Ramble On Writing...

Your eyes shift downward, hips rolling with the clench of your pussy. Pride triggers a wave of endorphins and heat pools in your core, certain in the knowledge that you chose well, and this one will earn the twist of your knife to mark his time here.

His smile is smug as he puts a knee on the mattress. “I think,” resting his weight on his forearms, he settles above you, “I’m going to be a notch on your bedpost.”

“Mmmm, well, that” he’s suckling the pulse in your neck, but not hard enough to leave a mark, “depends on how good you are.”

“Oh, yeah?” He kisses along your collarbone, fingers gently gliding down your side.

“Y-yeah.” You feel him smile against your skin when he hits a ticklish spot, and your body reacts. “Only the good ones earn a notch.”

“What if,” a tiny nip at the top of your breast, a quick flick of his tongue over a taut nipple, “I’m better than good?”

Your body instinctively arches, craving to have that perfect mouth latch onto you, teeth scraping your flesh. Instead, his fingers knead your thigh, holding you down as he places kisses across your stomach. “Then you get a place on the headboard. Or, if you’re really, really good, I'll let you carve it yourself …wherever you want.”

The answer distracts him from his descent. He pushes up enough to scan the unmarked panel behind you. Tilting his head, he searches the nightstands and the frame above. “Really?”

His shocked demeanor makes you chuckle, but there is also something akin to sadness in his expression. Like he’s displeased for you. Shaking your head, you sigh, “Sadly, no. I have very high standards.”

Lips pursed, he seems to mull that over for a moment. Lying on his stomach, he nudges a shoulder against your leg, urging you to rest it across his back as he wraps his arm around to hold it there. Face hovering over your mound, he lifts his gaze, and a lethal smirk slowly forms on plump, ruddy lips. “Challenge accepted,” he states, burying his gorgeous face in the wet heat between your legs.

You wake with a groan, muscles protesting as you stretch, but it’s a good ache. Memories of last night make you smile as you snuggle back into the pillow. Calloused fingers ghost over your shoulder and down your arm.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhmm,” Eyes still closed, not wanting to face reality quite yet, you ask, “You?”

“Best I have in a while.”

“Good,” you mumble, and pat his chest, feeling the laugh before you hear it.

You’re drifting off again when he clears his throat. “Uhm, so.”

“No.”

“No?”

Burrowing deeper into the covers, you whine, “Don't want to get up yet.”

“That’s not-“

“What?”

“Sorry. Never-”

Blinking your eyes open at the rustle of sheets and the shift in weight, you grip his arm before he can stand. “Wait. I’m sorry.” Shifting to a more upright position, you run a hand over your mouth to quickly check for drool and, thankfully, find none. “I’m not a cheery morning person.”

“No worries.” Turning to place a knee on the bed, he leaves the other foot planted on the floor, and you realize he’s already half-dressed. “I get it.” He smiles, his demeanor seems expectant.

You smile back, giving a weird little shrug, not sure what to say. Why is this so awkward?

Oh, right. They usually don’t stay.

Then it clicks. None of the others had noticed the marks. Or if they did, they didn’t bother to ask. He’s the first one you discussed it with. He woke you to see how he did. A laugh bubbles in your throat, but then he pats the bed.

“Well, I should probably go.”

“Wait.” The word is pushed out on a frantic exhale, louder than you intended. “Sorry. Just …hold on, I have something for you.”

He arches a brow, feigning surprise, but you can tell he knows what’s coming and expected this outcome. This time, you do laugh and tease, “Ass.”

A hand goes to his chest in mock offense, but the laugh he shares is genuine.

Reaching behind the wood frame next to your head, you pull the knife from its hidden sheath and hold it out to him.

“Wow.”

You’re not quite sure if he’s scared or impressed; maybe it’s both. “Safety first, right?” you unapologetically state.

“Uh, yeah. I’m a little frightened now, but that’s badass.”

He carefully grips the hilt, testing its weight before thoroughly inspecting it. “This is a good knife.”

“Thanks,” you say cheerfully, unsure why you’re elated by his approval. “Alright, I’m gonna,” sliding from the bed, you tilt your head toward the bathroom, “while you, uh, do your thing.”

“Headboard?” he calls out as you reach the doorway.

Peering over your shoulder, you match his cheeky grin. “Anywhere you’d like.”

You’ve never seen a more brilliant smile in your entire life.

Though expected, you’re disappointed to find him gone when you exit the bathroom. You’d taken a few minutes to make yourself more presentable just in case, or to give him a little extra time if he wanted to leave without further conversation.

His mark is easy to find, and your smile grows as you draw closer. He scarred the headboard, right above your pillow. Not with a simple notch, but two distinct letters—D.W.

Fingers tracing the freshly carved wood, you’re reminded that this is where you flattened your hand to protect your head and to give you leverage as he railed into you. Pressing your hand against the carving, you find that the letters fit perfectly within the space of your palm.

Impressed by his attention to detail, you check behind the headboard to find your knife safely back in its hiding place. Yep, you chose well. He’s going to be a hard act to follow. Too bad you couldn’t have more time with him.

Heading downstairs after getting dressed, you hear him before you see him. He turns, phone to his ear, as you hover in the doorway.

He holds up a finger and quickly finishes his conversation, “I gotta go. Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see ya then.” Stuffing the phone back in his pocket, he gives you a sheepish grin. “Sorry. That was my brother. I was gonna make you some coffee before I left,” he gestures to the pot and bag of coffee grounds on the counter, “but then he called.”

“You were going to make me coffee?” Sexy and sweet.

Grimacing, he rubs the side of his neck. “That’s, uh …yeah, that’s not weird at all. OK, right,” he gives a clipped nod and points toward the door, “I’m gonna go.”

As he’s about to pass by you, you ask, “Would you like a cup?”

“What?”

Walking toward the coffee maker, you repeat, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh. Yeah, that …that would be awesome.”

“Great. Have a seat.” He offers to make it for you, but when you decline, he sits, fingers fidgeting with a dish towel you'd left on the countertop. Checking the carton in the fridge, you find the cream is only two days past expiration, but give it a sniff test to be sure and find it passable. “Cream or sugar?”

“Black.”

Nodding, you pull two cups from the cupboard, and though it’s not done brewing, you fill one nearly to the brim, adding cream to the other as an escaped drop sizzles on the base plate.

"Thank you." Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth as you set the steaming mug in front of him, he states, “You don’t have to be polite. I’ll leave if you want me to go.”

“Huh?” He lifts his chin toward the machine behind you as another drip falls to bubble and burn away. “Oh. No.” You wave off his concern with a laugh as you replace the glass decanter. “I’m impatient. I always have at least one cup before it finishes.”

You’re also horrible at small talk, and wonder if he is too, or if he's sensing the same surreal tension as you. You can hear the soft rattle of the metal barstool as his leg bounces while you stand across from him, each silently drinking your coffee. Should you ask his name? Or would that make it even more awkward at this point? The faint clanking stops with the thud of his foot hitting the floor.

“So," you say simultaneously, then chuckle in unison.

With a lopsided grin, he raises a hand, indicating for you to go ahead.

"You have plans today?” It feels like a strange thing to ask, but it's the first thing that popped into your head that seemed appropriate to say aloud.

“Actually,” setting his cup down, he runs his hands over his thighs, “my brother and I just finished up a job, and he decided to go visit his girlfriend. So I have a couple of days free.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s not?”

“Well, it’d be more fun if I had someone to spend it with.” Lips pursed, he waggles his eyebrows, nearly causing you to choke on the coffee you just slurped down. “What’dya think?”

“Are you actually asking, or testing the waters?”

Color tinges his cheeks, but then the confidence that drew you to him decides to shine. “I’m asking if you’d like to put a couple more notches on that bed, with me.”

Laughing, you set your cup aside and lean on the counter in front of him, giving him a nice view of your cleavage. “That’s not how that works, but I’d love to spend more time with you …”

“Dean.”

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