Double Breakfast Treat ( Hot Morning Sex)

CHAPTER ONE

I stared as the door knob of the massive wooden Victorian door turned, presenting its golden grace to the ceramic tiled floor. The door was slowly pushed open, careful not to make a sound. She poked her head through the gap, biting on her glossy pink lower lip as she scanned the hallway. She entered, took off her Christian Loubutins and pushed the door closed with her fuchsia dress gently touching the tip of her knee and her shoes hanging from her left fingers and sighed as though she had just completed an extremely difficult task.

She took one step, her beautiful pedicured feet on tip toes and froze when the lights in the living room came on, revealing me in my favorite white custom made Versace dress shirt and black trousers with a matching pair of suede sandals. I sat in our gold and white chaise lounge grasping firmly in my left hand a glass of my favorite martini. I smiled at her and said,

"You're welcome honey"

She managed a wry smile and responded with a stutter,

"Errmm, t- th- thanks?"

"So how was your day?" I asked staring down at her thighs which were screaming JUST FUCKED!

"Ermm, it- it was good, I guess", she responded felling at ease. I guess the ice was beginning to melt. "Ermm, how was your day though?" she continued.

"Very educative." My tone almost sarcastic.

"Well I had a very tiring day..."

"Oh! I see"

"...yeah, so I have to be heading to bed now" she said pointing her right index finger towards our room. "See you later tomorrow"

"Alright Helen, don't worry, I already prepared your bath."

"Really? ... Wow! ... Ermm thanks. I got to go"

I watched her as she hopped gracefully on the staircase barefoot, like a young girl whose parents just informed her of a present they got her. She looked too innocent. Too happy. Happy with the way that other guy touched and treated her. Happiness I might never be able to give to her.

At the thought of that, with my blood boiling, the glass of 1981 martini went flying and crashed on a beautiful portrait of Helen, which I had painted for her some years ago. Pieces of glass crashing to the ground. You're so stupid Alex! Why didn't you ask her? Why didn't you confront her? My subconscious began its interrogation. I felt broken, every piece of me. Maybe it's because I know this is all my fault.

I went upstairs after I had calm down. I looked at my Rolex, and it was 11:34. I entered the room and there she was, fast and sound asleep in our king-size bed, covered to the waist with a grey bed sheet, exposing her black spaghetti strap night dress. I stood there and watched, the view from the windows which span the length of the walls, stripping the city, showing off all its beauty and flaws had a dark beauty. This would be a great shot for a home-décor magazine, I thought.

I stared back at Helen, calmly admiring her beauty. I moved towards her slowly and adroitly. As I reached her side, I touched her feet through the bed sheets with my finger and moved my way up to her face and sat next to her, her lips vulnerable and her nose as beautiful as ever. She's everything I wanted. I found myself reaching for a black fur pillow. Taking a deep breath while hugging the pillow, I realized what my soul wanted to do. I took the pillow close to her face. Slowly. My body and soul battling. Just as it touched her face, my phone buzzed.

Heya! I'm back!!! Breakfast

tomorrow 6:30, regular venue.

Love, Vicky

I smiled. Why does she always text as though she's writing a note? I thought. Just then, Helen's face twitched, her eyelids slowly opened revealing her glittering turquoise eyes, her lips stretched into a smile. I smiled back, rubbed her shoulder and changed into pyjamas. I went round the room and put off all the scented candles. A consoling thought crossed my mind At least she remembers I love to sleep in a room with scented candles.