To my surprise, I’m already hard again, and I’m stroking myself while she watches, teasing her pussy, her lips, her clit. She puts her wet fingers in her mouth, licks them clean, then bites her lip as she puts on the show of a lifetime, and suddenly, she’s coming again. Watching the way her muscles tighten is fascinating. Her body quivers. She cries out, and I’m coming with her, not even caring about the mess I’m making.
We’re not touching, but this might be the most intimate moment of our relationship so far. Her blue eyes are lazy now as she catches her breath, watching me, and a slow, Cheshire cat smile spreads over her lips.
It’s in this moment that I know I’m lost to her, forever. She doesn’t just own my heart, she is my heart.
I love her.
***
“It’s early,” Callie pouts beside me the next morning as we walk from the hotel to the waterfront and Pike’s Market. “We’re usually going to bed right about now.”
“That’s an exaggeration, but it is early.”
“So why are we out of bed? We had room service and sleep and sex back at the hotel.”
“Because you’ve never been to Seattle, and I want you to experience it.”
She frowns. “Okay. Can I experience it with coffee?”
“That’s the first thing on my list,” I assure her and take her hand, link our fingers, and squeeze reassuringly. Three squeezes, to be exact.
I love you.
Our first stop is the original Starbucks where we load up on probably way too much caffeine, then I lead her through the market. It’s a little early yet, but vendors are already setting up their tables full of seafood, flowers, jewelry, just about anything you can think of. Callie is happy to slowly browse, stopping to taste some local honey, or accept a slice of apple.
A pair of earrings catch her eye. “We’ll take them,” I tell the man behind the table, who smiles and reaches for a box.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Callie shakes her head and the man pauses with the box in his hand.
“Do you like them?”
“Of course, they’re beautiful.”
“Perfect.” I nod to the man and he continues boxing her earrings. I pay him and she takes the bag with a thank you, and fifteen minutes later, when she still hasn’t said a word, I decide to break the silence. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Thank you for the earrings.”
“You’re welcome.” We walk further, tasting oils and vinegars with cut-up bread, and then finally stand and watch the guys who throw the fish put on a show. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, but she doesn’t lean into me the way she usually does. “Spill it, sweetheart,” I murmur into her ear.
“You’re just a very take-charge kind of person,” she says, her eyes pinned to the fish flying through the air. “And that’s something I have to get used to.”
“It’s not a big deal. You like the earrings, so I bought them.”
“And I like the Seahawks so you brought me to Seattle,” she says with a nod. “You just—”
“I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” I say and drop my arm. Am I coming on too strong? I don’t see it that way. I love her, so I do nice things for her. It’s really that simple.
“I’ve never been taken care of,” she says softly and finally turns to look up at me. She takes my hand in hers and holds on tightly. “This is just new for me, and I’m not complaining, I’m just—”
“You’re adjusting your sails,” I finish for her, thinking of my father.
“What?”
“My dad used to say we can’t control the wind, but we can adjust our sails.” I lead her around the corner and sigh in bliss when I smell the tiny donuts being made. “So, you’re adjusting your sails a bit, and that’s okay.”
“That’s actually a really good way to put it,” she agrees with a nod. “But nothing is wrong. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Okay. Just tell me if I do, because I probably will, and I won’t even know that I’m doing it.”
“Fair enough. Please tell me we’re getting some of these donuts.”
I grin and nod, already salivating. “This is the only reason I come to Seattle.”
“You’re kidding.” She frowns as she watches the little pastries float in the cooking oil, then flop into the three-tiered cooking rack. “They’re just donuts.”
“You wound me,” I reply, my hand over my heart. “These are not just donuts. These are Pike’s Place Market donuts, and believe me when I say after you’ve eaten these, you’ll never be the same.”
“If you say so,” she says. I order enough for two large brown paper bags full, take one out, still piping hot from the fryer, and pop it in my mouth, then offer her one. She chooses a cinnamon sugar one, takes a bite, and stops in her tracks. “Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“I mean, it’s just… so good.”
“You’re welcome.”
“More.” She takes the bag out of my hands and digs in, bites into another and sighs, moaning as if she’s having really, really good sex.
“It’s a good thing I bought two bags,” I say with a laugh and open my own bag, but she reaches in and steals one. “Hey!”
“You took one of mine,” she says primly, licking sugar off her lips. “It’s only fair.”