The Cajun Gentleman Pt. 02

Chapter 5 - Building a Foundation

As the sun rose the next morning, the sliver of light that peeked through my curtains awoke me. I moaned and stretched as I turned over to an empty bed. As my eyes adjusted, I realized Chris wasn't in my bed anymore. I popped up and scanned the space to see if there was any trace of him. Luckily, I heard the toilet flush, causing a wave of relief to wash over me. He opens the door and strolls into my room. I stared at him and admired this man that just rocked my world four times in a row.

"Mornin', cher, did you sleep well?"

Hoping he doesn't see my slight moment of weakness; I pretended to yawn and stretch as I swung my feet onto the floor so that I could saunter over to him to give him a good morning kiss.

"Yes, I slept great. How about you?" Asking as I felt his member start to grow and jump in excitement. "I see someone wants another round." I say with a naughty smile.

While adjusting himself, he looked down at his growing member and says, "Down boy, not right now. We need to eat first."

As we made our way to the kitchen, he asks, "So what you gotta eat cher?"

I opened the refrigerator and leaned in. "Well, I have the normal bacon, eggs, and bread for toast. I also have the pancake and waffle ingredients. It all depends on what you want."

"Well, how 'bout this? I cook you my favorite pancake recipe passed down from my grandmother and you make the bacon and eggs."

"Sounds good." I say gleefully.

I watched as Chris made his way around my kitchen. Almost as if he belonged there. He asked where the pots and pans were. Once I showed him where they were. He was off. Can I say that shit turned me on? Watching a man that knows his way around the kitchen is such a turn on. I walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around his waist, put my mouth as close to his ear as possible and whispered, "Are you sure you don't want to go again? Watching you move around this kitchen is turning me on." I say this as I moved my hands to find his dick standing at attention.

He puts down the spatula, turns in my arms to face me, "Cher, I would love to make love to you again, but I have plans later and we really need to eat."

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm not all that hungry." I say as I moved my hips against his hard cock.

He kissed my forehead and moved my arms from around his waist. "Yes, I'm sure."

I put on my mad, not mad pout face and says, "Fine, I will wait."

As we sat at the kitchen table eating the delicious breakfast we made together. We talk about something other than sex.

"So, Alexis, do you have any siblings? What is your family like?"

"I am the oldest of five. Was born and raised in Paris. I have three sisters and I had a brother."

"Had?"

"Yeah, had. My brother passed away two years ago after having a seizure at a friend's house."

"Mo chagren to hear that, Alexis."

"It's fine. If the Bible is correct, then one day I will see him again. If not, then I will always have the memories of the man my brother was before he died."

Before he could ask more questions about my family, I turned the question back on him. "So, what about you? What is your family like?"

"Well, as you can tell, I am Cajun. I am the middle child of three. I have an older brother and a younger sister."

"You guys must be very protective of your sister?"

"Yes, and no. When she was younger, we taught her how to fight and protect herself so she wouldn't get taken advantage of. My ol' man showed her how a man is supposed to treat a woman by taking her on dates and treating her like she mattered."

"Lucky girl." I say coyly.

"Are your parents still together?"

"Hell yeah. My parents' relationship is what I strive for. They have a marriage that many wish they had. Not perfect, but they are perfect for each other."

"That is so sweet."

After breakfast, we hop into the shower. As he lathers up a rag with soap, I drop to my knees and take his dick into my mouth all the way to the base. Causing him to shudder in pleasure. When I say I can't get enough of this man, I would let him wear me as a crown all day if I could. Hell, he would enjoy it if I let him.

As we got dressed, he asks, "What are your plans for today cher?"

"Well, after you leave, I was planning on doing some cleaning and maybe watching some anime."

With a look filled with desire, he asks, "Would you like to spend the day with me cher?"

I say, "Sure... why not."

"Allons! Let me go home and change my clothes and I will be back in an hour."

"Ok, but what should I wear?"

"Dress comfortably."

"Ok, see you in an hour."

As I watched him drive away, I couldn't help but think, what did I get myself into? That was some of the best sex I have had in a long time. Let me text Chrystal and tell her how it went.

Me: Hey girl, you up yet?

Chrystal: Barely... what's up?

Me: I wanted to tell you about my date. Can I call you?

Chrystal: Hold on...

Five minutes later.

Chrystal: Ok, I'm ready

I called her and she picks up the phone enthusiastically, "Hey Alexis, I got my coffee, I'm sitting on the couch, now spill... the... tea."

For the next thirty minutes, I recount the events of last night, leaving out the more erotic details. Ending with, "And he's coming back to take me out again."

"Girl, y'all movin' kind of quick, don't you think? I mean, think about it, you guys only met 2 weeks ago."

"Don't get me started, but there is something about him that just makes my panties wet when I look at him. I mean, I have only been with one other man that has matched my sexual energy and a good man is hard to find."

"Ok, just be careful. Don't want you to get hurt."

"I know, and I really appreciate you looking out for me."

There's a knock at the door. When I look through the peephole, it's Chris.

"That's him. I have to go. I will call you later to tell you how it goes."

"Alright, talk later."

I opened the door to find Chris standing there, his broad shoulders filling the frame, and the biggest smile lighting up his face.

"You ready, cher?" he asks, his deep Cajun drawl wrapping around the words in a way that made my heart skip.

"Yes," I say, grabbing my sneakers from near the door. "Let me get my tennis shoes on real quick."

I slipped them on, and we headed outside. Like a perfect gentleman, Chris opened the passenger side door of his black Dodge truck for me. I climbed in, shooting him a small smile. He hopped into the driver's seat, and we took off down the street.

"You ready to go, cher?" he asks, glancing over at me.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reply, buckling in. "But where exactly are we going?"

"Have you ever been fishing?" he asks, his eyes briefly flicking over to gauge my reaction.

I shook my head. "Nope. Never."

"Well, I'm 'bout to show you a good time," he says, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

I gave him a playful side-eye. "Better than last night?"

Chris let out a hearty laugh, the kind that came from deep in his chest. "No, cher... not as good as last night, but it's a close second."

I laugh, shaking my head at his boldness, but as he drove on, I pulled out my phone to text Chrystal.

Me: "Hey, just FYI, I'm going fishing with Chris. He's driving a black Dodge truck, and we're headed somewhere that's apparently fun enough to rival last night. If you don't hear from me in a few hours, send the search party."

I hit send, half-joking, half-serious. Better safe than sorry.

Three hours later, we pulled up to South Toledo Bend State Park. The vast, glassy lake stretched out before us, framed by towering trees and the occasional dock jutting out into the water. The air smelled crisp and earthy, tinged with the faint scent of pine.

"Have you been here before?" Chris asks, coming around to open my door.

"No," I admitted, stepping out and taking in the view. "But I've heard good things about it."

"You're gonna love it," he says confidently.

He walked around to the back of his truck and pulled out two fishing rods and a tackle box. My eyebrows shot up. This man is serious. Fishing wasn't just a casual suggestion--it was a plan.

As I watched him prepare, a thought hit me: I don't even know how to fish. And wait... don't I need a fishing license?

Almost as if reading my mind, Chris glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Don't worry, cher. The best part about fishing is teaching someone how to catch their first fish. You're gonna do great."

"But don't I need a license or something?"

"Not a problem," he says, waving it off. "I'll show you how to get a five-day license on the WLF website. It's quick."

I gave him a skeptical look. "Okay... if you say so."

"Trust me," he says, grinning. "This will be fun."

We made our way to an empty dock, where he helped me set up. Following his instructions, I pulled up the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries website on my phone and got a temporary fishing license in just a few minutes. By the time I was done, Chris was already showing me the basics--explaining the bait, hooks, and sinkers like he was teaching a master class. I nodded along at first, genuinely trying to keep up, but before long, his voice faded into "WOMP WOMP WOMP" like the adults from Charlie Brown. My brain checked out somewhere around the third type of hook he mentioned.

"You got all that, cher?" he asks, grinning when he noticed my blank stare.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Hell naw."

His laughter joined mine, filling the quiet expanse of the lake. "Don't worry 'bout it. I'll set you up."

"What would you like to catch? With this rod, you can go for catfish or bass."

"Catfish, for sure!"

"Good choice," he says, pulling out some bait. "Okay, we'll use this worm. You wanna hook it yourself?"

I hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Sure, I'll try it."

With patience and humor, Chris walked me through the process. I winced as I hooked the worm onto the line, earning a proud grin from him. "Ça c'est bon, cher. Now cast your line into the water."

As the ripples spread across the surface of the lake, we sat side by side on the dock, our legs dangling over the edge. The silence between us was comfortable, broken only by the sound of birds and the occasional splash of water.

"So," I began, breaking the quiet. "What was your last relationship like?"

Chris glanced at me, then back at his line, his expression softening. "Well, I was with this pretty young thing about three months ago. We were together for about a year."

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The age-old story, cher," he says, shrugging. "We wanted different things. I was looking for something long-term--marriage, you know? But she wasn't."

"What was she looking for?"

"To this day, I don't know. But whatever it was, I couldn't give it to her," he says, his voice even but tinged with a trace of sadness.

"Were you in love with her?"

"Yes and no," he admitted after a pause. "I cared about her a lot, but looking back, I think it was more lust than love. Or maybe I was tryin' to make her into something she wasn't ready to be. It's okay, though. Just wish she'd talked to me 'bout it."

Nodding in understanding, I know more about that feeling than I wanted to admit. "I get that."

"What about you?" he asks, turning the question back on me.

I stared down at my fishing rod, debating how much to share. The truth felt too raw, too messy, so I settled on a partial truth.

"The last relationship I was in was about a year ago. He was moving away and wanted me to go with him, but I didn't want to give up what I had here. So, I let him go."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "How long were y'all together?"

"Six months," I say, keeping my tone light.

"Six months!" he says, laughs. "Damn, cher, you must've put it on him hard."

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, something like that."

The truth, though, was far more complicated. My "six months" had actually been a year and a half. I'd told my ex repeatedly that I wasn't the marrying type, but he didn't listen. He'd proposed to me anyway--in front of his entire family on the Fourth of July. I'd turned him down on the spot, drove home, and never looked back. Chris didn't need to know all that--not yet, anyway.

The conversation hung in the air between us, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. We sat there on the dock, fishing rods angled over the water, sunlight glinting off the lake's surface in delicate patterns. The silence felt comfortable, familiar, like a worn-in pair of shoes.

Chris leaned back, his eyes scanning the lake with a quiet ease. "You know, cher," he says, his voice low and thoughtful, "sometimes I wonder if we all go around with these pieces missin' inside us. And we try to fill them up, thinkin' the right person or the right job or the right place can do it. But maybe--maybe some holes are supposed to stay empty. Just to remind us we're still growin', still lookin' for somethin' more."

I looked over at him, surprised by his sudden philosophical turn. I realized how much I didn't know about him yet, and that thought excited me as much as it scared me. Here was a man who seemed at ease with his own uncertainties, a rare thing these days.

"That's pretty deep for a Saturday morning, Chris," I tease, though a part of me wanted to reach out and touch his hand, to tell him I knew exactly what he meant.

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that seemed to vibrate through me. "What can I say? Fishin' brings it out in me. All this water, this quiet... gets a man thinkin'."

I smile, feeling a softness for him I hadn't expected. "What else does fishin' bring out in you?"

"Depends on the company," he replies, his gaze turning sly.

He gave me a wink, and just like that, the intensity of the moment melted into something lighter, more playful. Just then, I felt a tug on my line, sharp and unexpected.

"Oh, my God! I think I got one!" I squealed, gripping the rod with both hands as the line pulled taut.

Chris jumped to his feet, coming over to stand behind me. "Alright, now don't pull too hard, Alexis. Let it tire itself out a bit. Just keep a steady pressure."

His hands covered mine, guiding me as I fought to reel in the fish. My heart raced, part excitement, part nerves, and part awareness of his body pressed close against mine. He smelled like the outdoors, like wood-smoke and fresh air, and something else warm and earthy that made me want to lean back into him.

The fish finally tired, and Chris helped me reel it up, a proud grin spreading across his face as he lifted it from the water. "Look at that!" he crowed, holding up a decent-sized catfish. "Your first catch, cher. You did good."

Laughing, feeling a rush of exhilaration as I looked at the fish wriggling on the line. "I can't believe it! I actually caught something!"

He held it up to my face, grinning. "Now, don't go fallin' in love with this little guy. He might be handsome, but he ain't much of a conversationalist."

I nudged him, rolling my eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe so," he says, his gaze softening, "but I'm guessin' you like me that way."

I looked away, suddenly feeling shy. There was a truth in his words I wasn't ready to face. Instead, I focused on the fish, releasing it back into the lake with Chris's help. It darted away, leaving ripples in its wake, and I felt a strange pang watching it go, like I was letting something else go with it, something heavy I hadn't even realized I'd been holding.

The afternoon passed in a golden haze. We cast lines, reeled in a few more fish, shared quiet laughter and simple conversation. Chris told me stories about his childhood in Baton Rouge, about fishing trips with his dad, and how his brother used to prank him by swapping the bait with weird stuff--anything from gummy worms to marshmallows. I also recounted stories about my sisters, explaining how my youngest sister thinks the Eiffel Tower is named after her due to her middle name, Ethel. At one point, I told him about my mom's obsession with jazz music, how she'd wake us up every Saturday morning by blaring Louis Armstrong through the speakers, dancing around the kitchen with a spatula as if she were on stage. Chris laughed, and I could see him picturing it, like he was already becoming part of the memories.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, Chris packed up the fishing gear, and we walked back toward his truck. The silence between us had shifted, deepened, but it was a silence filled with possibility, like we'd said a hundred things with no need for any words. He opened the passenger door for me, pausing as I climbed in. His hand lingered on the door frame, and for a moment, he just looked at me, his eyes searching mine.

"You know, cher," he says, his voice low, "I wasn't expectin' this."

"Expecting what?"

He shrugged, glancing away for a second before meeting my gaze again. "You. This feelin'. It's... different. Good different."

I swallowed, feeling my heart skip a beat. "Yeah," I say, barely more than a whisper. "Me too."

He closed the door gently, as if he were tucking me in, and walked around to the driver's side. As we pulled away from the lake, the air between us felt charged, alive. There was a comfort in the silence, but also a hum of anticipation, as if both of us knew that something was beginning, something that would change us both, and neither of us knew quite where it would lead.

After a few minutes of driving, he glanced over at me, a sly smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, cher. Since you did so good today, I think you earned yourself a little treat."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

He reached into the center console, pulling out a small, paper-wrapped bundle. "Boudin," he says proudly, handing it to me. "Best Cajun sausage you'll ever taste. Brought it special from home, just for you."

I unwrapped it, taking a tentative bite. The spices hit my tongue, warm and flavorful, and I moaned involuntarily. "Oh my God, Chris. This is amazing!"

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I'd show you a good time today, didn't I?"

I laugh, feeling warmth bloom in my chest. "Alright, you win this round."

We drove back toward town, sharing the boudin and the smiles that linger even after you look away. By the time we pulled up in front of my place, the stars were dotting the sky. I knew I should feel tired, but I felt energized, alive in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.

As he walked me to my door, Chris paused, his hand slipping into mine. "Thanks for today, Alexis. For real."

I smile, squeezing his hand. "Thank you, Chris. It was... perfect."

And for a moment, we stood there, hand in hand, under the vast, star-studded sky, neither of us needing to say anything more. Sometimes, in the quiet between two people, we can rewrite the world.

Chapter 6 - Getting to Know the Families

Two months into this thing with Chris, I still couldn't believe how natural it all felt. But even as we lounged in my living room, the late afternoon sun casting golden shadows across the space, I overthink everything. I sat cross-legged in my armchair, nervously sipping from my iced coffee, trying to act more relaxed than I felt. Chris, meanwhile, looked entirely at ease, draped over my couch like he owned the thing. One arm rested along the back of it, and he was twirling his truck keys in his other hand, his green eyes steady on me like he was about to say something big.

"So, cher," he started, his drawl wrapping around the words, breaking the silence.

"We been doin' this thing for what... two months now?"

"Two and a half," I corrected quickly, setting my cup on the side table and pretending I wasn't counting the days.

Chris grinned, and that damn smile--white teeth flashing against his tan skin--always did something to me. "Two and a half," he repeated, dragging out the words like he was savoring them. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', or we gonna keep dancin' 'round it?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, my pulse ticking up a notch. "That depends. What are you thinking?"

He sat up straighter, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at me in that way that always made me feel like I couldn't hide anything.

"I'm thinkin' it's 'bout time we meet each other's folks. Don't you think?"

My heart flipped, but I kept my face calm--at least, I tried to. I had thought about it, of course I had, but hearing him say it out loud made it feel real. Too real.

"Chris," I started slowly, hesitating. "That's... a big step. Are we ready for that?"

Chris raised an eyebrow, his expression dancing somewhere between teasing and serious. "cher, we were fishin', eatin', laughin', and sharin' this bed for weeks now. If that ain't ready, I dunno what is. 'Less you got somethin' to be worried about?"

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. He wasn't wrong, but still. "It's not that I'm worried. I mean, not exactly. It's just..."

I paused, searching for the right words. "My family's not like yours, Chris. We're loud, we ask a million questions, and we don't hold back on opinions. They're going to want to know everything about you--where you're from, what you do, how serious we are..." I bit my lip, feeling the nerves creep in.

Chris reached across the space between us and took my hand in his. His touch was warm, steady, grounding, the way it always was. "That's what families do, no?

Mine ain't exactly shy neither, cher. But I ain't scared o' them. And I sure ain't scared o' yours."

I gave him a skeptical look. "You say that now, but wait until my aunt Jeanine grills you about your intentions and how much you make in a year. She doesn't play, Chris."

He threw his head back and laughs, that deep, hearty sound that never failed to make my stomach flutter. "Jeanine, huh? Sounds like a character. Don't worry, cher, I've been grilled before. Ain't no thing."

I arched an eyebrow, leaning forward. "And your family? What's the vibe there? Should I be worried?"

Chris leaned back again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well, let's see. Maman's gonna love you--don't even worry 'bout her. She been buggin' me 'bout settlin' down since I was nineteen. My sister Camille, she's a sweetheart, but don't let that fool you. She'll watch you like a hawk to make sure you ain't tryin' to play me."

"Sounds like she's got your back," I say with a chuckle.

"Oh, no doubt," Chris replies, nodding like it was obvious. "And my big brother, Étienne? He's the joker. Prob'ly gonna tell you some wild stories 'bout me that ain't true--don't believe a word he says, yeah?"

I tilted my head, giving him a sly smile. "Wild stories, huh? Like what?"

He smirked. "Oh, he likes to say I once tried to serenade a girl with a zydeco band outside her window. Let's just say it didn't end well."

"Wait," I say, covering my mouth as I laugh. "Did you actually do that?"

"Hell no!" Chris says, holding up his hands in mock defense. "But Étienne's been tellin' it for years like its gospel truth. You'll see."

I couldn't stop giggled, and as the laughter faded, Chris leaned forward again, his voice softer now. "So, what you think, cher? We gonna do this? Your family, mine. Let's make it happen."

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the nerves bubbling up in my chest. He made it sound so easy, like we were just checking off another box. But this was a big deal--for both of us. I let the laughter settle into something steadier, more grounded.

"Okay," I say finally. "Let's do it. But we start with your family first. That way, I'll know what I'm up against when it's my turn."

Chris grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Deal, cher. You come meet the Broussards, and I'll come face the lions at your place after. Fair?"

"Fair," I say, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as the reality of it sank in.

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The following weekend, I found myself standing on the porch of a cozy Acadian-style house with a blue-painted door and hanging ferns swaying gently in the Louisiana breeze. The humid air carried the scent of magnolias and something rich and savory--gumbo, probably simmering away inside.

"You ready, cher?" Chris asks beside me, holding a fishing hat in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

I smoothed the hem of my sundress, swallowing hard. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Chris knocked twice, and the door swung open almost immediately. A petite woman in a flour-dusted apron pulled Chris into a hug before I even had time to react.

"Mon bébé!" she exclaims, her voice warm and lilting with that unmistakable Cajun cadence. "You brought her, huh? This the girl I been hearin' about?"

"Yes, Maman, this is Alexis," Chris says, stepping aside to let me into the house.

"Alexis, cher!" Maman Broussard says, pulling me into a hug before I could even offer a handshake. "Come on in, don't be shy. You hungry? We just got the gumbo ready."

"Merci, Mrs. Broussard," I say, feeling a little self-conscious but charmed by her enthusiasm.

"Call me Maman," she insists. "You family now, yeah?"

I glanced at Chris, who gave me a quick wink. Inside, the Broussards were exactly what I expected: loud, warm, and full of personality. Étienne wasted no time cracking jokes about Chris's so-called "serenade," while Camille watched me like a hawk, asks pointed but polite questions about my job, my family, and what I saw for my future. By the time we sat down for dinner, I felt like I'd passed some kind of test.

Chris leaned over during dessert, his voice low so only I could hear. "See, cher? Told you they'd love you."

I smile, finally relaxing. "One down," I whisper back. "Now it's your turn to face the lions."

Chris grinned, raising his glass of sweet tea. "Bring 'em on, cher. I'm ready."

And for the first time, I actually believed him.

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The first thing I noticed as we drove into my hometown was how wide the streets looked. It always felt this way whenever I came back--vast stretches of road framed by open skies that went on forever, dotted with hay bales and the occasional rusty tractor parked in someone's front yard. It was so different from Lafayette's tightly packed streets and constant bustle, but Paris, Texas, still had a charm all its own.

Chris leaned forward in the passenger seat, peering out the window like he was trying to take it all in. "So, this is Paris, huh?" he says, his Southern drawl stretching the words. "Ain't no Eiffel Tower, but it's got charm, cher. Real quiet."

I adjusted my sunglasses, smirking to myself. "Quiet until you meet my family. Trust me, you're about to hear enough noise to make you miss Baton Rouge."

Chris laughs, warm and easy. "cher, I grew up in a house where Étienne played the accordion at six in the mornin' and Camille sang off-key just to mess with us. I think I can handle a little noise."

I gave him a sideways glance. "You say that now, but wait until my grandma interrogates you. She'll ask more questions than a federal agent, I promise."

Chris grinned, clearly unbothered. "I ain't scared of a few questions, cher.

"But thanks for the heads-up." We turned down the residential street where I grew up, the houses modest but well-kept, each with its own little patch of yard and a swing set or two in the back. My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I spotted my parents' house--a cozy single-story with an enormous oak tree in the front yard. The wind chime on the porch swayed in the breeze, tinkling softly.

"Okay, last thing," I say, glancing at Chris. "Don't freak out if my mom gets super churchy. She's probably gonna bring up God at least twice, and she'll definitely ask if you go to church."

Chris raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Twice? That's all? Mama's gotta mention the Lord at least three times before dessert's served, or it ain't a proper Sunday dinner."

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound easing a little of my nervous energy. "Alright, big man. Let's see how you handle this." I pulled into the driveway, and Chris climbed out of the truck, adjusting his light blue button-down. It was the same shirt that made his green eyes look brighter than they had any right to be, paired with his usual faded jeans and those worn-out boots he loved so much. He slid his hands into his pockets, taking in the house.

"Nice place," he says with a nod. "Feels homey."

"Homey," I mutter under my breath as I walked toward the door. "That's one way to put it." Before I could knock, the door flew open, and my mom appeared, her bright smile as wide as the Texas sky.

"Alexis!"

"Hi, Mama," I say, stepping into her hug. Her gaze shifted immediately to Chris, and I could see the wheels turning as she looked him up and down.

"And this must be Chris," she says, her tone curious but not unfriendly. "Hmm. You look better in person than you do in those pictures she sent me."

Chris chuckles, rolling with it. "Thank you, ma'am. Nice to meet you."

"Mm-hmm," my mom says, stepping aside to let us in. "Come on in. Everyone's in the living room."

I could hear the noise before we even reached the doorway. A headache formed in my temples as my two younger sisters argued over the TV remote, their voices overlapping. My grandma sat in her usual spot, her recliner tilted back as she knitted something pink and fluffy. My dad stood by the window, fiddling with the blinds like he always did when he didn't want to look too excited about company.

"Alright, everybody, this is Chris," I say, trying to sound confident, even though my stomach was twisting itself into knots. All heads turned toward him, and I braced myself for the onslaught.

"Chris," my dad says, stepping forward and extending a hand. "Name's Roger. Heard a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope," Chris replies, shaking his hand firmly.

Roger smirked; his expression was unreadable. "We'll see."

I shot my dad a warning look, but before I could say anything, Grandma chimed in.

"So, you're the Cajun boy?"

"Yes, ma'am," Chris says, flashing her one of his peaceful smiles. "Born and raised in Baton Rouge."

"You cook?" she asks, squinting at him over the rim of her glasses.

"Yes, ma'am," Chris says. "I can make a mean gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish étouffée--name it."

Grandma's lips twitched into what I could only describe as a grudging smile. "Well, at least he's useful," she mutters, going back to her knitting.

I rubbed my temples, sighing. "Okay, let's all sit down and--"

"So, Chris," my mom interrupts, already settling herself on the couch and gesturing for him to do the same. "What exactly do you do for work?"

Chris sat down across from her; his posture relaxed. "I'm an oil refinery engineer, ma'am. I stay pretty busy, especially after storms roll through."

Dad crossed his arms, giving Chris a look that could curdle milk. "That pay steady?"

"It does," Chris replies evenly, his calm confidence making me want to kiss him right then and there. "I stay pretty busy."

"And you go to church?" my mom asks, her tone direct. Subtlety was never her strong suit.

Chris didn't miss a beat. "Yes, ma'am. I go when I can. Grew up Catholic, but these days, I find God more out on the water or working with my hands than sitting in a pew. Hope that doesn't count against me."

I held my breath, bracing for her response. To my surprise, she nodded, her expression softening just a little. "At least you believe in something. That's a good start."

Chris glanced at me and winked, and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

By the time dinner rolled around, Chris had somehow won over my younger sisters by promising to teach them how to fish. "Y'all ain't caught a catfish? We gonna fix that one day, no problem," he'd says, and they'd practically swooned. Grandma, meanwhile, was hanging on his every word as he regaled her with stories about growing up in a big Cajun family.

The table held a hearty spread of fried chicken, collard greens, cornbread, and mac and cheese. As we ate, the conversation flowed freely, bouncing from one topic to the next.

"So, Chris," my dad says, pointing his fork at him. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

I groan, covering my face with my hands. "Daddy, come on."

"Nah, it's okay," Chris says, setting down his napkin. He looked my dad square in the eye, his voice steady. "Mr. Thompson, I'll tell you straight--I ain't here to play games. I care about Alexis, and I'm looking for something serious. I know I gotta earn your trust, but I'm in it for the long haul."

Dad studied him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Alright. Fair enough."

From across the table, Grandma chimed in. "Well, if you're serious, you better learn how to play spades. Can't marry into this family if you can't hold your own at the card table."

Everyone laughed, and for the first time that day, I felt myself relax.

Later, as we walked back to the car, Chris slid his arm around my waist, pulling me close. "See, cher? Told you I could handle it."

"You did good," I admitted, leaning into him. "But don't get too comfortable. You still owe me a win at spades."

Chris grinned as he opened the car door for me. "Allons, cher. I'll show you how a Cajun boy handles cards."

As we drove off into the night, I glanced at him, my chest swelling with something warm and steady. The road ahead seemed wide open, just like the possibilities between us.

Later that night, the soft hum of the hotel air conditioner created a soothing backdrop as we lay entwined in a cocoon of sheets, our breaths slowly synchronizing. I drifted into a dream; one so vivid it felt like an extension of reality. In the realm where consciousness and fantasy entwine, I find myself in a world where I am not myself, yet entirely present. An electric charge fills the air, creating a sense of anticipation that clings to my chest. I am Chris's belt. I am the leather, the buckle, the entire expanse of the belt. It's a peculiar sensation, this awareness of my new form, but it's not uncomfortable. I am Chris's belt, and I exist only to serve his desire.

The day begins like any other, with Chris walking around, his day filled with tasks and trivialities. But I, the belt, am aware. I sense the subtle shifts in his body, the changes in his breath. And then, it happens. I feel him, hard and ready, pressing against my leather confines. He doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate. He unfastens me, slipping me from around his waist. And then, with a smooth, experienced motion, he slides me down, my built-in wetness welcoming him as we join as one.

We walk around like this, connected, his rock-solid presence filling me completely. The day passes in a blur of sensation, my new form unable to process time the way it once did. Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of Chris's face in a window reflection, noticing the hint of concentration in his eyes, or perhaps amusement.

Suddenly, I'm whipped around, Chris's hands on my hips, his rhythm picking up. He pumps into me, his pace increasing, his breath coming in sharp gasps. I feel the tension build, the sensation exquisite, overwhelming. I can't hold back any longer; a cry of ecstasy escapes me, breaking the silent barrier of this wonderful dream.

The cycle repeats throughout the day, with Chris occasionally allowing me my release, the pleasure of it resonating through my makeshift form. It's intense, this existence, this symbiotic bond between Chris and me.

As the day winds down, Chris leads me to the bedroom, his movements purposeful. He lays me down on the bed, my body cushioning his weight as he settles on top of me. He grinds into me, his pace quickening, his breath coming in harsh pants. I can feel it--the building tension, the impending release. I'm close, so close. And then, with a last thrust, we both reach that peak together, our shared climax shattering me, leaving me spent and boneless.

And then, I wake up. Wet, horny, and yearning for more of this strange, beautiful dream.

Chris shifted, his cock twitching against my ass, mirroring my dream. I smirked, reaching back to squeeze it. "Seems like we had the same dream, Chris," I whisper, rolling over to face him.

He cracked an eye open, smirking back. "Did we now?"

I nudged his boxers down, his cock springing free. "Don't you forget it," I say, diving under the covers. I wrapped my lips around his length, feeling him tense and throb. His moan rumbled through me, making my pussy ache.

"Fuck, cher, that's... fuck..." he trailed off, tangled in the sheets and my hair.

I loved the sound of his pleasure, pushed on by my desire to taste him, to make him cum. His hands grabbed my hair as he met my gaze, panting. "I thought I was dreaming, but this is... damn."

I pulled off, licking my lips. "Mhm. And you know what's better than a dream?"

He smiles, reaching for me. "What?"

"Reality," I say, climbing onto him. I ground against him, my wet panties leaving a mark on his abs. "And right now, reality feels really fucking good."

He groans, flipping us over. His hands finding my panties, pulling them off. He thrust into me, filling me perfectly. I gasped, clenching around him.

"Fuck, Chris," I panted, trying to keep quiet. "You feel so good."

He kissed me, a filthy, messy kiss that made my head spin. "You're the one who feels good, cher." He moved in and out of me, slow and steady. "So, fucking good."

I arched into him, my moans increasing. He lowered his head to my tits, sucking a nipple into his mouth. His hand snaked between us, finding my clit. I cried out, bucking against him.

"You like that, don't you, cher?" he murmurs, capturing my other nipple. "You like my mouth on your tits, my fingers on your clit, my cock in your pussy?"

"Yes," I hiss, my body tensing. "Fuck, Chris, I'm gonna cum."

He pulled out, flipping me onto my hands and knees. He entered me from behind, hitting deep and slow. I gripped the bedsheets, pushing back against him.

"You love this dick, don't you, cher?" he growls, slapping my ass. "Tell me how much you love it."

My moans accompany my pussy clenching. "I fucking love it, Chris. I love you inside me, fucking me like this."

He groans, picking up speed. "Fuck, cher, you feel amazing. I could cum right now, just feeling your fucking pussy."

I pushed back against him, my body trembling. "Not yet, Chris. Not until I cum again."

He wrapped a hand around my neck, pulling me up. His other hand found my clit, working it in quick circles. "Cum for me, cher," he says, his voice a dark command. "Cum on my cock."

I came loudly, my body convulsing. He dropped his hand from my neck, grabbing my hips and fucking me through my orgasm. He let out a low groan, his cock pulsing inside me.

We collapsed onto the bed, spent and sweaty. He pulled me close, kissing my neck. "Goodnight, cher."

"Goodnight, Chris," I say, already half-asleep. In the warm glow of the moon, I smiled, dreaming of the reality of us.