Page 66 of Reno

“I do.”

“How about this: I’ll make us something to eat, and then we can see if we can do it again.”

I smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

She leaned forward, kissed me, and rolled off the edge of the bed.

I took a second to admire her perfectly sculpted body, and then shook my head.

“What?” she asked.

“Get back in bed,” I said.

“Why?” she asked. “I thought we were going to eat.”

“I thought you wanted to fuck again.”

“Don’t we have to wait?”

I yanked the sheet to the side, revealing my rock-hard cock. “Apparently not.”

Upon seeing it, her eyes went wide. She smiled. “This is so much fun.”

She was right. It was. And, I planned on doing everything within my power to make sure it stayed that way.

23

Carma

Reno’s home was the ultimate bachelor pad. His bedroom had a bed in it. There was no nightstand or dresser. His jeans were neatly folded in his closet, and his shirts were hung on hangers. A spare bedroom housed a weight machine.

His dining room had a large gun safe in it.

His kitchen had a small round wooden table with four worn wooden chairs surrounding it.

There was no art on the walls.

There were no candles, no decorative items, and no end tables or coffee tables.

His living room was decorated with an extremely comfortable leather couch, a matching loveseat, and a television which sat in the corner, on the floor.

Most who entered the home would claim it had no character, style, or charm.

I thought it defined Reno rather well.

He needed nothing in his life to please him other than the people he surrounded himself with.

I set the plates on opposite sides of the table. “Breakfast is ready!”

He stepped into the kitchen wearing sweat pants and a white tank top. The sleeve openings revealed portions of a large tattoo that covered his back. The sweats covered his tattooed thigh, but my recollection of it from the previous night’s activities were still vivid enough that I could see it in my mind.

“Smells good.”

“It’s pretty basic,” I said. “You had some leftover brisket, and it didn’t smell bad, so I guessed it was okay to cook.”

“It’s from night before last.” He sauntered to the table and kissed me. “Cooked meat’s good for four days.”

I was impressed that he knew how long leftovers lasted. I doubted many men did. My father sure didn’t. “Sounds like we’ll be okay.”