Chapter 2: A Morning Story
We cuddled in a happy knot, dozing warmly together, until the sky started to lighten outside. Micca - she hates 'Michaela' - leaned up on one elbow, looking down at me, and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. She took my hand from between her legs and pressed it to her lips, then to mine. The salty sweetness on my fingers and the scent of sex started turning me on all over again. I reached up and pulled her head down to mine, for a long soft kiss.
"Lin, if we don't get going now, I might never let go," Micca said.
"And the problem would be ...?"
"Coffee."
"Of course. I'll get it going."
I pulled that oversized T-shirt on, rounded up all the stray underwear, and threw it in the laundry basket. (This studio apartment doesn't let me make two messes at a time.) The kitchenette was only a few steps more, and I had the water heating in a moment. I found watermelon in the fridge, that would do for now. The microwaved dinged while I was cutting the melon, so I poured hot water into the French press, drowning a thick layer of ground coffee. I pressed the plunger half way down, then back up again to get the air out of the grounds, and went back to cutting melon. By the time I had finished with the melon and gotten the tray set up for eating, the coffee was about done. I pressed the plunger home and poured two big mugs - we both like it back. This was our breakfast in bed.
Micca was looking at me as I brought the tray over. In fact, she had been sort of staring at me the whole time I was putting the food together. Lying on her side, head propped up on one hand, her tapered waist and round hip showed their curves beautifully. I set the tray on the bed, then sat cross-legged beside her. She sat up, adjusted a pillow as backrest, and leaned against the wall. I passed her a mug. Then, instead of giving her a bowl, I speared a pink chunk and offered it to her. She leaned forward and ate it from the fork, with that cute, shy smile.
After that, I set the fork aside. I popped a piece into my own mouth, then picked one up and offered it to her. She took it again, along with the tips of my finger and thumb. When I drew them away, she followed, and licked a drop of juice from each.
We both felt the glow from making love earlier, and enjoyed a happy moment without words. She held her mug in both hands, and I fed us both chunks of sweet melon. Sometimes, I would stroke her cheek or forehead before pulling my hand away. Then I teased a little, making her lean forward to get the next piece. When she leaned forward enough, her soft, heavy breasts swung away from her body.
Next time, I picked the biggest piece of melon, too much for one mouthful. When she leaned forward to bite into it, my other hand rose up under swaying breast and held. She looked up at me, smiled, and closed her eyes - but didn't lean back. Instead, she munched quietly, then opened her mouth for another bite. That baby-bird trust and vulnerability melted me. My hand cupped the pendant breast as I fed her, and my thumb stroked the side of it. The next bite of melon was last, so I popped it into her mouth, then let my fingertip linger so her lips closed around it.
She opened her eyes with a liquid, happy look on her face, and nibbled her lower lip. Then she held her own hand against the one I had under her breast. She closed her eyes again, leaned up toward me, and parted her lips - the "kiss me" pose that no one can resist. I accepted, still holding her, just the tips of lips at first. I touched all around her mouth with mine, then pulled her lip between mine. Her pink tongue slid out and moistened my my mouth, then we touched in slippery warmth.
This slow, gentle exploration was nothing like tongue-wrestling with a boy, so we let it go on. Micca's eyes opened then, and she leaned back with a smile. Her breast slid out of my hand as she did. She crossed her arms under those soft swells, lifting them, and asked, "Well, are we going running or not?"
"Let's go." I picked up the tray, and we both headed toward the kitchenette. The bathroom was right next to it, and that's where she was going. Her T-shirt didn't cover her bottom, it just bunched at the waist. The view from behind made me want to grab her again. Instead, I put the dishes in the sink, put the tray away, and started to change.
I heard the toilet flush and the sink run for a moment, then Micca came out. The T-shirt covered her this time, just barely, and she leaned over her clothes bag. The shirt rode up to show her bottom again, and I marveled at the grace and strength of that round curve. I also marveled at that dark place, just a bit wider than the rest of the crevice, at the top of her thighs. Facing away from me, she pulled on panties and shorts, then her new sport bra.
That step is no big deal for me - mine is not much more than a snug tube top with shoulder straps. She had to put hers on over her shoulders, lean down to enclose each heavy breast just so, do up way too many eyelets on the front closure, and adjust everything again. Socks and running shoes, then we were off.
The sun was well up, but the air still cool. That made running comfortable, but every guy we passed stared at our chests. (Well, hers mostly, but the slight chill meant I had a little something for the oglers, too.) This new bra really worked for her. Once it was on, she didn't have to tug at it like she did with the other ones, or keep her arms crossed in front. It really held her bust to a gentle bounce. She told me where she got it and what it cost. My bras are little stringy things, when I bother, and I never paid even a third of that for one. (Well, I paid it once for a bra that promised even I would have cleavage. It lied. Only Photoshop could do that for me.) I knew how uncomfortable running could be for her, though, so I figured the price was worth it.
After about forty minutes, we slowed our pace to cool down. We both felt happily stretched and relaxed by the time we got home. When we got in, Micca asked, "Do you want first shower."
"Yes," I answered. "Soap my back?"
