Chapter 40
Kellan
The cottage was quiet as I rose, blinking my eyes slowly to the smell of fresh ground coffee. I shook my head, thinking to myself it must be a dream. I’d never quite mastered that whole “set the alarm so the coffeemaker goes off at the same time every morning” thing. Still, as I tried to bury my head in the cottage’s comfy pillows, I realized the smell was stronger than any dream—and the cottage not so quiet.
There was the clatter of a spoon, soft but distinct, and the whisper of bare feet on creaky floorboards. Curious, even hopeful, I rose naked from the bed and hastily pulled on a thin cotton robe from the chair by the door. I was still tugging it on when the smell of Carla’s perfume, soft and fragrant, overpowered the smell of fresh coffee in the pot.
“Carla?” I croaked, not sure if I was asleep and still dreaming.
She emerged, dressed as hastily—and scantily—as I was in one of my dress shirts, half-buttoned over nothing else. Her hair seemed still damp, her body aglow from a recent shower. “Hi babe,” she said, almost bashfully, face flushed as I took the cup of steaming coffee she offered and set it down on the counter next to the still gurgling coffeemaker.
“Hi nothing,” I gushed, taking her into my arms and nearly crushing her with relief. “Where the hell have you been?”
She answered in kind, clutching me heartily and sagging against my chest with relief. “I finally unloaded Miami Models, babe, and, well… it was harder than I thought.”
Now it was my turn to be relieved. “Thank God, though, right?” I asked, pushing her away only to see my shirt fall open, slightly, revealing the swell of one glorious breast, her nipple hardening against the thin cotton of my shirt.
She nodded, biting her lip as her eyes moistened. “I’m so relieved,” she said, wiping away fresh tears as I stood admiring her physical perfection. Ripe, womanly hips beneath the powder blue shirt, legs for days and a soft, flat belly begging to be kissed, teased and caressed.
“You and me both,” I said, reaching to unbutton her shirt. Sorry, my shirt. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Well,” she teased, tugging at the string of my robe until it gave way just as I freed the last button to reveal her glossy red bush atop her glistening pink pussy. “You’re about to see a lot more of me because I’ve sold Miami Models, lock, stock and barrel and my loft is on the market as well.”
“Perfect,” I said, hoisting her up on the counter and kneeling as I spread her legs, her delicate bouquet rivaling the fresh roasted coffee. “Now we can fuck as often as we like.”
“Kellan!” she said, squeezing her thighs shut as I leaned back on my haunches. “Is that all you missed me for?”
“Hardly!” I shrugged out of my robe and hoped my tanned physique, harder than ever from weeks of physical labor in the intense Florida heat might tease her thighs back open. “But now that your business is settled, and your back, why not celebrate with a pussy buffet!”
“Kellan!” she squealed, giggling so that, distracted, I could tease her legs open and lick and kiss the velvet insides of her thighs and distract her even more. “What’s gotten into you?”
“It’s not what’s gotten into me,” I murmured, my hot breath spilling across her moist pussy. “It’s what’s about to get into you…”
I kissed her then, my mouth flush with her pearly pink labia, lapping and licking its musky coating until the words died on her lips. She spread her legs wider, as desperate and hungry as I was for this—for all of this.
She’d opened the windows while making coffee, and the sound of crashing waves mingled with her breathy murmurs. Her belly began to dance and wriggle as I teased her clit from its glossy sheath. It was firm and fiery, throbbing beneath my tightened lips as I pulled her closer to the edge of the kitchen counter for a better taste.
She was glorious in all her femininity, musky and ripe and primal. She began to quake and writhe and grind her pussy along my face. I indulged her every whim, every angle, sensing her desire as it crested and climaxed in a hot bath of quaking, dripping lust.
I lapped at her, like a dog at its bowl, eager and hungry in a way I’d never been before. She was helpless there, naked and dripping on the countertop, her belly and breasts and body quivering as I knelt on the floor. My face between her legs, at her service as she slid up and down, left and right—my tongue pressed tight against her weeping bud as it rocked and throbbed and danced again and again.
I could have stayed there all day if my own needs hadn’t finally prevailed, and as I rocked her world for the dozenth time, my prick danced and leaped and leaked with anticipation.
Only then, did I rise to my feet and smother her lips with my own, creamy and fragrant and dewy as she lapped at them greedily, eagerly, our desire overcoming our humility as I placed a hand on each thigh and, gripping her tight, slid my cock along her rosy, fragrant pussy.