Chapter Twenty-Two

Hammered Gen is a snorer. I don't mind it though, because the small raspy sounds that rhythmically come out of her are adorable compared to Mulligrubs's. There's also much less drool going on—albeit there is some.

I woke up nearly an hour ago with her all snuggled up against me, her hair a wild mess. It's the first time I've seen it so wavy, so I reckon she usually does something to have the smooth length I normally see her with. I've been waiting for her to wake up, but nature's calling, so I have to get out of bed.

Careful not to stir her, I maneuver my way out of her sleepy embrace, giving her red hair a gentle caress when she lets out a grunty protest. After a trip to the loo, I fight the urge to return to bed with her. I need to feed Mulli, have a coffee, and send a couple of emails.

As soon as she sees I'm up, Mulligrubs stands from her round mattress and comes to greet me enthusiastically. "Hey, Grubsy girl," I whisper, squatting to take her big smiling head between my hands to scratch her the way she loves. She then follows me to the kitchen and sits by her empty bowl. Today's Sunday, and she knows it means a special meal. The pet catering service ensures she has a nice treat in every weekly delivery, as well as a new chew toy. That one though, she'll get when Gen is awake.

Once Mulls is fed, I take her to the roof so she can do her business—I'm too lazy to do a proper walk, and can't even be bothered to put a shirt on. When that's over, we return to the flat, and I head to the bedroom with my iPad and a steaming cup of dark brew. I settle down on the lush leather armchair that faces the bed and set the cup on the vintage hardwood flooring. Yes, I have to work, but I can do it with a view. And what a sight she is, wrapped in my sheets, wearing my T-shirt, her plump lips pursed together by her cheek pressed onto the pillow, her face a veil of comfort and serenity. As soon as she wakes up, she'll have to handle a nasty hangover, so I'll let her enjoy this state of oblivion for as long as possible.

She's still out by the time the emails are sent and I'm done with my coffee. Mulli is lying by my chair, already back to sleep. I'm unsure what compels me, but I unlatch the stylus and open Procreate. My first two attempts at capturing Gen's likeness are a failure, even though an untrained eye might find them excellent. It's not quite her, something is missing. She switches position in her sleep while I'm halfway through the third one, so I also dismiss it.

For the fourth try, I silently bring the chair closer, careful not to wake her. Then, I take a moment to observe her before drawing even a single line. Her colors are exquisite, as if autumn manifested an entire human being. Her hair is flamboyant, her eyebrows a darker shade of it, and her skin a pale but warm tint. The golden specks of her freckles make her radiant, and the pink of her parted lips adds to how irresistible she is. Her position is one of contentment, with a hand over her stomach while the other is thrown over the pillow next to her. I wish I hadn't taken out the T-shirt for her because with the duvet low like this, her perky breasts would be exposed to my eyes. I'd much rather see their rosy tips than the AC/DC logo.

Well, maybe one day she'll let me draw her in the nude. I really hope she does.

This time, I'm much, much better at this, my gestures more certain. My eyes travel between her and the tablet, the stylus dancing over its smooth surface to capture this moment. I'm just done cleaning up the sketch when I notice the first symptoms of her awakening. The delicate arches of her eyebrows, which were in such a relaxed state moments ago, are now bent in a manner that portrays some amount of discomfort. Then, the hand on her pillow twitches before I'm done setting up my color palette.

The instant her eyes flutter open, I put the stylus back in its place and turn off the screen. She'd feel weird if she knew I was drawing her, wouldn't she?

I notice the confusion on her features as she takes in her surroundings, unmoving, and then she turns to seek me on the other side of the bed. When she doesn't find me there, she rises to her elbows to look around the room.

When her blue gaze finds me, I smile. "Hey."

"Hi," she mumbles, her voice throaty. "Were you watching me sleep?"

Yes, she'd definitely freak out if she knew about the drawings. "I was working—sending out emails," I explain, showing her the iPad. She falls back into the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "There's water on your nightstand. And another tablet of ibuprofen, if you need one."

She sits up with a groan and grabs both of those. While she takes them in, I rise from my chair and leave the tablet on it. As soon as she's done drinking, she returns the glass to the stand and lies back. I don't resist the temptation to join her under the covers and bring her back to my front, settling us in a spooning position.

"Hmm, this is nice," she says with approval.

"I know. I'm very cuddly."

I'm holding myself in a way that allows me to see her frown as fragments from last night come back to her. "Did I compare you to a wombat yesterday?"

"It was this morning, but yes."

She grimaces, lets out an embarrassed whimper, and buries her face in my biceps under her. When she's recomposed herself enough, she twists to meet my eyes apologetically. "I'm so sorry for coming here in the middle of the night. I don't know why I did that."

"Oh, I know exactly why. You were very clear about why," I tease. Her cheeks go from pink to red, and I lay a kiss on the apple of one. "I really didn't mind, love. Feel free to come to me anytime you want some dick."

"Just not when I'm hammered."

"Well, I'd fuck you tipsy, but not when you can barely walk straight."

"Really? I was that far gone?"

I nod. "But at least you didn't get sick, so it seems Kensingtons are above that."

"Oh, God," she whines, remembering more. "Next time, don't let me in, okay?"

"I"ll always let you in, red."

My hold on her tightens, and she wriggles closer to me. With her bum against my crotch, I'm hard as hell between us. But neither of us does anything about it, aware that she can't handle it right now.

After several minutes of silence have passed, I begin to think she's asleep again. "Love?" I whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I know Sundays are your special days free of human contact to recharge from the week, but if you want to spend it here, I promise I'll give you all the space you want."

She ponders for a moment, and I tell myself she'll refuse, so I'm ready for the rejection. I fully expect it to go that way when she says, "I have some work to do today. But as long as I have a computer and internet, I'm good to do it here."

"Well, you're in luck because while we're not as advanced as the Upper East Side, we do have Wi-Fi here in Brooklyn." She lets out a small, lazy giggle. "And you can have my laptop. I'll use my tablet."

"Perfect."

After another few beats of silence, I ask, "Do you want me to cook breakfast?"

More thinking on her part and, "Where's my phone?"

"I think your clutch is still on the bathroom floor. Let me get it."

I slip out and return within seconds, handing her the tiny bag. I watch as she extracts her phone from it. "Crap, I'll need a charger, too," she notes.

"Not a problem either."

When she opens a food delivery app, I ask, "What are you doing?"

"Ordering breakfast so you can stay right here while someone else handles it."

"Really?" I chuckle.

"Yes. As much as I love your cooking, right now, I need you to be my emotional support wombat and cuddle with me until my brain stops hurting." She tilts her head sideways to meet my eyes and asks, "You think you can do that?"

"I definitely can, yes."

We move in unison to share a kiss, our lips meeting with eagerness. I let her dictate the mood, willing to take whatever she can give in her state, and when she unlocks her jaw to demand more, I happily indulge. In seconds, we're tongue-fucking each other's mouths, her hand reaching back to hold my neck while mine cups and fondles her breasts under the T-shirt. I can't stop my hips from grinding onto her when she begins writhing, and I feed on the little moans and gasps she lets out, which end in my mouth.

"Do you want this?" I mumble into our kiss. "Do you want me to fuck you like you asked for when you arrived?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure I will enjoy it as much as I should," she whimpers.

That's all I need to force myself to slow down until I release her, still spooning. With the pad of my thumb, I caress the rosy curve of her cheek. "We can wait, red. We're in no hurry, especially if you spend the day here."

"But this seems painful," she argues, pressing her arse harder onto my raging hard-on. It is.

"Don't worry about it, love. It'll go away. For now, I'll be content being a cuddly wombat."

She smiles, and it's so bright and genuine that it makes the blue balls worth it. We return to our position, and she picks up the phone she dropped to continue her search for sustenance. I help her find the best place around here, and we pick whatever looks good. Given the quantity, there will be no cooking today.

And like the whipped wombat I am, I'm perfectly fine with it if the alternative is more cuddling in bed.

As promised, I give Genthe space she needs to do her thing. She settles on the couch, where Mulli joins her, and I sit on a stool at the high counter of the kitchen.

Breakfast, or rather brunch, was stellar. Her idea to get it delivered was great because now, any time we fancy a snack, we have a bunch of options to pick from. I offered to pay for it, but she insisted that it was her way of thanking me for welcoming her into my home in the middle of the night. As if I would have let her fend for herself in the state she was in—oscillating and talking too loud, drunk off her face.

I look up from the article Eli sent earlier and observe Gen from afar. She's sprawled on the couch, her bare feet on the coffee table before her. The laptop is on her lap with her eyes reading whatever's on the screen, one hand scrolling while the other mindlessly pets Mulli's head resting on her stomach. Beelzebub is on the other side of the table Gen's feet are leaning on, glaring at them with judgment, like always.

These three are getting along very well. A lot better than what usually happens when I bring women home. I guess it's because of the consistency. Gen knows Mulli is a gentle giant, and the dog has seen her enough to grow some form of attachment. As for Beelzebub, I don't know what the fuck is happening, but I think he likes Gen even though I've never seen him like anyone before—not even the hand that feeds him.

My gaze seems to compel hers because Gen looks up. She gives me a smile, we stare at each other for a moment, and she returns to the laptop's screen. I haven't heard her make a call, so I figure her colleagues are enjoying their Sunday like normal people. Her lack of complaint tells me she's used to it.

I remember how she joked about losing her weekends as she would climb up the corporate ladder, and I still can't make sense of it. We're supposed to work to live, not live to work. I do long hours, but it's my passion, a craft I take great pride in practicing.

Maybe corporate law is the same for her, but I don't buy it. It can't be anyone's passion. Especially not an adventurous and bold woman like her.

"Stop staring," she demands with a grin, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"How do you know I'm staring?"

"I can feel it. It's distracting."

"You're what's distracting. My shirt on you is fantasy-inducing."

She snorts, shaking her head before glancing at me. "Should I remove it?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Something tells me I won't get any work done if I walk around naked."

The dog reacts before I can, her head springing up at the magic word. Fuck, I'm being a terrible dog dad.

Mulligrubs excitedly jumps on the couch, to Gen's confusion. I slide off the stool and walk up to them. "You activated her with the word ‘walk,'" I explain. Repeating it makes Mulli even more frantic. "I'll take her out for a bit. She hates being cooped up in here all day. Do you think you can handle half an hour without me?"

I bend over Gen, leaning on the couch's backrest until my lips are close to hers. "It'll be hard, but I think I'll survive," she gravely replies.

I'm grinning like an idiot when I kiss her. "Alright, Grubsy! Off we go!"

The Rottweiler rushes to the door, and I join her, grabbing her leash and a tennis ball. I'm not really dressed to go out—a hoodie, sweatpants, and slippers—but it's fucking Sunday, so I'm not doing anything about it.

"See you in a bit, red."

"Have a nice walk, wombat."

Once outside, I don't waste any time before heading to the nearby dog park. There, I play fetch with Mulli, throwing the ball far to tire her faster. After twenty minutes and a fuming pile of shit that I handle, we're on our way back to the flat. Upon entering the lift, I'm amused by how spent my dog is now. She couldn't wait to get out, but now she'll slump onto one of her mattresses as soon as we're in.

"So, what do we think of Gen?" I ask her when the lift takes off. Mulli looks up at me with her dark brown eyes, tilting her head to the side. "We like her, don't we? Isn't she nice?"

Mulli blinks, reminding me very few thoughts are running through her big skull. "I think she's nice," I decide. "Nowhere near as uptight as I first thought. And I know you have no beauty standards regarding humans, but she's smoking hot too. And funny. I fucking adore her humor. So dry and unexpected."

We reach the fifth floor before I can have a longer conversation with Mulli, and then we're back in the flat. Just like I predicted, Mulligrubs heads to the closest bed on the floor and curls up onto it.

Gen isn't on the couch anymore, and I spot her in the kitchen, searching for something in the fridge. She straightens up with a bottle of orange juice just as I join her there. "Do you have a no-drinking-from-the-bottle policy?" she asks.

At this point, her question is almost silly, isn't it? She's sucked my cock, swallowed my cum, I've licked her pussy, and I fully intend on eating her arse one day. We're way past sharing saliva on a bottle's cap. Instead of answering, I walk up to her and grab her jaw with a firm hand.

When I try to open her up, she looks perplexed, so I hold back a smirk and tell her, "Number thirty-six."

It takes her less than a second to understand, and when she does, her eyes darken with arousal, the void of her pupils eating away the blue of her irises. I fucking adore that my crudeness still surprises her because the way she stares at me with her round eyes while pink creeps up her cheeks is everything.

I don't force her, in case she doesn't want this, and her jaw unlocks on its own, her lips parting with consent. Her submissiveness hardens my cock, and when she slightly brings her tongue out, it aches. My naughty red wants this as much as I do.

So I give it to her.

She almost looks surprised when I spit right into her mouth, as if she didn't believe I'd do it. Or maybe it's even more intense than she expected. As if she knows how sexy this looks, she gives me enough time to gaze down at the dollop of my saliva on her pink tongue before swallowing it down, clearly affected by the rawness of the moment.

"Do you want to ask your question again?" I cockily offer.

She shakes her head, having learned her lesson, and I release her. With trembling hands, she unscrews the cap and drinks straight from the neck. I accept the bottle from her when she's done, still feeling very proud of myself. I'm the one who settles it back in the fridge, and when I turn to her again, she's leaning back onto the counter.

"I'm feeling better," she says.

"That's great, love."

"No, you don't understand. I'm feeling so much better."

I swear I'm a fucking moron because it takes her suggestive smile for me to get it. "Oh fuck, right."

I've been wanting to enter her since she appeared on my doorstep with her sexy dress and lewd demands, so I don't need more than that to spring into action.

Within seconds, I've hoisted her up on the counter to stand between her parted knees. My hands avidly explore her under the shirt while my lips claim hers. She's just as eager as I am, her fingers tugging at my T-shirt to peel it off, her tongue bold and demanding against mine. I'm fully naked before she is, and I'm moving on to removing my boxer briefs from her when she pushes my face away with her hands framing it.

I don't know what's going on, nearly panting from how much I want to fuck her, and she surprises me by returning my earlier gesture. Inching closer, she spits in my mouth without a warning, and I swear to God, it's one of the hottest things she's ever done. The timid little lawyer who first waited for me in The Plaza's bar is long gone, isn't she?

I fucking devour her to reward her boldness, avidly sucking in her tongue to share her spit. Then, my mouth drags away from her and lowers, eager for her taste.

"Jake," she moans when I lean forward to capture a perky pink tip between my teeth. Her hand is already in my hair, pulling me closer, and the other one is gripping my shoulder. "Jake, get the whipped cream and the chocolate syrup."

My cock twitches between us, loving the idea. I release her nipple and give her a delighted smirk.

"Oh, you naughty, naughty girl. You want me to devour you, don't you?"

"Yes."

I'm complying and taking some stuff out of the fridge when she adds, "I've wanted to do this one for a while."

Right, food play is also on her list.

I don't like the idea of checking off yet another item, but I'm also looking forward to having myself some chocolate-flavored Gen. And while I won't put any of that on her pussy, I don't mind. Gen-flavored Gen is my favorite.

Her eyes are on my stiff cock as I return with the goods, and she looks impatient to be impaled on it. I share the same desires, but before we get to that, I'm getting my fill of her.

She watches, her eyes hooded with want as I settle the things next to her on the counter, and then yelps with surprise when I pull her off of it. It turns into a giggle as I lower the briefs to finish undressing her, kneeling down as I do.

Her hand is tangled in my hair before I even shove my face between her creamy thighs. "Jake…" she moans as I lick up her slit, entranced by her flavor and smell.

I'd do this for hours if she let me, but we have other plans. So, after one last lap at her cunt and a final kiss on her clit, I rise up and flip her around in one smooth movement. "Jake, what are you—"

My hand pushing to bend her over on the cold counter stops her. She stays there, motionless and slightly panting, as I grab the whipped cream and pop the cap open. My eyes are on the prize, focused on the small hole I intend to feast on.

"What are you doing?" she hesitantly asks while I shake the can.

"I think it's time I eat your arse."

She tenses all over, her hands clenching at her sides. I can't see her face as she looks away, but I see the tip of her ears turn pink.

"Is it too much, red?"

For several seconds, she thinks about it, fighting against her instincts so she can give in. We both know she showered about an hour ago, so she's as clean as it gets. "You enjoy it when I finger your bum, don't you?" I ask, even though we both know it's true—she's begged for it a few times.

She twists around, her amazingly blue eyes hesitantly meeting mine. Without a word, she nods.

"Then you'll love this. And it's like a treat for me."

"Really?"

"Yes, absolutely."

I bend over to give an eager kiss to her butt cheek. "Let me do this for you, love."

It's clear she's not entirely sold, but she gives me a single nod. I'll go slow and let her get used to it. When she faces away again, I give the can another few shakes. She jumps with surprise at the first squirt of cold whipped cream in the valley of her freckled arse, but I have a solid hand on her back, anticipating her reaction. Past the initial shock, she shows no sign of resistance, utterly immobile as I trace down a path of whipped cream.

Once I'm done, I set the can next to her and then kneel again. "Relax, sweetheart," I soothe as I take hold of her hips. She has no idea how much I want this, does she? I guess I'll have to show her.

Holding back a grin, I lean forward, famished.