The Strip

Part 11

Rebecca POV

The two months following that date is a whirlwind. You've never felt more alive than with the blonde tucked into your side, throwing popcorn at the television during Jeopardy - frustrated that her answer ("which is very clearly the only logical answer, Rebecca,") isn't correct. You've never been more awake than when you're sitting at the diner at four in the morning, eating eggs and listening to strip club horror stories because Freen is too wired to sleep after her shift. She complains that the eggs are never as good as her dad's, and you'd be a fool not to agree.

It is also chock-full of sex and masturbation. So much fucking masturbation.

It's not your fault, though. Not with Freen's penchant for being naked all the time . And even worse is her love of selfies. Naked selfies. Masturbating selfies. Cleavage selfies. Lingerie selfies.

So many selfies.

You'd have to be crazy to be able to withstand it.

The first time you had experienced the severity of her nakedness, you had been talking to Amelia on the phone about the project when Freen had strolled into the kitchen, bare as the day she was born, and started making herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

You hung up on Amelia without even a goodbye and decided to have a snack of your own right on the kitchen counter. You had peanut butter in your hair, and Freen had jam all over her thighs. She made a weird comment about being covered in jam again, and you wonder just how kinky her sex life used to be.

The second time you were struck stupid by her nakedness, you walked into the living room after a nap to see Freen practicing a new routine. She asked for your input. You lasted three beats of the music before you fucked her on your lap, your hand cramping at the angle.

She would claim that it isn't her fault; however. She'd say quite the opposite.

Apparently, your inclination to workout at home drives Freen absolutely wild. She tried to motivate you to do more ab work by lying naked underneath you while you held a plank (see? Not your fault), her sex just under your mouth. She told you that you weren't allowed to touch her with any part of your body or you'd never have sex again.

You drooled.

She caved, saying you could only use your mouth to clean up your mess (you really did drool).

You held the longest plank of your life and ate her out like you were on death row and it was your last meal.

It was your personal best time holding a plank.

Then, the one time she suggested you use her as a grappling partner did not work out well either, your workout lasting all of eighteen seconds before she had your hands pinned above your head and you coming around her fingers.

The cheeky smile she gave you when she finished made you swear to keep the fact that you let her win to yourself.

Because, truly, you both had a hand in the victory.

Your current tumble in the sheets with Freen lasts well into the morning as usual, you both exploring each other's bodies in the most sensual and soft ways. You kiss every inch of her skin, and she explores every dip and curve with her hands. But, you lie restless on the mattress as you crave to take her more passionately, to fuck her - just ravish her body until she shatters with pleasure. It's been on your mind since you joked about it the first night you two got together - your thoughts running rampant with the idea of showing her your more commanding side. You just don't know how to ask. You don't want to push her until she's ready, and she seems quite content with your mouth and fingers, fawning over them almost daily.