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  • dearabi

The Hunger Games.

*ping*

It’s 12:47, and the sound of a text message reminds you that you haven’t taken your lunch yet. Looking up at the spreadsheet of vendors on your computer screen you promise yourself just 10 more minutes.

*ping*

Apparently, you’re phone suffers from separation anxiety if you don’t check it every 20 minutes. You unlock your screen, and it’s him. A huge smile suddenly appears on your face.

“Hungry?” the text says. “Always,” you reply.

The two of you agree to meet at his place shortly after since it’s just a few blocks away – gotta love the convenience. And he couldn’t have had better timing. You’re co-workers have already eaten lunch, and you’re tired of the cafeteria food. Thinking of the last time he cooked for you, your stomach begins to growl. He made chicken quesadillas, and you helped cut vegetables and grate cheese while he talked about his new project, and you talked about your new job. You begin to wonder what’s on the menu today. When he opens his door with nothing on but a towel and a smile you  get your answer: him.

He swiftly pulls you close, and you can feel his skin still wet from his shower. The two of you kiss. Slow, but hard as he gently takes off your jacket. Even in heels you still have to tippy-toe to reach him. With your lips still locked, you make your way to his bedroom and somehow you no longer have a shirt on. Oh he’s good. He hikes up your pencil skirt, and lifts you up against the wall. You wrap your legs around his waist, and his towel drops to the floor exposing a sight that immediately gets you wet.

He’s inside of you now, thrusting through your very being. You arch your back against the wall, so that he hits the perfect spot and sway into him. HE’S SO FUCKING SEXY, it doesn’t take very long before you explode so hard you’re dripping down your thigh. He thinks you’re so fucking sexy too, because seconds later he lets out a low groan and you feel him pulsate inside of you and his knees slightly buckle. You both collapse on his bed, but are interrupted by a smell that’s not of “after-sex”.

He jumps up, “Oh fuck, the spaghetti!” Awww, he did cock cook.

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