World Writer
Chapter 7 — The Morning After
Greg woke to morning light filtering through the curtains and the warm weight of Toni’s body pressed against his side. Her head was on his chest, her hand splayed across his stomach, and her leg was hooked over his thigh. She was still naked, the sheet bunched at her waist, and he could see the curve of her spine, the soft dip of her lower back, the swell of her hip.
She was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful. But this morning she looked different—loose, relaxed, her face soft in sleep in a way he hadn’t seen in years.
He lay still, not wanting to wake her, and let himself the night before. The way she’d bent over the bed, the wet sound of her cunt taking his cock, the desperate sounds she’d made when she came. The second time, with her on top, her breasts bouncing as she rode him, her head thrown back, her nails digging into his chest. The third time, in the shower, her palms flat against the tile while he took her from behind again, the water sluicing over them.
He got hard just thinking about it.
Toni stirred against him. Her hand slid lower, across his stomach, past his navel, until her fingers brushed the base of his cock. He was already half-hard, and she hummed, her fingers wrapping around him lazily.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice rough with sleep.
“Had I known what I was missing, I would have started setting an alarm.”
She lifted her head, her hair a mess, her eyes still heavy-lidded. She looked at his cock in her hand, then at him, and smiled—a slow, knowing smile. “I was dreaming about you.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm.” She stroked him, her grip loose, her thumb tracing the head. “We were in the kitchen. You had me bent over the counter.”
He groaned. “Toni.”
“What? I’m allowed to have dreams.”
“You’re allowed to do more than dream.”
She laughed, soft and warm, and rolled on top of him. Her thighs straddled his hips, her cunt pressing against his cock, already slick from sleep and want. She reached between them and guided him to her entrance, then sank down slowly, her eyes fluttering closed as she took him inside.
“Oh,” the word escaped on a rush of air. “That’s—oh, that’s good.”
He gripped her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. “You feel so fucking good.”
She started to move, a slow grind, her hips circling. Her hands rested on his chest for balance, and he watched her breasts sway with the motion, her nipples hard, her skin flushed. She bit her lower lip, her focus inward, feeling every inch of him inside her.
“I like this,” she said. “Waking up with you inside me.”
“Nothing holding you back.”
“Every morning?”
“That’s a lot of mornings.”
She leaned forward, her hair falling around his face, and kissed him. “I’m okay with that.”
He thrust up into her, meeting her rhythm, and she moaned against his mouth. Her hips picked up speed, her breath getting shorter, her fingers curling against his chest.
“Greg —”
“I’ve got you.”
He rolled them over, pinning her beneath him, and drove into her deeper. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his ass, and she looked up at him with those eyes—dark and wanting and completely unguarded.
“Harder,” she said. “Please.”
His fucking picked up in intensity. The bed creaked. Her head pressed into the pillow, her mouth open, her sounds raw and unfiltered. He watched himself move inside her, watched the place where their bodies ed, wet and slick and perfect.
“I’m going to come,” she gasped.
“Look at me.”
She did. Her eyes locked onto his, and he felt her start to clench around him, her orgasm rippling through her. She cried out, his name mixed with something he couldn’t understand, and he followed her over the edge, burying himself deep and letting go.
When it was over, he collapsed beside her, their breathing deep and quick. She turned her head and looked at him, a lazy smile spreading across her face.
“I think I pulled something.”
“Worth it?”
“So worth it.”
He laughed and pulled her close, her back against his chest, his arm around her waist. She fit against him perfectly, her ass pressed into his hips, her hand covering his on her stomach.
They lay like that for a long time. The sun got brighter. There was no reason to motivate so they lay there together just being.
Toni broke the silence first. “What made you change?”
Greg stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” She shifted to look at him. “Something’s different. You’re different. The way you look at me. The way you touch me. The way you —” She stopped, searching for words. “You seem like you’ve decided you deserve what you want.”
He didn’t know how to answer that. The truth was sitting in the desk drawer in his office downstairs. But he couldn’t tell her that—not yet maybe not ever.
“I got tired of holding back,” he said.
“From what?”
“From everything.” He traced a line down her arm. “I’ve spent so long being careful with you. Careful not to push too hard, not to ask for too much, not to want you too obviously. And I realized—that’s not love. That’s fear.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she turned in his arms and kissed him, soft and deep.
“I like the new you,” she said.
“Good.”
“But I also liked the old you.”
“I know. He’s still in here.”
“Good.” She settled back against him. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a break after last night, and I don’t want you to think it’s because I’m not interested.”
“It never crossed my mind.” He kissed the back of her head. “But ask me again in an hour.”
She laughed. “You’re insatiable.”
“No.” He kissed the back of her head. “I’m making up for lost time.”
Later, when she got up to shower, he lay in bed and thought about the pencil. He thought about what he’d written—Toni feels safe expressing her desires. She no longer feels shame about the things she wants. The change was working. Better than he’d hoped. She was opening up, telling him what she wanted, taking what she needed without hesitation.
But there was more he wanted to unlock.
He thought about toys. About the way she’d tensed up the one time he’d brought up a vibrator years ago—how she’d said those were for other women, not her. He thought about the walls still standing, the ones built by her parents, her church, a lifetime of being told that good wives didn’t need more than their husband could give.
He wanted to take those walls down.
He reached for his phone and made a note. Just one word.
Toys.
He could figure out the wording later. For now, he had the rest of the day with her, and the newfound knowledge that she would tell him exactly what she wanted—if he asked the right way.
He smiled and swung his legs out of bed, following the sound of the shower.