“Morning.”
I felt a soft finger running up and down my arm, and squinted one eye open to see a dark-haired man with green eyes propped on an elbow in front of me on the bed, smiling.
Crap, what was his name again?
“Morning,” I said, skipping the name.
“Last night was really great,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed me on the nose. I tried not to breathe in, assuming he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, and was surprised that when he pulled away, I smelled the hint of mint.
How long has he been bopping around, waiting for me to wake up? I thought.
“Yeah, it was nice.” I thought back to the night before. For some reason, my brain went to pianos, but I couldn’t think why.
“I started breakfast, if you’re interested.”
My stomach groaned, and Tom smiled. Tom, that’s right.
“Perfect. Let me just run to the bathroom.”
He kissed me on the nose again and slid out of bed, his striped pajama bottoms surprisingly unwrinkled, like the plain white shirt he wore. I watched him walk from the bedroom before taking myself into the bathroom. Thankfully, I didn’t have a headache from the night of champagne, but my mouth was dry and tasted like the burrito I’d eaten at 2am before ending up at Tom’s.
I spent a few minutes cleaning myself up, then met Tom in the kitchen where he was just pouring glaze on cooked cinnamon rolls.
“Looks like there’s a little left in that container,” I said, suggestively glancing from the glaze to his dick and back.
“Sure does,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a spatula, then scraped the remaining glaze from the container and spread it onto a cinnamon roll before tossing the cup into the garbage.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Tom said.
“Oh, I am,” I replied, trying again to bring the conversation from food to sex.
“Great, there’s eight of them and two of us,” he said.
“I meant sex, Tom,” I said finally.
“Oh,” he said. “Even better.”
I took a step towards him, swiping a finger across the top of a cinnamon roll and sucking the glaze off my finger seductively.
He twisted his mouth and looked down at the cinnamon roll and back to my lips. “That one can be yours,” he said.
I began to wonder why I was trying so hard, then I remembered that somewhere in San Diego, my very recent ex was probably banging the waitress he left me for, and I took Tom’s pajamas in my hands and pulled down. I kissed his neck and took his dick in my hand, and he not-so-subtly wiped his hands on a dish towel behind his back before grabbing my T-shirt covered breasts in his hands.
“I’ll grab a condom,” he whispered, pulling away from our kiss. He trotted to the bedroom awkwardly, as his pajamas were still looped around his ankles. Thankfully when he came back, he’d removed them completely, and kissed me again as he ripped the condom open and rolled it on. I pulled my pants down and turned around as he approached, flattening my palms onto the cold grey tile.
“This is a better wake-up than coffee,” he whispered, his minty breath pushing against my ear.
“Yep,” I replied, trying to make my voice as breathy as his as he pressed into me. I wasn’t quite ready, but I relaxed quickly as he began to move. The hot cinnamon rolls helped overpower the smell of condom rubber, and I found myself thinking about how long they’d stay hot.
Maybe I should’ve eaten first, I thought. Those smell amazing.
My thoughts were interrupted as Tom began pressing his fingers against my clitoris in a rhythm that felt a little like he was playing ‘Marry Had a Little Lamb’ against my vulva.
Ooooh, THAT’S why I woke up thinking about pianos.
Tom began pumping faster, but between his inconsistent finger tapping and the smell of cinnamon rolls, I just couldn’t focus.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, still using my sexy breathless voice as I touched one of his hands.
“Oh, you just like the penetration?” he asked.
I stifled a laugh, followed quickly by rising bile, and just nodded as he finally moved his hands and placed them beside mine on the tile.
Why would he use the word ‘penetration’ NOW? I thought. I mean, it’s not inaccurate, it’s just… ew? I mean, is there really ever a time you can use the word ‘penetration’ in a way that is appropriate and not creepy? I bet my stupid ex is penetrating that slut right now. I hope he knows how over him I am. Fuck, those cinnamon rolls better be hot when we’re done.
Suddenly, Tom grunted in my ear, and I realized that he was finishing while I was daydreaming about breakfast.
“Thank you,” he said, pausing to kiss my neck before pulling back. He shuffled back into the bedroom while I pulled my pants up and tucked the shirt that he’d never taken off into the front.
When he came back into the room, I was already halfway through my first cinnamon roll.
“Was it good for you?” he asked, taking out a plate and putting his own roll on it.
I glanced down at the remaining half of the roll in my hand, then sucked a drop of its sweet glaze from my finger and groaned. “Hell yeah,” I replied, staring at it lovingly, then took another bite.