold.”
“Oh my God,” she grumbles and rolls over onto her stomach.
“Babe, it’s a good thing you passed out because I honestly don’t know how I would’ve stopped if you’d touched me.”
“I’m never drinking again.” Her voice is muffled by the pillow.
“Hey,” I caress her shoulder, “look at me.”
She turns her face my way, but remains lying on her stomach.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say and massage the small of her back.
“I’m not embarrassed. I’m mortified.”
“Sophie, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Last night was one of the best nights of my life.” Hands down, and I didn’t even get laid. That says a lot.
She starts to protest but I shoot her a stern look. If I say it, it’s so. She needs to trust the words I say.
“I need coffee,” she says, changing the subject.
I stand and reach for her, but she wraps her arms around herself, self-conscious. I go to my chest of drawers and find a t-shirt and pair of sweat pants for her to wear. They’ll be too big, but the pants have a drawstring. After laying the clothes on the bed I tell her I’ll start a pot of coffee and leave the room to give her privacy.
While Sophie gets dressed, I make the coffee and relive the events of last night. The best part for me was lying in bed with her. After removing her body chain and heels, I slid into the bed next to her and watched her sleep. A half hour later she rolled over, rested her head on my chest, and mumbled that she loves being held by me.
As I pour myself a glass of orange juice, I hear the water kick on in the bathroom upstairs. A foreign sensation comes over me. Contentment. I like hearing Sophie moving about in my house. I like going to bed with her and waking up next to her. There was a time when I thought I’d never like such a thing. I liked having my space to myself and couldn’t understand how people could stand being married and around someone all the time. But now, I get it. When you find the right person, you want them around.
It’s hard to imagine I went from hating the idea of sleeping next a woman to it being the thing I most look forward to. If it was up to me Sophie would be in my bed every night, but sleeping together every night is basically living together. I doubt she’s ready for that.
When Sophie enters the kitchen, my heart stutters. She’s fresh faced and cute as can be in my baggy clothes. As hot as she was last night, I prefer her this way. Natural. Sweet. Soft.
“I don’t have creamer,” I point to the milk and sugar I left on the counter for her. “Will that be okay?”
“It’s perfect.” She pours coffee into her mug. “Thank you.”
Sophie looks around the kitchen, taking in our surroundings, but I can’t make out her expression. “I was thinking about making breakfast. Would you like some?”
“That would be great.”
On my way to the refrigerator, I place a kiss on the side of her head. Her hair still smells fresh as if she’d just stepped out of the shower.
“I used your toothbrush,” she says softly. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
Another first for me. I’ve never shared my toothbrush. If anyone other than Sophie said they’d used it, I’d throw it out. But using a toothbrush after Sophie doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I’m a completely different person with her.
Sophie watches me from the dining room table as I get the items together to make bacon and eggs. I don’t eat it often, but bacon is one of my favorite cheats from my usually healthy diet. On an average morning, I have oatmeal with fruit and egg whites. But with Sophie here, I’ll splurge.
“Can I help with anything?” she asks.
“No. Enjoy your coffee.”
As I stand at the stove frying the bacon, my thoughts turn to my plans for the day. I want to spend it with Sophie, but it’s Sunday. Mama and Pop are holding the weekly Russo family dinner. My attendance has been hit and miss lately. Mama called yesterday and told me she expects me to be there and won’t accept any excuses.
Sunday dinners are sacred to my mom. We’ve been having them my entire life, but they took on a different significance when I became an adult and moved out of the house. Now that her children are growing up and creating lives of their own, Mama still wants to keep us close. She would like for us to attend each week, but realizes life can get in the way, so only two Sundays a month are mandatory. I make most Sundays, but since hooking up with Sophie my attendance has been less than exemplary.
Last night I considered inviting Sophie. But attending the family dinner is a big deal. It’s called a family dinner for a reason. Only family is allowed. Friends, girlfriends, and boyfriends are not permitted unless it’s a serious, long term relationship or engagement.
My relationship with Sophie is new, but I know she is it for me. I can’t explain how I know other than to say I feel it. She is the one I’m meant to be with. My other half. Since being with her, I feel… whole. It’s as though something has been missing from my life for all these years and it turns out, it was her.
Essentially, by bringing her to the family dinner, I will be bringing her into the family. It’s an enormous step, but I don’t need more time. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. We may not be married or even engaged, but she’s mine and I’m hers. I consider her a part of my family. It’s time my family knows and by bringing her with me they will understand, without explanation, her importance to me. She is my future.
I glance at Sophie whose eyes are fixed on the hickey she left just above my hip. She’s holding her cup up with her lips parted slightly. I chuckle. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Her face turns a deep shade of red and she looks down to her mug. The bacon pops and grease splatters on the bare skin of my rib cage, reminding me I have a job to finish.
Once the bacon and eggs are done, I make plates for the both of us and carry them into the dining room. After setting one plate in front of Sophie, I take the seat across from her. She takes a bite of the bacon and closes her eyes as she chews.
“This is so good,” she says. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bear’s Harley fires up and Sophie’s head spins toward her house.
“Bear stayed with Miranda?” Sophie asks in a high-pitched tone.
“Yep.” Her jaw slackens and I laugh. “Apparently we ruthless bikers have rubbed off on both of you.”
“Apparently.” She looks at her house through my kitchen window.
There’s no time like the present to ask her to join me for the Russo family dinner. “My parents are having a cookout this afternoon. Mom texted and asked me to come.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her expression conveys what she’s thinking.
“Candace won’t be there,” I assure her. For all intents and purposes, Candace is considered family, but she has never attended the Sunday family dinner.
Sophie shoulders relax and she exhales a breath of relief. “Good.”
I swallow a bite of bacon. Here goes nothing. “I’d like for you to come with me.”
Her eyes widen. “To meet your parents?”
I shrug as though it’s no big deal. “Yeah, why not?”
“Okay.”
Neither one of us speaks again for a couple minutes. I eat and try my best to act cool. Sophie has no idea how big of a deal it is that I’m taking her. She doesn’t know what it means to me—of what she means to me.
“Should I get dressed up?” she asks.
I shake my head. We’re not a dress up kind of family. “It’s just a backyard cookout, hamburgers, hot dogs. We’ll ride over on the bike.”
“What time?”
I glance at the clock on the wall. “We need to leave in an hour.”