We’d reached the two-week milestone. It wasn’t much by most people’s standards, but by mine, it was a huge accomplishment. Excluding Kelvin, I hadn’t been with a man long enough to realize what his eye color was.

After staying up and watching two episodes of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. It seemed Porter was looking for exactly what I thought I wanted, which thrilled me to no end. But, because I was a girl, I twisted the fact that he liked to lie by my side in bed into a potential problem with our quickly developing relationship.

“Do you like sex, love sex, or see it as something that, I didn’t know, kind of has to accompany a relationship or whatever?” I asked.

He looked up from lacing his boots. “What do you mean?”

“Sex. Do you like having sex?”

Boot laces in hand, he gave a slight shrug. “Love it, why?”

An involuntary sigh escaped me. “Just wondering.”

He finished tying his boots and stood. “What’s on your mind, Abby?”

“Nothing.”

It was Saturday morning. On the previous night, we’d been on a dinner date. When we got home, we watched television and then went to bed together, all without having sex. I was thrilled that he often stayed all-night and loved sleeping with him. I probably didn’t want to worry about his sincerity, sexual appetite, or his loyalty, but I did, nonetheless.

I worried that I wasn’t sexy enough to cause him to want me. I wondered if there was someone else. It was also possible that we weren’t sexually compatible, me desiring sex on a more frequent basis than he was willing to give.

In fact, the possibilities of potential problems were endless.

“You’re standing there with a blank look on your face,” he said. “And, you’ve done that thing with your hair twice in the last thirty seconds.”

I started to object to his statement, and then realized I was scratching my nose with my index finger.

“I just. What,” I stammered. “What happened last night?”

His brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about? What happened with what? We watched that show, and you fell asleep with your head on my chest.”

We were getting ready to leave in an all-day motorcycle ride, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I desperately needed to know why he didn’t like me enough to have sex and had to ask.

I prepared for the inevitable. I was too short, had no boobs, and talked too much. In anticipation of the reasons he was sure to give, my gaze dropped to the floor between us.

“We didn’t have sex last night,” I whined.

His eyes narrowed. “And?”

“Well, I’m wondering if you’re attracted to me like that? You know, sexually.”

He spit out a laugh. “You’re being serious?”

I bit against my lower lip and nodded. I was on the verge of tears and hoped I could manage to keep from crying. I desperately wanted things between Porter and I to work, but not if he didn’t want me as much as I wanted him.

He sauntered from the living room to where I was standing in the kitchen, and then stood right in front of me. Through thin eyes he glared at me until I felt small, and unimportant.

“You’re wondering if I’m sexually attracted to you?” he asked.

A verbal response would have started the waterworks, leaving a nod as my only means of acknowledgement. I nodded.

“Do you remember telling me you didn’t want this to be about sex?” His brows raised. “On the night this ‘relationship’ started?”

I didn’t remember saying that, specifically, but I vaguely recalled making a few references that may have been construed as such. I gave another series of nods in agreement.

“You said your former boyfriend saw you as ‘someone to screw and nothing more’.” He raised his index finger. “Then, you said, ‘when the anger faded, I realized no one put me in that relationship but me. I decided the next time I decided to commit to someone, it was going to be because I wanted to be in a relationship with them. Not because I wanted sex’.”

It sounded familiar, but it didn’t make complete sense. The way Porter worded it, it sounded like I wanted to be in a sex-less relationship. At best, one with minimal sex. That wasn’t at all what I wanted.

“If that’s what I said,” I murmured. “I don’t think it’s what I meant.”

His eyes thinned. “How am I supposed to know what you mean if you don’t tell me what you’re truly thinking?”

“You’re spinning this on me,” I said, nearly in tears. “All I wanted to know was if you were attracted to me. If you think I’m sexy. If you like having sex with me.”

He was standing six feet away. He quickly closed the distance between us. With his eyes locked on mine, he unbuckled his belt and wrestled with his jeans. Then, he leaned forward. The side of his face lightly brushed against mine. His mouth came to rest beside my ear.

“Grab my cock,” he breathed.

His warm breath encompassed my ear. My pussy tingled. A prickling sensation crawled up my neck. My face went flush. While I struggled to process his request, he bit my earlobe. My pussy began to throb with every beat of my heart. Lost in the heavenly feeling, I simply forgot what it was he had asked of me.

“Grab. My. Cock. Abby,” he whispered.

With my heart in my throat, I reached between his legs. Much to my satisfaction, he was rock-hard. I gripped the rigid shaft firmly in my hand.

He leaned away and cocked one eyebrow. “Does that feel like I’m attracted to you?”

I nodded. “Uh huh.”

With lightning-fast hands, he pushed against one shoulder and pulled on the other, spinning me around in the process. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped my dress over my hips, yanked down my panties, and pressed my chest against the cold granite countertop.

I felt the tip of his cock press against my wet folds. His animalistic approach to sex had me soaking wet and brimming with desire. My hands blindly searched the cold countertop for something to grip ahold of. Without further warning, he shoved his entire length into me in one savage thrust.

The air shot from my lungs as my hips slammed against the island’s edge. His hands groped at my boobs. Waves of emotion surged through my body, reminding me of the magic we shared when he was inside of me. While he tweaked my sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefingers, two more violent thrusts followed, the second of which brought me to a quick climax.

He held himself deep inside of me during the orgasm. My body tensed and released repeatedly, erasing what little doubt I had developed regarding Porter’s sexual desires. I felt his cock swell. In response, my pussy tightened around his throbbing shaft.

Then, while I was in mid-climax, he withdrew himself completely. A carnal groan bellowed from his inner being. Warm droplets coated my lower back, butt, and thighs.

The entire process took less than a minute but scored a solid ten by my sexual ratings scale.

I lifted my chest from the countertop and turned to face him. While struggling to catch my breath, I held my dress at my waist with shaking hands.

Porter wetted a handful of paper towels and wiped the cum away. After tossing them in the trash, he looked at me admiringly.

Between his muscular thighs, his semi-hard cock hung heavily. A droplet of cum clung to the tip as a reminder of what had just happened. His worn denim jeans were just above his knees and his boots were laced tightly to his feet.

“What…what was that…about?” I asked between breaths.

“By my watch, that took fifty seconds,” he said. “Do you really need to ask yourself if I’m attracted to you?”

After that display of affection, I had no doubts. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

He gripped his half-hard cock in one hand and wiped the cum droplet away from the tip with the index finger of his other. With his finger extended, he reached toward my face, offering me the cum-covered digit.

I took the full length of his finger into my mouth and sucked the salty droplet from the tip. With my tongue encompassing his calloused flesh, I opened my mouth slightly. He withdrew his hand slowly, watching intently as each inch of his finger slid past my lips.

“I like fucking just as much as you do.” He leaned forward and gave me a soft kiss. “You need to decide if you’d rather spend quality time together, or fuck. You can’t have both.”

I disagreed wholeheartedly. “Fucking is quality time.”

“Guess we won’t be watching the rest of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, then. Will we?” he asked with a laugh.

We’d watched the first five episodes from the comfort of my bed. It was a great show, and I hated to think about missing the ending. “I don’t see why we can’t do both,” I offered. “You can screw me from behind while we’re facing the TV. Like the Canadians do during the Stanley Cup playoffs.”

“That’s one of the things I like about you, Abby.” He kissed me again. “You’re a problem solver.”

“I’m a girl,” I said. “We create problems when there’s actually nothing to worry about. It’s part of what makes us interesting creatures.”

He pulled up his pants. “If creating problems is part of being a woman, I don’t see how that’s to anyone’s benefit.”

“Finding the solution is the fun part,” I said. “It usually ends with us getting something we want.”

He buckled his belt and gave me a look. “So, you’re manipulative?”

“Absolutely not,” I lied.

His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t just coerce me into having sex?”

I did, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking I’d manipulated him. “No. You screwed me to prove a point. You manipulated me. You asked me to grab your cock, remember?”

“Oh.” He looked away. “Yeah, that’s right. I did, didn’t I?”

“So, in summary, you manipulated me into having sex this morning. That means that you need to give it to me without me asking for it tonight. You know, to make up for your manipulative actions this morning.”

He met my gaze. “Huh?”

I had him right where I wanted him. “Just nod your head.”

He shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

I gave him a kiss on my way to the bathroom. Being in a relationship with Porter was going to be fun, at least until he figured out who was manipulating who.