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I could see not only him, but her profile too in the side mirrors plus her backside in the main mirror as she knelt at his feet. Fixated on the scene unfolding; he unbuttoned his 501 jeans, pushing them and his boxer briefs down his thighs. His cock, hard as steel, jutted out and all I could think about was how much I wanted to be that girl on her knees with his cock in her face. In the mirrors, I could plainly see him looking down at his girl while she bobbed her head up and down his shaft taking him deep in her mouth with each thrust. Her back was arched and her tanned, perky globes hung down and swayed with each movement. Purring sounds were coming from her when she laved the tip of his cock before she’d engulf him completely; her pink tongue slobbering and lubricating his shaft. He raised his head and his eyes, scanning my naked body reflected in the mirror like an x-ray, shamelessly exposed for his pleasure as his slut was feasting on his cock and balls like a down home Texas. And I count my blessings, of which there are many. I slip from the bed, careful not to wake him and the tiles feel cool against my bare feet. I throw on his old t shirt. It smells of him; manly and musky. There are holes where it has worn, but I love it. I pad into the kitchen and put the coffee on. He likes his strong and black. As I wait for the drip, drip, drip of the machine, my head begins to race. I feel so full of stories, they leech out of my skin and run onto the page themselves. I pick up the notes from the kitchen table and remind myself where we are, today we will write but not for an hour or so yet. He is still sleeping when I enter the shadows of the bedroom, his long frame thrown across the bed, his face creased into the pillow. I smile. I cannot help it. He’s finally mine and it is so new I feel like I have to pinch myself. I set the coffee silently on his nightstand then grab a bobble to tie back my hair. I slip off the t shirt, and slide back into bed. His breathing.
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