Wanted For Pleasure: vol 2

Chapter 38: the comedown

"Selling my soul would be a lot easier if I could just find it."

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𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔

September 6th

I step out of the shower and wrap the towel around my waist.

The smell of turkey bacon motivates me to speed things up a bit. I smile knowing Morgan was thoughtful enough to prepare something great this morning.
She's always been an angel, but lately, she's like God herself.

Back on the farm, she joked about becoming so "domesticated." I see that now. Between ironing my clothes, greeting me at the door with tea and my slippers when I come home from work, she's definitely playing the role of housewife all too well. Hey, that's not a complaint.

It seemed like we were gone for a month 'cause so much went down, but it was only four days.
I finally returned Russell's calls - all bullshit. He thinks I'm his "right hand man" now but I'm not. Actually, I can't wait for this project to be out of my hands so I don't have to deal with him anymore.

Seeing Morgan so scared and against the people that I work with, it made me wonder. Of course I'll always support her, she's not a fucking nut job, so she must be onto something. I just don't know what's so bad about Russell, yet, or his elitists associates. Well, besides their disregard for people of lower social classes. Still, I don't think that's enough evidence for Morgan to think they're some sort of devils.

I'm almost finished getting dressed but the smell of Morgan's French toast lures me upstairs with my shirt over my bare shoulder.

There she is, future Mrs.Vaughn, looking like a sexy little nerd in those blue-light glasses she's been wearing. Her grown out hair is straight for a change and flowing down her back.
She chews one of my company pens, thinking hard about something (probably plans for my birthday party.) I know it's supposed to be a surprise but she left some tabs up on her laptop one day and I happened to peek. By "happened to peek" I mean I fully read every little detail. Sorry. I'm not going to let her know that I know, she'd kill me. I can act clueless for two more days.

I creep further up the stairs just to spy on Morgan some more.
She has on nothing but this pink satin mini dress and her breasts are spilling out of it.
One of the spaghetti straps slides off of her shoulders
and she doesn't bother lifting it back up.

I'm feral.

To make my presence known before she has to scramble and hide all of her big "secret" plans on the laptop, I knock on the wall.

"Hey, baby!" She beams, closing her MacBook. See.

"Good morning." I clear my throat, stepping fully into the kitchen.

Morgan gets up from the table to make my plate for me and then brings it to me at the table.

"Happy almost birthday." She sings, sitting on my lap.

The smell of ambery cedarwood hits my nose just right. She always smells so damn good. That's one of my favorite things about her, the way she takes care of herself. So hygienic, so feminine. Ugh, and she feels just as soft - thanks to her natural products. I love them, too, use the soap everyday and her body scrubs to exfoliate. Just 'cause I'm a man doesn't mean I need rough skin. Morgan keeps me together, but I draw the line at waxing my eyebrows. She's tried, though.

I just always wonder how she can be so put together at this time of the morning.

I kiss her silky shoulder and twirl my fingers in her hair, admiring how much it's grown in such a short amount of time, but she never likes to keep it too long, says that's "just not (always) cute to have (real) hair to your butt."