Isaac picks me up Sunday morning ten minutes early, carrying coffee. I’m so impressed by the sight of him in his suit that I can’t even think of something snarky to say to him, so I stand in my doorway staring at his dark, mussed hair, his dark scruff, and the fitted suit that makes him look like s*x on legs.
I pretend I’m blowing off the coffee while I regain control of my mouth, making a mental note of how he looks leaning against my door frame, sipping coffee. I fully intend to recall this image while I use my purple toy. Ever since he assured me my finances are in order, it’s like the floodgates reopened between my legs. I suppose it doesn’t hurt that I’m also recalling his handiwork down there when I try to rub one out.
“You gonna stare at me all day or should we go celebrate your
