Bishop

“I’m going to workout.” Something white lands on the back of the couch beside my head as Stevie passes. 

“I’m just watching this recap, I’ll join you in a minute.” LA scores a sweet goal against Colorado. We’re playing them tomorrow night, so I’m re-watching the game, looking for holes in their plays.

“Suit yourself.” 

I glance toward the workout room, but the door falls closed cutting off my view of my fiancée.  “Five minutes, babe!” I shout and turn my attention back to the TV.

A few minutes later the buzzer sounds, indicating a delivery. “Can you get that?” I call out, because I’m rewatching LA’s second goal and making notes on my iPad. Also, I’m only wearing boxer briefs and in the past, Stevie has gotten irritated when I’ve answered the door like this.

The workout room door opens. “Seriously, you’re ten feet away from the intercom.” 

“Yeah, but I’m busy.” I motion to the screen across the room and the one in my hand, still watching the game. 

Stevie huffs and mutters something I don’t catch, but gazelle leaps across the room, crossing in front of me instead of behind this time. 

“Whoa, hey.”

She gives me her unimpressed face and leans in, bringing her hot pink bra covered boobs close to my face. My hands are full of remote control and iPad, and I’m stunned stupid for a moment. She nabs the towel from the back of the couch and steps out of my reach before I can stop her. Except it’s not a towel at all. 

“Thanks for getting off your ass,” she snaps as she pulls that gauzy shirt over her head. 

“I’m not dressed appropriately.” I motion to my boxer briefs. 

“That hasn’t stopped you before now.” She rolls her eyes and spins around, her pink ponytail whipping around behind her.

I honestly don’t see the point in the shirt since it doesn’t really do much to conceal anything. It’s sort of the opposite. More like a: hey I’m pretending to function as a shirt, but failing at my job because I’m basically see-through. Also, it’s a half shirt, so her entire toned, four-pack is on display and she’s wearing a pair of those athletic running shorts that look a lot like boy short underwear. In fact, there’s a chance she’s not wearing panties under it. Or maybe a thong.

She hits the intercom button and continues to glare at me.  We live in a gated community so the delivery people need to be buzzed into the complex. “Hello?”

“Delivery for Stevie Bowman.”

“Hey Dennis. You can leave it at the mail station. I’ll come pick it up.”

“Hey, Stevie, how you doin’?”

“I’m good.” She twists the end of her ponytail around her finger and smiles, as if he can see her through the freaking intercom. “How are you?”

“Good, good. I have another delivery on Burnaby Street, so I can bring this directly to your door. It’s kinda heavy,” Dennis offers.

“Thanks Dennis, you’re the best.” 

“Any time, Stevie.”

She buzzes the delivery guy in, then rolls up on the balls of her feet a couple of times. Like she’s excited. Which obviously annoys the hell out of me.

We have several UPS drivers who make deliveries in this area. One is a woman named LouEllen who has calves like tree trunks and can probably squat with a car on her shoulders. The other two are dudes, one is an older guy named Norman who always leaves the packages at the central mail room, and then there’s Dennis. Dennis looks to be in his mid to late twenties. Based on his neck, shoulders and pecs, he spends a lot of time at the gym working on his upper body and forgetting that he has a lower half. He also always delivers things right to the door when Stevie answers, but leaves them at the central mailing pick up when I do.

Obviously he has the hots for my hot fiancée. 

“You really planning on answering the door like that?” I keep my eyes on the TV screen as I replay the goal. I’m not really watching it though.  

“Huh?” Stevie is still standing by the door, still twirling her hair around her finger, waiting for whatever is being delivered.

I hit pause and drag my eyes away from the screen, letting my gaze rove up her long toned, athletic legs, to her curvy, biteable ass, all the way up over her hot-pink chest to her face. “Your shirt is see-through.”

“How nice of you to notice. As you mentioned before, you’re wearing boxer-briefs, so how is this different?” She motions to her outfit.

“Yeah, but I’m not answering the door.”

“This time.” She glances over her shoulder. “You’re still sitting in the direct line of sight of the door. And it looks like you have a semi.”

I glance at my crotch. Stevie bought me these boxer briefs as a gift. She does that often. These ones have her face all over them and she’s hugging the crotch, as though she’s koala style wrapped around my dick. “I wonder why.” 

“Getting all excited about the game?”

“No. I can see your bra through your shirt.” I grab one of the throw pillows that Stevie added to my minimalist décor when we moved to this place and drop it in my lap. “Better?”

“Immensely.” She goes back to staring out the window. 

Man, she’s salty today.

I hear the UPS truck beep as it backs into our driveway.  I don’t bother taking the game off pause as she throws the door open. Instead I stretch my arm out across the back of the couch and watch the door. I fully reserve the right to intervene if the delivery guy flirts with my fiancée. Which is a distinct possibility since she’s: 

1. wearing a hot pink bra and a see-through shirt
2. sexy as fuck
3. completely oblivious to the impact she has on the opposite sex

Dennis appears in the doorway. He’s wearing the standard brown uniform of button down and shorts and a ballcap. He’s also wearing matching socks and steel toed boots. However the shorts are a lot shorter than I would expect them to be. Sort of reminiscent of the kind dudes wore in the sixties. I imagine there were a lot of wardrobe malfunctions back in the day with balls trying to escape tightie whities in the middle of July.  Also, the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, showing off a good amount of pec cleavage. Clearly this is for Stevie’s benefit.

He positions the dolly before he looks up. 

His eyes widen as he takes in Stevie and her cotton candy pink hair. I have to give him credit, his gaze only drops for a split second before it pings back up to her face. “Hey. Hi, Stevie. How’s it going? I have your delivery.” His voice is all pitchy and his eyes are extra wide.

She flicks her ponytail over her shoulder and pops a hip. “Hey, Dennis. I’m good.  Thanks so much for bringing these right to the door. I really appreciate it.”

He grins, gaze dipping for another peek before they ping back to her gorgeous face. “It’s no problem. You need help getting these inside?” He pats the stack of boxes.

“Oh, I can totally handle it.” She steps over the threshold and into his personal space and pats his shoulder. “But thanks for the offer. How are you?”

“Great. Awesome. Better than ever.” He nods like a bobble head and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure I can’t help? They’re pretty heavy.” 

I would get up to help, and also to possibly punch Dennis in the mouth for having the hots for Stevie, but I have a feeling I’d get in trouble for that. Also, Stevie honestly doesn’t need help, and the semi I was sporting a minute ago is pretty close to a full hard on, so I stay where I am. 

“I’m sure.”  Stevie drops into a squat. 

“Really, they’re hea—” 

She tucks her fingers under the bottom box and stands.

And now I have a serious business, full hard-on. My fiancée is a badass. 

She spins and carries the boxes across the living room to the coffee table, only a few feet in front of where I’m sitting. She gives me another one of her looks. 

I arch a brow and glance over to the open door.

Which is when Dennis realizes that I’m sitting here, watching him gawk. Probably at her ass. His gaze meets mine for a split second, widens and then turns guilty before it drops. 

He knows I know he was ogling.

Stevie sets the boxes down and then does a graceful spin and heads back toward Dennis. “Do you need me to sign for anything?” 

“Nope. We’re all set. Have a good day!” He tips his head down, eyes anywhere but Stevie and speed walks back to his truck.

She closes and locks the door, her nose wrinkling as she faces me. “That was so awkward.”

“Ya, think?” I arch a brow.

She props a fist on her hip. “You’re the one who made it that way!” 

“How the hell did I make it awkward? You’re the one wearing a see-through shirt and a pink bra.”

“And you’re wearing boxers, covering your junk with a pillow!”

Arguing is pointless. And even if this time I’m right, usually it is me who makes things awkward because I have the personality of a rabid porcupine. “What is all this?” I toss the pillow aside and grab one of the boxes.

She rushes over and tries to pry it out of my hands. While Stevie is strong, I’m a hell of a lot stronger. I’m somewhat entertained by the way she tries to hug the box to her chest. But I find it slightly less humorous when she steps up onto the couch between my legs and almost stomps on my balls. However I can’t let go, or I risk her falling backward onto the coffee table. 

“Watch my balls!” I grunt.

“Give me my box!” she snaps.

“I’m gonna let go.” I loosen my grip a little in warning, but she’s reefing on it pretty damn hard, so her foot slips. My balls have literally nowhere to go because I’m trapped between Stevie and the couch. Which means I get bagged. Not hard, but it doesn’t feel good.

Thankfully I recover enough that I’m able to grab her waist. But it also means I can’t hold the box. It falls not just into my lap, but one of the corners slams into the inside of my thigh.

I grunt and curse and cover my junk, protecting it from further harm.

“Oh my God!” Stevie hops down from the couch and moves it to the coffee table. Then she drops to her knees between my legs. “Are you okay?” She smooths her hands up the inside of my thighs, eyes wide with worry.

“I think it’s broken.” I let my head drop against the backrest with a groan.

“What? No! I’m so sorry! What can I do?” Her hands flutter around in the air and then land high on my thighs, a few inches shy of my erection. “I didn’t mean to drop the box!”

I continue to cup my junk, eyes screwed shut, feigning pain. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Let me look.” She brushes my hand away, then very carefully slips her pink painted fingernails into the waistband of my boxer briefs. She peels the fabric back slowly and my erection—which is now at full-mast—pops out.  It wobbles and flops onto my stomach.

I groan theatrically.

Her expression shifts to annoyance. “It doesn’t look very broken to me.”

“How do you know? Have you ever seen a broken dick before?”

She pokes the head. “You’re hard.” 

I suck in a ragged breath. Yes, I’m one-hundred percent faking it.

She raises both hands in the air and chants I’m sorry several times in a row.  “I don’t get how you can be hard and have a broken dick at the same time!” 

I almost feel bad about how worried she is.

“You should kiss it better.”

Her hands drop and her gaze lifts. “Seriously, Shippy?”

“What? It might help.” I fight a smile.

“Your dick is fine.” She uses my thighs to push to a stand. 

“Wait, hold on, where are you going?” I grab the back of her see-through shirt.

“To finish my workout.”

“But you bagged me and dropped a box on my dick! If I kicked you in the vagina and dropped a box on your boobs I wouldn’t just walk away and finish my workout.”

“If you’d taken the hint earlier maybe I’d be feeling more generous.” She does some kind of impressive spin thing and slides out of the shirt, then hightails it across the living room, sprinting for the workout room. 

“Are you seriously running away from me right now?” I have no idea what the hell is going on or what hint she’s referring to.

The door to the workout room slams shut. 

I look down at my still hard dick, lying dejectedly on my stomach. “What the fuck did we miss?” I tuck him back into my boxer shorts, because it’s warmer in there and grab one of the boxes, giving it a shake. Maybe whatever is inside will provide a clue as to why Stevie is in such a mood. 

I  pick at the edge of the tape until I free the corner and peel it back, then open the flaps. “Score.” Inside are boxes of chocolate bars. Four boxes to be exact, each containing twenty-four bars. All Aero. Which are my favourite.

I open the box on top and nab a bar, tearing it open. I eat it in two bites, then move onto the next box, which is full of Twix, another fave and then the final box, which are Wunderbars. It’s the motherlode of chocolate. Stevie always gets a hankering for chocolate during shark week, but this seems excessive.

I polish off a Twix and then unwrap a Wunderbar before I hoist my ass off the couch and amble across to the closed workout room door. I try the knob and am moderately unsurprised to find the door locked.

Obviously I’ve pissed Stevie off. I just don’t understand how. Or why.

I tap gently on it with a single knuckle. “What’s all the chocolate for, bae?”

The door flies open. Her forehead and chest glisten with sweat and she’s breathing heavy, like maybe she was running on the treadmill. Or using the punching bag.

“What are you doing? You can’t eat all those!” She grabs for the Wunderbar, but I hold it above my head.

Stevie isn’t short, but I’m six three, so I have a vertical advantage. She jumps a couple of times, her boobs bouncing off my chest as she tries to claim the chocolate bar. When she realizes it’s a pointless feat she ducks under my arm, presumably to save the rest of the chocolate bars from my stomach. I grab her around the waist to keep her from getting away again. The Wunderbar drops to the floor. “There’s like three hundred, you’re not going to miss a few.”

“They’re not for you! Put me down now, you big caveman!”

“Are you going to bag me again and then run away?”

“No.”

I set her on her feet. 

She sprints across the room and grabs the box full of boxes of Aero bars, then heads for the stairs to the second floor, still sprinting.

“Am I supposed to chase you?” Sometimes she gets in these moods where she pushes my buttons on purpose. Usually she doesn’t start off by bagging me and dropping a box on my junk, though, so I can’t be sure.

She doesn’t respond, just disappears upstairs. 

I grab the Wunderbar from the floor and nab a couple more from the box, stuffing them down the front of my underwear for safekeeping and make my way up the stairs, slowly. 

When I reach the top and round the corner, a hot pink projectile slaps me in the face. I stumble back a step, my heel at the edge of the stairs. It’s enough of a distraction that Stevie is able to slide by me and basically launch herself down the stairs. 

It takes me a couple of seconds to recover and by the time I do, I catch a streak of pale pink hair flying out behind her as she grabs the second box and runs down the hall. 

She’s either going to the kitchen or the basement. I really have no idea what the hell is going on. I grab the fallen item from the floor. It’s her bra. 

Which means she’s currently running around our house in a pair of athletic shorts and probably a thong. And running shoes.

This seems like a pretty overt message. 

I jog down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen, but she’s not there. I keep going, toward the door leading to the basement. She pops out when I’m a few feet away. I’m a thousand percent right. She’s topless, all perky tits and peaked nipples.

Her eyes widen when she sees me and she rushes for the dining room, which will eventually lead her back to the living room and the last box of chocolate bars. But she’s not moving as fast.

I snag her around the waist and lift her off the ground. She flails and squeals. 

“Why you running around the house topless, bae?”

“I’m hiding the chocolate bars so you don’t eat them all,” she heaves along with her chest.

“That doesn’t explain the toplessness.” I kiss her neck, it’s salty with sweat. “Kinda seems like you want my attention.”

She makes a noise.

I carry her to the dining room table and set her on the edge, parting her legs so I can stand between them.

I can’t quite read her expression. I drag my fingertips along her collarbone. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

She crosses her arms, but under her boobs, so they’re acting like a shelf. “I wanted to have full sized chocolate bars for Halloween this year so all the kids think we’re the cool house.”

“I’m not talking about the chocolate bars.” But it is totally a Stevie thing to do. 

“I invited you to workout with me and you said you’d be there in a minute.” She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Okay.”

“But I was in there for half an hour. Alone.”

“Oh.” And now it’s all starting to make sense.

She peeks up at me from under her lashes. “And we haven’t had sex in forty-eight hours.”

I’m sure my eyebrows are trying to touch each other. “That can’t be right.” The only time we go more than twenty-four hours without sex is when I’m on an away series. And then we have phone sex.

“You fell asleep last night while I was getting ready for bed.” She twists the end of her cotton candy pink hair.“ And you were already gone for practice when I got up, and then there was the whole work out thing, and you didn’t even do anything embarrassing when Dennis came to the door, and you always do something embarrassing.”

“You get irritated with me when I do something embarrassing.” She’s correct about the embarrassing things. In the past I’ve managed to get to the door before Stevie, while only wearing boxer shorts. Doesn’t seem to stop Dennis from making deliveries, though.

“Yeah, but then we always have hot sex after.”

“So you want me to do embarrassing things?”

“I don’t know.” She throws her hands up in the air. “I want you to want me.” She blows out a breath. “I think I’m getting my period. I’m really fucking horny and emotional and you were more interested in hockey and chocolate than me.” She wrinkles her nose. “I sound like a petulant teenager. I don’t even want to listen to myself anymore.”

She uncrosses her arms and pushes on my chest. As if I’m going to move. She’s almost naked and so am I. I must have been really wiped out last night. Before bed nookie is my favourite. 

“Bae.” I cup her bare breasts and thumb her nipples. 

Her eyes flare and she sucks in a breath, but also arches into my hands. “Oh god, they’re so sensitive.”

“Let me be clear about a few things.” I let go of her right boob and take her hand in mine, placing it over my junk, which crinkles.

“Do you have chocolate bars in your underwear?”

“Yeah. I was minus pockets, so it was my only option.” I fish them out and toss them on the table, then put her hand on my junk again. “Tell me what this feels like to you.”

“Your hard cock,” she says softly.

I make a deep sound in the back of my throat. I love it when she’s both literal and dirty about it. “That’s right, bae. And why would I be hard?”

She blinks up at me, the picture of sexy, half-naked innocence. “Because you want to bury your big, beautiful cock in my greedy, wet pussy?”

“You are absolutely correct.” My cock kicks under her hand. “And I love that pretty, creative, filthy mouth of yours.” I cup her face between my hands and cover her mouth with mine. It’s aggressive, and not gentle, and probably lacks serious finesse, but she moans and shoves her hand down the front of my underwear, fingers wrapping around my very excited erection. 

I break the kiss and trail more across her collarbones as I encourage her to lie back on the table. When I give her nipples some attention, Stevie’s hands slide into my hair and fist. “Jesus. Easy please, they’re so sensitive.”

I lift my gaze and grin. “That was the wrong thing to say.” 

I cover the right one and suck hard. She gasps and flails, nearly knocking the vase of flowers over, so I shift us to the right, almost upending a chair in the process. I use teeth and suction and I can tell by the way she’s shaking and groaning that she’s halfway to an orgasm already. 

I rise, her legs hanging over the edge of the table and hook a finger into the waistband of her shorts. I drag them down her legs, along with her panties and toss them on the floor. Then I use my foot to slide a chair over and drop down.

Stevie props herself on her elbows and makes a face. “I’m all sweaty.”

I loop my arms under her thighs and throw them over my shoulders, dragging her to the edge of the table. “I guess it’s a good thing salty pussy is my favourite.” I bite the inside of her thigh. 

And then the real teasing begins. Because despite Stevie’s slight hesitation and weak warning, there’s no chance she’ll say no to me eating her out. And oral torment is my favourite fucking pastime. I pepper kisses all over the inside of her thighs, drag my tongue along the edge of her lips, circle her clit with my tongue and then go back to kissing her inner thighs until she’s trying to yank my hair out by the roots, while also trying to get me to make direct contact with her clit. 

I push her to the edge and keep her balanced there for long minutes until she’s a panting, moaning mess. 

“What do you need, Bae?” Her pussy clenches as I slide a single finger inside. 

“To come.” She rolls her hips when I flutter my finger, then makes a despondent sound when I withdraw. “Oh God, Shippy, I really need to come.”

“You must be close, huh?” I suck on the skin just above her clit. “Right on the edge.”

She bucks and moans again. “So fucking close, please, Shippy, just please.”

“I love it when you resort to begging,” I murmur. 

Before she has a chance to kick me for that incite-ful comment—the word beg irritates the hell out of Stevie, but whenever I say it she also has the most intense orgasms.

I cover her clit with my mouth and suck.

She slams her fist on the table and the flower vase rocks perilously. 

And then she’s coming, and calling me an asshole and telling me she loves me all in the same breath. 

As soon as she’s crested the orgasm I shove my boxer briefs down my thighs and pull her into my lap and onto my aching cock. She moans as I fill her and I groan as she clenches around me. Stevie slants her mouth over mine and licks inside my mouth. 

She makes desperate mewling sounds as she rocks in my lap, another orgasm rolling through her. When that one ends she bites my bottom lip, dragging it between her teeth before she says, “I need you to fuck me like you haven’t see me in a week.”

“I got you, Bae.” I grab her ass in one hand and her breast in the other and lift and lower her, faster, harder. 

When the chair starts to creak ominously I grip her ass with both hands and rise. She’s quick to hook her legs behind my waist. I don’t think the table can handle what’s coming next, so I walk us through the dining room while she bites my neck and shoulders.

I take us to the workout room—I’d attempt the bedroom, but she’s actually trying to bounce on my dick while I’m attempting to switch locations, and us falling down the stairs in the middle of sex seems like a mood killer. 

I head for the yoga mats and drop to my knees so I can lay her back on the soft surface. The thing about Stevie is that she’s really fucking bendy. She can fold her body into seemingly impossible positions. And she really likes to do this during sex.

I unhook her legs from around my waist and she immediately draws her knees up so they’re at my ribs and I position my arms so that the backs of her knees rest inside the crook of my elbow. And then I start to move, slow at first, long strokes that make Stevie’s eyes roll up and soft sighs whisper across my lips.

But that doesn’t last long, especially when her nails dig into my shoulder and she starts barking orders, telling me to fuck her harder. So I do. I pound into her, our bodies slapping together, slick with sweat and hot with need. We both look toward the wall of mirrors. Stevie folded under me, muscles tight and tense. 

I slow it down for a few beats so we can watch as I pull out and push back in. And then I’m back to pounding into her as if the world is ending. 

It isn’t until she comes a third time that I allow my own orgasm to hammer me in the spine. We lie there, sweaty, panting, a mass of twisted limbs. I release her thighs so she’s no longer a pretzel and roll us over because my arms are close to giving out and while she can probably handle all two-hundred-thirty pounds of me, she shouldn’t have to. 

She’s a limp noodle lying on top of me.

I run my hand up and down her back. “Feel better?” 

“Immensely. Sorry I was so salty.”

“Salty is my predominant personality trait, so no need to apologize.” I tug on the end of her ponytail until she tips her chin up and meets my gaze. I’d apologize for being a clueless ass, but it seems to benefit me. I tip my head up and press my lips to hers. “Wanna hop in the shower and clean up a little before we go for round two?”