earlier, wiping down the already clean counter. After thirty minutes of her not showing her beautiful face, I sit down and eat, slowly. After I finish, I put her food in the fridge and leave a note so she can find it. She has to be hungry; she’s not eaten all day.
Twenty minutes later I’m in a full speed run on the treadmill. The oversized home gym attached to my master suite was a must when building this house. At the time, I had every intention of moving here and becoming a hermit, however; these days I don’t even like my own company. A number one complaint from family and friends back home, seems I’m hard to be around. Running outside is not the safest around here and a complete impossibility at the moment. An hour and seven miles later I hit the shower. Surely she’s out of her room and bored out of her mind by now.
Maybe she’d be interested in a board game or something. Hopefully, the decorator stocked some. Wouldn’t be a proper cabin near the mountains if there aren’t any. Remembering the tiny size of the firewood holders makes me begin to doubt there are any here. It’s becoming apparent the decorator was only going for looks and not practicality. She must not be from around here, an area where it is not uncommon to be trapped inside for days at a time during the winter.
I head straight downstairs after my shower. Her door is shut, so I keep my distance. The sandwich from the fridge is gone, and I notice that the plate is not in the sink. She must have washed it and put it away. Clean. I like that.
Hoping she’s in the den, I head that direction. I find her curled up on the sofa facing the fire. Her gorgeous light brown hair is all over the place, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch the soft, graceful curls I never noticed until now. Her breaths come out softly over hands that are clasped under her chin. Thick eyelashes rest delicately on the pale pink of her cheeks.
Thankful I’m still tucked in the waist of my pants, I turn and leave her to nap. She didn’t go into detail last night about the man problems she’s having, and I didn’t ask, but she whimpered several times in her sleep last night, so I imagine her dreams didn’t allow for a very restful sleep.
I head back upstairs. The last thing she needs is to wake up and see me staring at her even though I’d love nothing more than to sit on the floor in front of the recliner and watch her sleep. I already ran my ass ragged on the treadmill so it looks like weights will be the way to go this time. At least if I exhaust myself, I’ll sleep well tonight. You’d sleep well if you curl in behind London.
I slide my ear buds in and crank up the music, maybe the loudness of the death metal will keep thoughts of her away. It doesn’t. My mind wanders back to last night. My mind wanders back to Spokane and the fucked up mess I’ve created there. My mind wanders back to my beautiful wife and a pair of soul-searching blue eyes I’ll never have the chance to look into again.
I push my body and exert myself until I hit muscle fatigue and I practically have to crawl back into the bathroom for yet another shower.
I’m beating myself up over this whole situation, but it’s not the way I’ve come to expect from having sex with a woman. My issue is stemming from not really having an issue with it other than her being upset that it happened. My concern is that I enjoyed it on more than a physical level. It was primal and instinctive. Raw and real, and even drunk it was the first time the guilt didn’t slam into my stomach the second I pulled out.
My shower is slow and thorough. My body’s exhausted, but my cock apparently didn’t get the memo. I have every intention of hunting her down if only for companionship when I get out and this guy popping up every ten seconds will only make matters worse.
I lean my head against the tile in the shower and allow the water to rush off my back as I palm my erection. I sigh heavily and for the
Twenty minutes later I’m in a full speed run on the treadmill. The oversized home gym attached to my master suite was a must when building this house. At the time, I had every intention of moving here and becoming a hermit, however; these days I don’t even like my own company. A number one complaint from family and friends back home, seems I’m hard to be around. Running outside is not the safest around here and a complete impossibility at the moment. An hour and seven miles later I hit the shower. Surely she’s out of her room and bored out of her mind by now.
Maybe she’d be interested in a board game or something. Hopefully, the decorator stocked some. Wouldn’t be a proper cabin near the mountains if there aren’t any. Remembering the tiny size of the firewood holders makes me begin to doubt there are any here. It’s becoming apparent the decorator was only going for looks and not practicality. She must not be from around here, an area where it is not uncommon to be trapped inside for days at a time during the winter.
I head straight downstairs after my shower. Her door is shut, so I keep my distance. The sandwich from the fridge is gone, and I notice that the plate is not in the sink. She must have washed it and put it away. Clean. I like that.
Hoping she’s in the den, I head that direction. I find her curled up on the sofa facing the fire. Her gorgeous light brown hair is all over the place, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch the soft, graceful curls I never noticed until now. Her breaths come out softly over hands that are clasped under her chin. Thick eyelashes rest delicately on the pale pink of her cheeks.
Thankful I’m still tucked in the waist of my pants, I turn and leave her to nap. She didn’t go into detail last night about the man problems she’s having, and I didn’t ask, but she whimpered several times in her sleep last night, so I imagine her dreams didn’t allow for a very restful sleep.
I head back upstairs. The last thing she needs is to wake up and see me staring at her even though I’d love nothing more than to sit on the floor in front of the recliner and watch her sleep. I already ran my ass ragged on the treadmill so it looks like weights will be the way to go this time. At least if I exhaust myself, I’ll sleep well tonight. You’d sleep well if you curl in behind London.
I slide my ear buds in and crank up the music, maybe the loudness of the death metal will keep thoughts of her away. It doesn’t. My mind wanders back to last night. My mind wanders back to Spokane and the fucked up mess I’ve created there. My mind wanders back to my beautiful wife and a pair of soul-searching blue eyes I’ll never have the chance to look into again.
I push my body and exert myself until I hit muscle fatigue and I practically have to crawl back into the bathroom for yet another shower.
I’m beating myself up over this whole situation, but it’s not the way I’ve come to expect from having sex with a woman. My issue is stemming from not really having an issue with it other than her being upset that it happened. My concern is that I enjoyed it on more than a physical level. It was primal and instinctive. Raw and real, and even drunk it was the first time the guilt didn’t slam into my stomach the second I pulled out.
My shower is slow and thorough. My body’s exhausted, but my cock apparently didn’t get the memo. I have every intention of hunting her down if only for companionship when I get out and this guy popping up every ten seconds will only make matters worse.
I lean my head against the tile in the shower and allow the water to rush off my back as I palm my erection. I sigh heavily and for the
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