“Well, I see you are feeling better this morning. You’ve been so sick that, trust me when I say, even if I sat on your face, you’d probably fall asleep before the first lick.”
The fuck? Why wasn’t she running in horror? Most of the rich bitches I’ve slept with want their sex straight up; no kink. Even the cock-gobbler Monique is a fan of plain missionary. The women Aidan and I shared…now, they’re a different story. If you are willing to let two men fuck you at once, you don’t have many hang-ups, but then again, that’s not something that appeals to most women. I’d half-expected Lia to freak out when I had fucked her from behind in my kitchen, especially being as inexperienced as she was, but she seemed to love it.
She’s right about one thing now, though: I’m as weak as a newborn kitten. But I’m not ready to give up. “You could fuck me,” I suggest, curious as to her reaction.
Sitting back on her heels, she nods as if actually considering it. “Yes, I could…but I’m not going to. You’ve been in the bed for two days, Luc, and another day before you flew home. Other than fluids, you haven’t had anything to eat in days, so I know you’re weak. How about I fix you some toast for breakfast?” Toast seems to be code for no pussy.
Suddenly, it all comes back to me. Sickness had hit me like a sledgehammer. I’d woken up in a strange room, too weak to move. How I had even made it to the airport and onto my plane is a mystery. I remember Sam coming on board and half-carrying me to the car. Then I recall only bits and pieces of Lia stroking my forehead with a washcloth or helping me drink. I also vaguely remember holding her to me while I tossed and turned. Shit, she has been taking care of me for days, I assume. The look of tender amusement she is giving me now makes me shift uncomfortably. How have things gotten this far out of hand? She is now officially my longest relationship in eight years. Even if I don’t want to admit it, I know why I was drawn to her; hell, even Aidan knows why. I’d never intended for things to go beyond sex with her. Goddammit, though, she has something none of the other women I’ve dated in years had; she needs protection and that fucking slayed me. Her being my housekeeper is complete bullshit. I allowed her in my home because I want her here, and she needs a reason for it to be acceptable for me to take care of her.
How many women would have spent two days taking care of a virtual stranger? I remember enough to know that not only has she watched over me, she has cared for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed someone to be around me while I’m vulnerable. Well, I didn’t exactly have much of a choice in the matter since I’d been so fucking sick, but I had let her stay and so had Sam, which certainly said something. Sam, Cindy, and Aidan are not only employees; they are family. We might fight amongst ourselves, but we are also fiercely protective of each other. Sam would never leave some random woman in my house while I’m too out of it to know what’s going on. They all know I don’t bring women here. I should probably fire his ass, but strangely enough, I’m glad. Sometimes there is no replacement for a woman’s touch. At times, I’ve missed having someone around other than my small circle of friends.
I’m abruptly pulled from my thoughts by Lia’s small hand pulling on my toe. “Hello? Are you sleeping with your eyes open or just trying to ignore me?”
Giving her a lazy grin, I let my eyes slide leisurely up and down her body, pausing to admire the way my t-shirt outlines her tits. What man isn’t turned on by a woman wearing his clothes? “I could never ignore you, sweet Lia. I was just working out the details of you sitting on my…”
She sticks her hand up, yelling, “Stop! Don’t finish that sentence. That is not on the menu for you this morning. The only thing I need to know from you is whether you would like scrambled eggs with your toast.”
We both know what I want to say, but I decide to take mercy on her and myself, as well. Unless she is willing to do most of the work, I don’t have it in me yet to fuck her, no matter how much I want to. “Yeah, baby, I’d like some eggs.”
“Coming up. Just stay here, and I’ll bring a tray when everything is ready.” She jumps from the bed, and I bite my lip as the luscious curve of her ass peeks out from under my shirt when she bends to slip what appears to be a pair of my socks on her feet. If she doesn’t leave the room soon, I will be begging her to ride my exhausted body.
Easing to the edge of the bed, I put my feet on the floor and stand on shaky legs. The room spins for a moment before righting itself. It takes much longer than usual, but I use the toilet, brush my teeth, and cringe at my reflection in the mirror. Even if I have to crawl, I am taking a shower after breakfast. Maybe I can play on Lia’s sympathy and talk her into taking one with me. There are worse things in the world than having a beautiful woman wash your cock. If the twitching in that region is anything to go by, my cock completely agrees.
The kitchen seems miles away as I make my way slowly there. Lia is humming while scrambling enough eggs to feed an army. My stomach growls in response to the smell of food after days without it. I pull a stool out and slump in it. Damn, am I actually sweating just from that small amount of activity? I must look as washed out as I feel, because Lia turns, giving me a look filled with sympathy. “It’s almost ready. Do you want butter on your toast?” When I nod, she slathers it on several pieces before reaching up to get glasses out of the cabinet. Her shirt once again rides up, and I grit my teeth. It’s no myth; men are horny in the morning, and even sick, the urge to spread her out over this very counter I’m sitting at is strong. Instead, I push my throbbing cock down from where it seems to be trying to break out of the top of my lounge pants.
Lia puts a plate of perfectly-cooked eggs, toast, and bacon before me. She adds a tall glass of orange juice and a jar of strawberry jelly. In what is probably an embarrassing display of table manners, I attack the plate like a starving animal. When I’ve devoured everything in record time, she silently refills it. I grimace as I note her full plate. “Sorry about that; I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” Now that the empty feeling has been sated, I resume my breakfast at a more-leisurely pace. “What day is it?” Man, when was the last time I had to ask that? I wonder if she should be in class this morning instead of cooking for me.
“It’s Sunday. Sam brought you home on Friday evening while I was here cleaning up. Other than me waking you for medicine, fluids, and um…the bathroom, you slept right through until this morning.”