Dreadful Desire

Chapter 65

Rising before Axle, breakfast in bed is next on the list to extend his birthday celebration, alongside the gifts throughout the house to unveil. Perpetual fornication ceased when luminescent rays of cantaloupe trickled on our canvas. Utterly consumed in our extra curricular activities, he overlooked what was right before his eyes. 

Giggling at his inability to be concerned with anything except our extensive copulation, I rise, biting my lower lip to hinder the anguish attempting to escape my the depths of my stomach. Muffled soft whimpers from used muscles chime in the air.

Once vertical, I peer at the decorated canvas, noticing the impressions of my breasts and derrière dominating the cloth. Heat rushes to my face recalling all of the ways we "Painted" last night. 

One distinctive imprint from our tussle where I straddled his weaponized member, urging his hand to coil my neck with desired pressure, gyrating in a decadent blissful journey of pleasure until the pinnacle of our unification rendered me unconscious. 

Whizzing out of the room, with the grace of a bull in a glass shop, I snatch his shirt from the floor, concealing my body, inhaling his glorious masculine scent. I flow down the stairs to rustle up his morning meal before his eyelids elect to separate. 

Scoping out the ingredients in his pantry, I mash up avocado, season it with salt, pepper, red onion and lime, fry eggs and bacon, placing it atop along with a fruit salad and coffee, planting it all on the tray, ready to make my grand appearance. 

I make my way up stairs with ease and patience ensuring the floor does not have the pleasure of  appreciating the food before Axle. Arriving in his chamber, my orbs lay upon the void where his spectacularly sculpted body once laid.  Sweeping the room, I regard the sound of water gushing in the en-suite.

"Axle?"

"I'll be right out."

Tray atop the bed, Axle emerges with a Cheshire grin adorning his angular face.

"What has you so happy this morning Mr. Cross?"

Standing before me, "Well for the first time in years I celebrated my birthday with the people I care about most and I had the most amazing sex last night and is that for me?" He elongates his finger to the plated food upon the tray.

"Yes, now get back in bed so I can treat you like the KING you are," raising the blanket, commanding him to park that Georgia peach on the bed.

"Yes ma'am," his arm raises to salute me before hopping back in bed.

Settled against the headboard, I shift the breakfast tray to his muscular lap. 

"What? You're not eating?"

"I ate while cooking."

"I'm going to eat all alone and you're just going to stare at me?"

Giggling at his statement, "No, we can have conversation like when you made me breakfast in bed."

Head shifts up and down in response while savoring his coffee. Snuggling next to him with my back to the headboard, I inhale his masculine scent, imprinting it into my memory, exhaling a satisfied breath.

"I'm interested in why your birthday is not something you consider celebration noteworthy?"

Placing his coffee on the tray, the air in the atmosphere shifts from warm merriness to the frigid temperatures of the arctic. 

"It's not that I feel commemorating my life is not significant  ... it's just ... it's the anniversary of my father's death," voice declining in octaves as the dialog escapes his lips.