Page 93 of Her Filthy Grump
When I finally come to after a sex marathon I might never recover from, I gape at the ceiling in exhaustion.
There’s a strong possibility I have the equivalent of a rug burn on my dick and a dislocated back.
What the fuck time is it?I flop my head to the side. The clock on the wall above the dresser says five o’clock.
I blink. Daytime or nighttime? I roll my eyes. Dumbass. The room’s bright. Can a person become stupid from the loss of semen? If that’s a thing, I’ve lost about fifty IQ points.
A soft snore from Layla’s side of the bed breaks the quiet in the room. The only other sound is the clicking of the second hand on the clock and the AC’s low rumble.
I flip over and watch her sleep. Her eyes flutter behind her lids as her breath fans a strand of hair over her face. I tuck it behind her ear to keep it from tickling her nose.
A swell of contentment settles over me. The world had broken me. Convinced me I had nothing to give a woman as special as her. Layla has pieced me back together with her open heart and giving spirit. She reminds me that there’s good in the world and that I can have it all.
Her eyes flutter open, and she smiles at me. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey, yourself.” I trace her cheekbone with my index finger.
“Did I snore?”
“Maybe.” I grin and rest my elbow on the mattress. “But it was adorable. Just like you.”
“Ri-i-ight.” She rolls her eyes and smacks me with her hand.
“I’m telling the truth. I must be because I’m not trying to get in your pants.”
“Thank God,” she groans and rests her open palm on my hip. “I can’t take any more of your sexcapades right now.” She moves her leg and makes a face. “Maybe never.”
“Don’t be a drama queen.” I kiss her lips and pull back. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Then, let’s make supper.”
“Supper?” Her nose wrinkles. “You mean we’ve been in bed since eight o’clock this morning, and it’s already dinner time?”
“Yep.” I wink. At least that muscle doesn’t hurt. Then, I spin over and sit on the edge of the bed. All the other muscles in my body scream in anguish.
“Seriously? It’s a good thing I ate before I came over here. I’m pregnant. I need food.”
“Shit.” My stomach drops as all humor fades away. I swivel to face her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I was teasing you.”
“Don’t tease me about that.” I jump out of bed, grab a pair of jeans off the floor, and slide them up my legs–all while ignoring the screaming of my muscles. I don’t bother to fasten the zipper. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll help.” She hops out of bed. “Shit. Everything aches. I think I pulled an ass muscle.” She hobbles behind me.
“What do you want to eat?”
“Something quick, because I need a warm bath to work some of these kinks out.”
“I bet you never thought you’d say kink, did you?”
“I bet you never thought I’d ride your face for thirty minutes, did you?”
“No.” I wrap my arm around her. “Not when the whole time, I had a tongue cramp, and you couldn’t care less.” We continue to banter on the way into the kitchen. The ease with which we slipped into a close comradery fills my soul with happiness.
“Do you want me to massage your tongue?” She steps out from under my arm and walks over to the island.