Chapter 9

I WOKE UP WHEN Rory stirred. She turned towards me in her sleep and sought comfort, cuddling like a kitten. Dawn was just breaking.

I watched her. I watched her nostrils flare as she breathed slowly. I noticed how long her dark eyelashes were. I studied the shape of her mouth, lush and sensual in sleep. In my eyes, she was deeply gorgeous!

Moving very carefully, I rolled to face her and gathered her in my arms, slender and naked, warm, so alive. I caught the scent of her, different in sleep, yet intoxicating, beautiful.

My orgasm last night had been long overdue and wonderful. Cumming with a climaxing girl on top of me had been incredible. But, what did it say that this, lying naked together in the morning light, was even better?

What did it say about me, that I’d forgo the sexy play if I could wake up every morning with Rory in my arms? Rory naked, her warm, silken skin against mine, her quiet breaths stirring the hair on my chest?

I caressed her bare back. I explored the shape of her shoulder blades and the bumps of her spine. I discovered silken body hair at the base, just before the swell of her ass. My fingertips found the start of her valley and my palms traced the shape of her buttocks to each side. Rory was blessed with an exquisite ass.

My hand must have registered with her in her sleep. She murmured and snuggled closer, her knee edging between my legs. In her sleep, she slipped her arm over my waist.

I looked down between us and admired the sweet swells of her breasts. I could see one dark areola and soft nipple and had a sudden desire to take it into my mouth, taste her, feel the texture of her areola, and experience her nipple waking up, stiffening, growing.

Rory’s hair tickled my nose. It was delightfully mussed. I pressed my nose into it, inhaled, and kissed.

My bladder called. I ignored it. This was too precious. Then it hit me; I was infatuated with her. She was so lovable; a creature of so many facets, every one of them riveting.

Rory moaned quietly. I looked at her face. Her eyes were open. She was frowning. Before I said a word, she extricated herself from my arms, sat on the side of the bed, bent, retrieved her pajama top and panties, and stood. She walked out of the bedroom.

“Good morning,” I said to her back.

“Morning,” she mumbled.

I watched her naked ass as she left. It really was exquisite. Two firm, rounded cheeks moved sensually in counterpoint. They formed a compact pear shape, the creases where they met her thighs emphasizing their gorgeous shape. I could picture pressing my mouth to them, even giving one a hicky. I could imagine what it would feel like to press my erection into her butt crack and feel her buttocks cradling me.

My cock stirred. I rose and, with partial tumescence, hit the bathroom.

Showered and shaved, I puttered in the kitchen waiting for coffee to be brewed. The enticing scent filled the air. From the hall, I heard Rory showering, then silence.

With coffee finally ready, I poured a mug, sat at the table, and started reading the morning news on an iPad. A few sips later, Rory still hadn’t emerged. Was she hiding? Embarrassed at what we’d done last night? Or embarrassed at sleeping naked in my bed?

I got up and went to find her. Her door was ajar. Poking my head in her bedroom, I noticed clothes dropped on the floor but no Rory. Then sounds from my bedroom reached me. By the time I stopped at the door, Rory was stripping my bed. Sheets were gathered in a bundle. She was removing a pillow case.

“I just changed the sheets yesterday,” I informed her.

She stopped, looked at me and frowned. “I got my period last night. I bled on the sheets.”

“Oh. Good.”

Rory didn’t look happy. She glared at me. “What’s good about it? Only a guy would think getting a period is good!”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“That’s what it sounded like. And I’m too hungry to be wasting time changing this bed.”

I grinned at her. She glared at me.

“I said good because I thought you were angry about sleeping in bed with me. A little blood stain doesn’t matter.”

Watching her process that, I sipped coffee. “Leave it. I’ll make the bed. Come have some breakfast.”

“Fine.” She tossed the pillow case on top of the sheets and followed me.

Rory was in fine form. She sat silently at the kitchen table staring outside. She didn’t talk or look at me as I prepared simple fried eggs with toast on the side. It was fast and speed was of the essence.

When I set the plate down in front of her, she bent and attacked. It was interesting watching her. I knew the moment her stomach hit the critical level of fullness; two eggs and one piece of toast. One of each remained.

Her eating changed from mechanical, methodical food fed to her mouth like coal to the furnace of a train engine, to slow, each mouthful relished. Her eyes looked up. The hardness faded. Then, the corners of her mouth curled and her eyes grew bright.

She looked around, studied outside, paused to drink orange juice, and sat up straighter.

“Better?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.” She nailed me with her eyes and smiled. She jabbed her fork at me. “I liked sleeping in your bed.”

“That’s all? Just sleeping?” I asked.

Rory laughed. “And the other stuff.”

“It has a name,” I observed, smiling.

“I know. Other stuff.” She laughed, her world restored and in balance.

An hour later I was deep at work. By late morning the blinds were closed, my office/lab pitch dark. On the bench, I peered through an electron microscope and turned a green laser on at the side, casting an oblique light onto the last will and testament of Joe Kipler.

Mr. Kipler’s will, ostensibly leaving everything to his second wife thirty years his younger, was being contested by his two daughters. They believed the will was forged and their attorney had retained me to verify its legitimacy.

If the signature was forged, whoever had done it had done a masterful job. In almost every way it was perfect. This last test was something forgers rarely thought about. They concentrated on perfect visual reproduction. But, a critical part of signatures was pressure. Every individual used different pressure when signing. It changed based on hand weight, hand position, and the way a hand moved when writing.

The intense green laser light cast from the side exposed the topography of the signature and it, too, was as individualizing as the script itself. It was almost as good as a fingerprint.

I studied the signature and noted pressure points and spots where the pen had paused for a fraction of a second. Then, I replaced the will with a verified sample of his signature and studied those same spots. Confirmed. The will had been forged.

Now came the routine part; taking photographs of each under the laser light as proof, then writing up my report. I’d call the attorney later with the good news.

Analysis done, I let my mind drift as I set up the camera.

Mental arousal seeped into me again as it had on and off since last night. One image haunted me; Rory astride me, glorious in her nakedness, her body incredibly sexy, and the sight of her slowly lowering her pussy onto my erection. Moonlight had given her body shadows, contours, and shape.

My cock woke up in my pants as I pictured it. Could anything be more erotic? With her knees at my side, the beauty of her pussy had been revealed in all its youthful glory. When she settled down, the sight had been unbelievable. Her lush labia plumped out then slowly oozed apart to hug my shaft. It made her mons look even more ripe, soft, sensual, supple. Exciting heat had settled on my cock. I’d swelled and strained with excitement. Watching Rory pleasure herself on me was beautiful. When I’d felt slipperiness spread, when I’d realized it was Rory’s arousal, her pussy so wet, I’d started struggling not to cum. Her sexy massage was too exciting.