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The sunlight cuts through the bedroom window. As I shift to shield my face, I become aware of a warm body against mine and the beautiful, soft breast I’m cupping. I inhale. A floral aroma invades my senses. Delilah. A rush of memories hit me as I shift my quickly growing hard-on between the supple globes of her ass. I place a soft kiss on her shoulder and squint at the intruding morning light.
Her lips lift into a smile, but her eyes remain closed. “Well, good morning to you.” She squeezes her ass, and the sensation feels incredible. My erection hardens to an almost painful apex. I reluctantly release her breast and glide down her curves to her smooth, bare pussy. I slip one finger then another inside. She’s drenched. Within minutes, she’s writhing against me, and all I can think about is slipping into her tight warmth. So tempting.
I force her hips to still then reach behind me to my nightstand where I tossed her extra condom. Within seconds, I’m ready and inside her. Holy fuck. Heaven. She’s so tight, so wet. We are side by side in bed, her hair flowing over the top of our pillows, and the sheets are pushed down, giving me a perfect view of the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. The view of her breast and her lush, round nipple is almost as memorable as the one of her bouncing on top of me last night. My palm presses against her clit, the precious bundle of nerves that provide a portal to this gorgeous woman’s pleasure, once, twice, three times, and she detonates, quivering and milking my cock. I release into her and wrap my arms around her. This might be the best morning of my life.
I have zero desire to get out of this bed—ever. But I need to dispose of this condom and hit the toilet, so I grab a pair of pajama pants and head down the hall. The bathroom being at the other end of the apartment has never really bothered me before. In New York, there are all kinds of apartment configurations. This one has the added benefit of huge windows and loads of natural light and a big, open living space. But I’ve never had a girlfriend while living here. I can see how making this journey with Kara’s bedroom door opposite mine might be fraught with potential issues. Girlfriend.
I duck into the kitchen and grind coffee beans. Kara. What the fuck am I doing? Delilah’s twenty-six. She’s not a kid, but so much of her carefree persona reminds me of an undergrad. She bounces and radiates giddy energy as if she exudes her own inner light. Kara would love her. She’d be a moth to the flame.
I run through my options while waiting for the coffee to brew. I want to see Delilah again, but Kara is my priority. My little girl is my life. My everything. The reason I haven’t thought about dating. Or fun. I need to ask Delilah what she wants. I’m not just a single guy. I’m a single dad.
I’m staring at the coffee pot, waiting for it to fill, when an arm circles my waist and soft lips touch the base of my neck. I twist in her arms and wrap mine around her. As I hold her, a sense of peace fills me. I wouldn’t say I’ve been unhappy or lonely before now. But, somehow, a missing piece to my life puzzle slid into place. I’ve known her for less than forty-eight hours. It’s borderline insanity, but didn’t someone tell me things happen faster on the relationship front for single parents? I like having her here.
I press a kiss to her forehead and pour us both coffee. I happen to have soymilk in my fridge, thanks to Mom. Dee’s wearing the flannel shirt I wore yesterday, and from what I can tell, nothing else. Ah, crap. Look at me. I’ve already given her a nickname. Her blonde hair’s all kind of messed up from our night. Without make-up, her eyebrows are much lighter, in a way that frames the aqua color of her irises and her golden skin tone. Her natural beauty shines through when she’s put together, but I think I love this undone morning version of her more than anything I’ve seen so far.
She peers up at me, and a bit bashfully, says, “I used your toothbrush. I hope that’s okay.” Her nose wrinkles as she confesses.
Hell, yeah, that’s okay. In answer, I give her a long, slow, deep kiss. By the time we break away, my lightweight pajama pants do a poor job of hiding the beast she’s awoken. She smirks with an oh-I-know-what-you’re-up-to expression as I guide her to the sofa
Delilah curls up beside me as I grab the throw lying on the back of the sofa, a Disney princess furry blanket my mom gave Kara years ago. It’s ugly as sin, but it’s super soft, hence its permanent inclusion in our den. Well, that and the fact Kara is largely responsible for the decor in the apartment. And she’s four.
And she’ll be home this evening. I toy with Delilah’s fingers, contemplating my options, and determine I have no choice but to talk. Communicate. “So, I really like you.” Light blue eyes, lighter than the sky outside, stare at me over the rim of her coffee mug. I pause, waiting for the mug to drop lower so I can see her whole face and better judge her reaction.
When she lowers the mug, she murmurs, “I really like you too.”
I exhale. First part, done. “I’m not exactly sure how the whole dating thing works now. From what I understand, I should probably date you while dating others and take it slow and see how we evolve, but I have a daughter.” Her fingers weave through mine. “It’s why I haven’t dated.”
As a vet, I understand when a physical action is meant to comfort. I often place a hand on a client’s shoulder. Her action causes me to pause and appreciate her innate kindness.
I inhale and attempt to slow my speech so my fears don’t seep through my words. “I want to see you again, but Kara lives with me.” My gaze roams the ceiling until I pinpoint what I need to say. “She’s a big part of my life. If I’m not at work, she’s usually with me.” I wrap a piece of her hair around my index finger and admire the smooth lines of her clavicle, unsure where I’m going with this. I do want to see her again. I’m nowhere close to having my fill of her. But the reality is that I have such a small amount of free time in general.
She sucks in her bottom lip, and I’d give anything to hear the thoughts running through her gorgeous blonde head right now.
A pop sounds as she releases her pink, swollen bottom lip. “Mason, I’d love to meet your daughter. I can tell she’s an artist.” She bites her thumbnail. Then, softly, almost to herself, she adds, “A kindred soul.”
Her words knock air out of my chest. I didn’t mean to imply I’d introduce her to my daughter.
Sensing my hesitation, she continues. “Why don’t you introduce me as a friend? She’s four. That’s all she needs to know, anyway, right?”
“I suppose.” What we did last night was way out of the ballpark of friend territory, but she’s right. There’s no reason to dissect adult relationships for my pre-K kid.
She smiles her giant, radiating smile. “And it’s the truth, right? We’re friends, and I’d love to be her friend.”
Her phone vibrates on the wooden floor where it’s been plugged in all night below the window. She ignores the sound and loops her hands behind my neck and pulls me down to her for a soft, comforting kiss. I massage down her smooth skin to cup her naked ass and squeeze. I glance at the clock. Thirty minutes before I need to be out the door. “Any chance you’re available for dinner tonight after work? Kara will be home. But if it’s too much—”
“Tonight?” She pushes away from me, and her question hangs in the air. I follow her into my bedroom. What’s wrong with me? She must think I’m crazy. I should know better. Wait a few days to call. Or a week. Then make plans. But those are games, and I’ve never been much for games.
She pulls on her clothes, moving her hands in the air, her lips moving every now and then as if she’s having a conversation with herself. I’ve pushed too far, jumped in too quickly. It’s something I do. Or did. “Forget about tonight. I’ll give you a call. We can figure something out.”
She trails a finger through my chest hair then stands on tiptoes to press her soft lips to mine and makes me second guess the last twenty-four hours when she quips, “Tell you what. Let me consult the Magic 8-Ball.”