Back to Jay

(Jay)

The next two weeks crawled by like they were personally trying to fuck with me.

I could swear I’d delivered to half the city and spent way too many nights picking up my phone debating if I should text her, or wait for her to text me. We both knew I was way out of my weight class, so I was worried about overstepping and annoying her, or making her regret her decision.

We did get to talk some and texted even more, just not as much as I obviously wanted, but she had made it clear that other things had to take priority. For whatever reason, it was when she’d text the little day to day things, that made me feel best though. Things like “The kids have been a handful today!” or “I miss talking to you” just left me feeling connected in some way. I think it’s because those were secretly the heavier feelings she was sharing, even if she wasn’t openly saying it.

As much as I was happy to get what I did, what I really wanted was the late-night voice message so I could hear her sexy accent. Or better yet, a sneaky “come over” text once the kids had been put to bed.

Instead, it was the busy mom life. I got it. I really did. But damn if it didn’t feel like the best night of my life had been a one-off fever dream.

Then, on a random Tuesday afternoon while I was parked outside a Chipotle to pick up an order, my phone flashed her name with a text.

Sofia: The boys are finally with Carlos for the week. I took the day to myself yesterday, but now the house feels too quiet.

Sofia: Also I may have stress-baked three dozen cookies and now I have no idea what to do with them.

Me: Three dozen? Damn, you trying to open a bakery or just trying to lure adorable young men over with delicious goodness?

Sofia: Hahaha Neither, but would it be bad if I ended up using them for the later?

Me: Not as far as I’m concerned! Is there a particular time I should come by?

Sofia: Any time that works for you. Door’s unlocked, so you can just let yourself in.

I don’t think my smile can get any bigger. Seemed like playful Sofia might be back for the moment. The version of her that was more than just “mom” which I knew she had to be most of the time.

I grab my customer’s order as quick as I can, and race it to where it’s going in record time. Usually, I squeeze in a touch of small talk if the person checks the food, but not this time. Just straight hustle. By the time I get to her neighborhood and pull up her driveway, it’s about 45 minutes later.

I park and grab the little paper bag I’d stopped for on the way over. I feel sorta dumb carrying it, because it’s just some chocolate dipped pretzels, but she mentioned them being a guilty pleasure during one of our conversations. So whatever. From what I can tell, the small gestures seem to be a much bigger deal to her than big ones.

Taking a deep breath, I try the front door. It’s unlocked, just like she said, and I step inside. I can instantly smell the cookies she mentioned she’d been baking. There’s also soft Latin music playing through speakers that must be built into the house, because I don’t see them.

“Sofia?” I call out.

“In here,” she answers.

I follow her voice to the kitchen. She’s standing there, closing the fridge. There’s a whole rack of chocolate chip cookies set out on the counter, with more in a cookie jar next to it.

More importantly, she’s wearing this soft blue tank top with thin straps and a neckline low enough in front that I can see the swell of her tits when she turns to face me. A pair of black shorts that are short enough to show most of her thighs are all that is covering her bottom half, clinging to her in all the right places, stretching over her hips and ass. After two weeks of nothing but memories, texts and phone calls just don’t cut it. Seeing this much of her smooth golden skin is exactly what I need. My mouth practically salivates at the sight of her. She looks fucking incredible, but then again, when does she not? I’d been infatuated with those curves for months before they had me losing my mind the night of my birthday. She’s absolutely been living rent-free in my head ever since, and I’m one hundred percent okay with that.

She smiles when she looks at me, and I just smile right back. It’s the smile I remembered from the day after my birthday, when she took me home. Totally different than all of her smiles prior to twenty-four hours earlier than that.

“You finally made it,” she says.

“Yeah, I just had to finish a run first.” I hold up the paper bag in some sort of awkward gesture. “I also stopped to pick up some pretzels. The chocolate-dipped ones you like.”

Her smile gets a little bigger. “Aw, papi! You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I said, setting the bag down and shrugging. “Probably don’t even want them, considering you’ve got three dozen cookies here.”

She reaches in, pulls one out, takes a bite, and makes this quiet little sound that goes straight to my dick.

“I can never say no to them,” she says, then steps around the island. “That’s kind of the problem, and why I never buy them myself.”

She doesn’t hesitate to step in and slide her arms around my waist. Her body presses against mine, from her tits squashing against my chest to her hips pushing into my groin. I wrap my arms around her and breathe her in. After two weeks of jerking off to memories, having her this close again feels unreal.

I hold her as long as she’ll let me. No talking, just her face buried in my chest, while I kinda rest the side of my face on the top of her head.

“You’re a good hugger,” she murmurs into my shirt.

“You are too. Feels good to hold you.”

She pulls back and looks up at me. “You’re not mad that it’s been a while, are you?”

“Nah. I figured you were slammed with the kids and everything. You made it all clear in the car that this would happen, and I still totally get it. I can’t imagine what you’ve got to deal with.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re not ‘that guy’.” She studies my face for a second, then stretches up and kisses me.

It’s a soft enough kiss, and nothing too overt, but two weeks is a long time. My hands slide down to her waist, so I can pull her tighter against me. She makes a small sound and kisses me harder when I do it. The next thing I know, our tongues are playing with each other, and her fingers are digging into my back. I’m even pretty sure I can feel her nipples through the thin tank top, pressing into my chest. Doesn’t take long before my dick is straining against my jeans.

She’s the one that eventually ends the kiss, which may be good, because I don’t know that I would’ve ever gotten around to it.

“Yum,” she says and smiles. “Come on, let’s go in the other room. Talk. Eat cookies. Have an adult conversation in my own house. I’ve listened to too many nonsensical stories about toys from the kids, and had too many fights with Carlos. You’re lucky I don’t just drag you upstairs right now, before I lose my mind.”

I laugh under my breath. “Right. So lucky,” I say with just a hint of teasing mockery.

She smiles, playfully wrinkling her nose at my comment, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward the living room. This must be where she’s been camped out since the kids left, because the sectional is set up with a blanket and pillows. There’s some cooking show paused on the TV, and I wonder if it’s what inspired the urge to bake cookies. She drops onto the couch and pats the spot next to her.

“Sit. Talk to me. Tell me something, anything that doesn’t have to do with kids or why I’m overreacting. Just distract me for five minutes.”

I sit, stretch my legs out, and take a cookie from the plate she passes over from the end table. They’re better than I expected. I don’t know why, but I didn’t really expect someone as hot as her to bake on top of it all.

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