HOTLINE BLING {WATTYS2016}

Chapter Seven

Maybe it's because you were on the rebound or feeling slighted. For whatever reason you found yourself, once more, a guest of Drake's bed. This time however, there was no turning back. You'd committed to this. From the moment you'd answered his first text your mind had been made up. There was no guilt holding you back this rounds, no thoughts of Justin to make you second guess your choice. In fact, thoughts of Justin, if any, pushed you to kiss harder, grip tighter and moan louder.

"Damn, babygirl," Drake's gruff voice in your ear and rough stubble against your cheek sent your toes curling with desire.

Your hands gripped the back of his neck as you sank down on to him and for a moment you missed the absence of blonde locks to run your fingers through.

You rid yourself of the thought as quickly as it came especially when you felt his teeth gently sink into the skin of your shoulder.

Your head fell back with a breathless moan, his name stuck somewhere between your throat and the fear of calling out another.

However, your thoughts became less and less coherent with every moan and thrust. It wasn't long before you felt that familiar pull, swelling with intensity until your entire body rocked with wave after wave of euphoria.

In the afterglow of sex you both remained silent, focused mostly on catching your breaths and regulating your heartbeats.

He was the first to speak, "You hungry?"

The laugh that bubbled up out of your chest couldn't be contained nor could it be stopped. Especially when you considered the fact that you were still astride him, barely recovered from your orgasm, and he'd still had yet to pull out. But he waited patiently for you to collect yourself; arms still around your bare waist, expecting your response.

"I can eat."

As you spun idly back and forth in a bar stool, eyes trained on his back while he moved about the kitchen, you thought to yourself how grateful you were that things hadn't turned awkward. Undeniably, Drake had a way of making you feel comfortable and wanted, but you'd had enough experiences to know that the moments following sex usually brought with it thoughts of clarity that eluded most beforehand.

"Now I'm not the best cook," his voice brought you from your thoughts.

"Smells good from here."

'Looks good too...' you couldn't help but think as you watched the muscles in his back flex fluidly with each motion.

The apron he'd tied around his waist was a nice touch too.

"Don't laugh," he forewarned before turning around and placing two plates of hot food onto the counter before you.

You glanced momentarily at the mounds of scrambled eggs, slices of bacon, grits and stacks of pancakes before looking back at him.

"It's four in the afternoon, why are we eating breakfast?"

He only shrugged as he sat in a stool on the other side of the island, "I make bomb ass pancakes."

You couldn't help but feel domestic as you sat enjoying breakfast in the middle of the day, dressed in one of his t-shirts. You snuffed that thought and focused instead on the conversation. You spoke about music, current affairs, ideas and seemingly everything under the sun until he asked the one question you hoped he wouldn't.

"So..." he paused, fingertips playing in the condensation on his glass of juice.

You cocked your head to the side, already dreading what you knew he was about to ask.