I stare at the sunlight streaming through the windows until tears fill my eyes. Another morning. Another day. With a sigh, I turn and see George Jr watching me, leaning an elbow on a pillow. His soft eyes say hello and fingers caress my naked body. I do nothing and remain still while he explores and touches and kisses my bare skin.
"Good morning, beautiful," he says, trying to kiss my lips.
Rolling away from his gaze, I return to staring out the window and allow his advances on me, not doing a thing to stop him. The warmth from his body makes me smile and push back into his caress.
"Again?" I ask. There is no telling you how many times this young man can perform in the span of a single day.
He whispers something in my ear that I can't discern as he grips my shoulders to help guide himself inside me. Moving against me slowly, tenderly, I close my eyes and imagine I'm watching the scene like a spectator. Can I deny how much pleasure he gives? There is none of the rough hew of madness that colors Saul's passion for me.
Jr envelops me in an embrace and remains inside me, kissing my neck and whispering, always whispering.
"You are mine," he says, voice cracking and thick with desire.
I do not answer, but roll onto my back and put my arms around his neck. Sweat drips from his forehead on my pillow, but I don't care and instead look into his eyes. He is close to orgasm and I tell him how good it feels and how much I want him to stay inside me.
"Don't pull out," I say as his body seizes, bucking against me in short, violent spasms.
I rub his back while he sucks in air and tries to speak. He doesn't manage to regain coherence before I hear a knock upon the door.
"What is it?" I yell. There is no answer and I push George off me and pull a robe over my shoulders.
Yanking the door open, I see nobody in the hall and follow the commotion of sound coming from the front lobby. George Sr stands near the door, waiting for me.
"What's the racket?" I ask.
Shaking his head, he nods at the door, "The usual."
Placing my hand on the knob, I swing the door open to face those making a steady racket on the stained glass. The sounds of cameras snapping and journalists yelling questions assaults my ears. Scanning the crowd, I see Marcus standing near a group of local cops. He smiles at my dismay.
"Do your job for once and clear these people from my property," I yell at the police as Marcus separates and approaches the mansion. George pulls open the second door to allow him access before closing both, locking out the reporters and cops.
"Someone woke on the wrong side of the bed," he says, shaking a finger at me.
"I would tell you how wrong you are, but it's none of your fucking business. Now, tell me why you're here before tea."