“I was home visiting my parents for a weekend.” She lifts to her elbows, head still tilted my way as she listens. “I could see you in the backyard sunbathing.”
“You mean burning,” she says.
Chuckling, I tell her, “You hadn’t been out there long. All that pale skin and a bikini with your tits barely held in there.”
To my surprise, Jorie’s cheeks turn a little pink, but she fearlessly asks, “What else?”
“I wondered what your pussy tasted like.” Her cheeks deepen from pink to red. “Then I went and took a shower and jacked off thinking about it.”
“How old was I?” she whispers.
“Fifteen,” I admit with a small pang of guilt hitting me in the middle of my chest. “But not again after what happened in that hotel suite that night.”
She nods, her eyes going super soft with what I’d call hero worship. I know she thinks I saved her, but all I did was get her to the hospital.
And exact revenge.
“Want to know the first time I crushed on you?” she asks me mischievously.
“Does it involve details of you masturbating to thoughts of me?” I ask wickedly.
“Eww,” she says while wrinkling her nose. “I said crush, not masturbate. I was ten.”
My brows furrow as I try to think back that far. “What happened when you were ten?”
“I know you probably don’t remember it,” Jorie says as she goes to her side to face me in the bed. Curling her arm under a pillow, she says, “Your parents were out of town and you threw a party. And I snuck over to watch through the living room window. My dad was out of town on a business trip and the nanny was sound asleep.”
A niggling memory starts to surface, but I don’t try to dig for it, preferring to let Jorie tell me the story.
“And a group of people were outside smoking a joint—a few guys and girls—and they found me there. They started messing around with me, offering me a hit. I got scared and decided to go back home, but one of the girls grabbed my wrist and tried to push the joint in my face.”
I remember it as clear as day now, continuing with the memory. “And I came out, saw it, and went apeshit.”
She nods with a smile. “I’ve never seen you so mad. You were cursing and yelling at them, and the entire time, you held my hand in yours. Ran them right off your property.”
Man, was I pissed. Especially because the girl trying to make Jorie take a hit off that joint was some chick I’d been fucking. Can’t even remember her name now.
“That was your first crush, huh?”
“My first, but not my last,” she says impishly. “I moved on from you when Tony Greco pushed Sean Harp down on the playground when he tried to lift my dress up.”
I bring my hand to my chest. “I’m wounded.”
Giggling, Jorie wiggles a little closer to me and puts her hand on my hip where she strokes it lightly. “I was a little older when I started my dirty thoughts.”
“I’m not sure we’ll make it to breakfast if you tell me about it,” I warn her. “But lay it on me.”
“No way,” Jorie says as she pops up to an elbow. Can’t help it… my eyes go to her tits as they jiggle a little bit. Her nipples are redder than normal, and there’s a bite mark on the side of her breast just below her scar. The tantalizing sight is impeded as she snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, and I blink. “Eyes up here, buddy.”
I grin at her as I do as she asks.
“I’m hungry. Feed me.”
“Fine,” I say with a last, lingering look at her breasts. “But don’t get dressed. You’re not leaving after.”
Her beaming smile at me isn’t filled with just happiness over my demand, but also triumph. She knew before I did she wasn’t leaving today.
Turns out, we both got dressed, but not after an honest attempt at naked breakfast.
It started off on the wrong foot because I felt too awkward with my ass sitting on a cold, leather bar stool at his kitchen island and my arms crossed over my chest. Walsh shot me an exasperated look as he pulled the eggs out of the fridge.
“Drop your hands, Jorie,” he commanded. “You ingeniously argued your way into my bed so you’re not about to deprive me of staring at your body.”
I blushed and dropped my hands, the coolness from the air conditioning hardening my nipples.
Because I apparently couldn’t look him in the eye in the bright light of day while he scrambled eggs, I stared at his cock, fascinated by it. He’s way larger than Vince… than anyone I’ve ever been with, but that’s a grand total of three men. The guy I lost my virginity to, which was a drunk hookup in college, Vince, and then Walsh.