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He was on his back with one arm under my neck. I was on my side facing him, and I kept sighing from his fingers casually running through my hair.
He glanced at me. "You know the song, 'Mrs. Robinson,' by Simon and Garfunkel.
I just stared for a minute, gawking. Trying not to think of everyone closing in on me like the walls of a room. "You have to not let the crowd get to you. This place does an exceptional job of making me feel claustrophobic. I've learned to find ways to see myself through the commotion.
The next morning, I found cans of chicken noodle soup and clear juice stocked in the kitchen; tissues and pain relievers in the bathroom; and bedding folded on the ottoman. But there was no sign of Chris. I moped around the house, thankful that my new schedule did not include weekends. When I wasn't doped up on cold medicine and dead to the world, I curled up in the living room mindlessly watching TV or laid in bed despite not actually sleeping.
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"Wait, are you. " He tipped his chin and stuck out his lower lip. "I'm sorry, it was too easy. " "You are so lucky I can't grab that pillow again," I growled, writhing under his weight. Which did absolutely nothing but make me moan because it reminded me that a naked man was lying on top of my own naked body.
He picked me up princess-style and carried me down the hall. I expected that we were going back to bed. But he surprised me by taking me into the bathroom. Setting me on the closed toilet lid and leaning me against the vanity countertop.
Then he ran a hot bath.
Right there, honey. I can feel you squeezing around me. Milking my cock. " I recovered enough to turn my head and watch him again.