Day 45: Open journal
Has anyone seen a fucking older guy, white hair, wears a fucking suit and a panama hat? His name is Frank fucking Lundy.
It's kinda god damn important.
[Private to Derek.]
You. Me. Talking. Now.
It's kinda god damn important.
[Private to Derek.]
You. Me. Talking. Now.
She ignited fires that he hadn't felt in a long time. Deb might have lacked in curves but more than made up for the shortage in her sexual prowess. There was nothing worse than to get a fine woman in bed who couldn't kiss worth shit and laid like a log, making him do all the work. Derek had a better chance of being the one to lay on his back than the Miami detective.
The fervent manner they kissed was all the foreplay he needed. With how Deb thrust her center at him, Derek didn't think she needed more. Yet she was still made to wait. He refused to fuck her until a majority of his cock had been moistened with her excitement. Every muscle, to include his hardened length, flexed with anticipation before diving in and finally filling her.
Everything was moving too fast if he truly wanted Deb to forget for a while. Derek couldn't make up his mind and it was evident in his thrusts. They were fluid and controlled but sped up only to slow down for a grind or two before starting all over again. Sweat formed and slicked all the friction between them. Each thrust quickly became more urgent.
The boarding house was no different from the hotel room they had been exiled to. If there were rules against what they were doing, the Morgans may have received a reprieve with the wedding rings they wore. Not that Derek thought of any of that shit. He moaned breathlessly about how good she felt and sandwiched her against the mattress dangerously hard.
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