“Another kiss, and she gets out first, toweling,
sometimes singing while I stay in
turn the water on hotter
feeling the good times of love’s miracle
when you take it away
do it slowly and easily
make it as if I were dying in my sleep instead of in
my life, amen.”
~Charles Bukowski
In the mornings, she likes to make breakfast and love.
About breakfast, she does some delicious maple syrup pancakes. No bra, in her lace lingerie, she cooks with love. Love for the pancakes, for the sweet syrup, for him, for the sweet kisses that she will get.
She likes to play some music, usually, it’s Lana del Rey’s songs when she’s cooking.
And she knows he will come for her. Or maybe for the pancakes.
As he does also this morning. And he kisses her neck and squeezes her booty and… eats the pancakes.
She is filled with pure joy, innocent morning thoughts, and… her cunt is filled with his hard cock.
She bends over the table and they fuck. A morning rough fuck. When he’s about to cum, she kneels in front of him and takes her breakfast.
They shower together and have a water fight. They laugh, they are reckless kids at that moment, worry free.
He plays on some chill music, a playlist dear to her.
She likes the water hotter than he does and it takes a while until they decide on the convenient temperature.
She spreads the soup over his chest, his back and she leans on him, she can’t resist the temptation to put her body, her breasts on to him.
He cleans himself and she does nothing, just letting the water run down on her, calming her inner storms.
He smiles and kisses her. Then he grins and starts washing her. The cunt, her breasts, her legs, the cunt, the booty, her always wet cunt…
He gets out and she stays a little bit longer as usual, turning the water even hotter.
She hears him in the kitchen, probably finishing the last pancakes and she notices that the playlist just finished and the music is gone.
She takes his phone to play it again and sees the unread messages, nine. She doesn’t read them, no way, she wouldn’t do that. She places the phone right back, so he won’t notice that she saw something.
She lets the water pour on her and wash away the taste of desperate need of possession from her skin.
She turns off the water and towel herself.
She goes back to him and hugs him from the back. She can smell love on him.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/i9r5q8/red_velvet_erotic_shortstory_part_vii