Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sybil considered throwing her phone across the room when her alarm rudely interrupted the dream she’d been having. Peter had another starring role, but the details dissipated like smoke in the wind before she could luxuriate in the afterglow.
She stretched her body toward her nightstand and silenced the alarm. Another day, another dol?—
A warm arm curled around her midsection and attempted to drag her backwards. Adrenaline shot through her nervous system and her body jolted into action. Except her brain wasn’t fully functioning yet, so her limbs flung themselves erratically and ineffectively, except for her elbow, which caught something soft that made her assailant go “Oomph.”
“Ow,” the voice behind her croaked hoarsely. Peter.
When it should have been time to send him back to the hotel, she didn’t have the heart to kick him out. It was dark and cold, and what if he got lost walking back to the brewery? She couldn’t have a head injury and hypothermia on her conscience. Plus, she’d been far too comfortable with her head on his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Just another ten minutes , she’d told herself over and over until she’d drifted off to sleep.
Too bad she hadn’t remembered any of that until after she’d assaulted him.
Peter had curled himself into a protective ball, a pained grimace contorting his gorgeous face.
“I forgot you were here! I’m so sorry.” She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“You didn’t hit anything vital. Just my kidneys or my liver.” He groaned, but relaxed his body. “I think you’re going to be hell on my insurance premiums.”
“For your own good, I’m going to have to wrap you in bubble wrap,” she told him, stroking his face. “Would it help if I kissed it better?”
His eyebrows jumped. That had caught his interest.
“Could you be persuaded to move the medicinal kiss about seven or eight inches lower?”
If he was making hopeful requests, he couldn’t be too injured. Then again, Peter could have a limb hanging by a single blood vessel and he’d probably still try his luck at getting in her pants.
Sybil’s hand stole under the covers and cupped his balls, squeezing gently. Peter’s eyes rolled back and his lips parted.
“Hmmm…” She slid her hand along his growing shaft and squeezed the hard length through the thin cotton of his underwear. When had he taken off his pants? “It does feel like you might need some particular attention in this area. A very thorough examination. For safety. It would be negligent if I didn’t check for further injuries.”
Down the bed she went, situating herself between Peter’s thighs. She kissed the bend of his knee, falling a little bit in love with the small creases there. He squirmed.
“This seems fine.” She kissed the spot on his inner thigh where his boxer briefs ended. “All good here.” The head of his cock strained against its cotton confines. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh dear. This doesn’t look good at all.”
Her “sexy medical professional” character needed a lot of work, but Peter the professional actor hung on every word.
Sybil licked the tip of his cock through his underwear, and then drew it into her mouth and sucked the best she could. The taste of laundry detergent and salty precum coated her tongue. Peter’s choked moan made her pussy throb.
“Relax, and this will all be over soon,” she soothed, pulling his underwear off his hips in torturously slow inches. The elastic waistband caught on the tip, so when she freed his cock, it flew out like it was spring-loaded and slapped against his stomach. She widened her eyes like it was her first time seeing it. “Is it always this big?”
Peter shook his head. “Sometimes bigger.”
Sybil nodded, but frowned like she was considering a grave problem.
“I need to stimulate blood flow to make sure everything is functioning properly. This is best achieved by manual and oral stimulation.”
She grasped the base of his cock and squeezed, then worked her hand up and down his shaft a few times to demonstrate.
“That’s manual stimulation,” she explained, then brought his cock to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip and sucked. Peter whimpered and gripped the sheets. “That’s oral stimulation. A combination of the two usually produces results. Should I proceed?”
“ Fuck yes.”
The breathy, wonderstruck way he said those words was dangerous. It made her feel desirable and sublime, like no one had ever made him feel like this before and no one ever would again. She could get addicted to that kind of feeling.
She took him deeper in her mouth this time, and continued to take him deeper with each bob of her head until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed against her gag reflex and Peter’s entire body tensed.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed rapturously. She swallowed again and his mouth fell open while his eyes fluttered shut. Strong fingers sank into her hair and squeezed the roots. “Cheeky minx.”
Her pussy ached to be filled. It continued to get wetter and wetter, as if a lack of lubrication was the only thing preventing Sybil from taking Peter’s cock out of her mouth and putting it in a different hole. She rocked against the bed since both of her hands were busy. One hand was wrapped around the base of his cock as a stopper so she wouldn’t accidentally go too far down his shaft and do more than tickle her gag reflex. The other hand played with his balls, rolling them in her palms like a pair of baoding balls.
“I–I’m close,” Peter warned.
Sybil worked his shaft with her mouth a few more times, then pulled off, rapidly stroking him with her hand until he gasped, tensed, and came on his stomach. Some of it even managed to hit his chest.
Peter collapsed against the pillows, panting like he’d crossed the finish line at a marathon.
“I think I’m cured,” he finally said, dazed.
“We’ll be asking you to fill out a customer satisfaction survey.”
Sybil got up, crept to the bathroom for a washcloth, and made it back to her room without hearing so much as a snore from Mallory’s room.
She tossed the rag at Peter, and it landed on his face. He grabbed it and started to mop himself up.
“So are there any follow-up appointments?”
“Were you planning on getting injured again?”
“I would play in traffic if you’d do that again with even half the effort.”
Peter tried to stay.
He dillyed. He dallyed. He took a hell of a long time acting like he couldn’t find his socks. But in the end, Sybil managed to shove him unceremoniously through the front door, locking it behind him so he couldn’t scamper back in.
She sagged against the door and smiled.
It was a good thing that production took weekends off, because she was in legitimate danger of wanting him around all the time. A nice little break to remember what peace and quiet felt like would solve that.
She went into the kitchen to make breakfast and jumped when she saw Mallory standing in front of the open refrigerator.
“You’re up early,” Sybil said, trying to inject cool casualness into her voice instead of sounding like a child who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“Peter’s voice carries.” Mallory yawned and took out the carton of eggs. “Are you hungry?”
Sybil’s stomach answered for her with a loud growl.
“I was going to have eggs and toast. Do we have bread?” Mallory opened a cupboard.
“Bread got moldy. We have tortillas. There’s some leftover fajita veggies in the fridge if we want to make breakfast burritos.”
“Always a problem solver.” Mallory climbed onto the counter to get the tortillas.
Sybil started the coffee pot while Mallory cracked a few eggs into a bowl. Soon the only sounds in the kitchen were eggs being whisked and coffee dripping. The silence between them wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable. Or maybe it was just Sybil that felt that way, because she didn’t see a trace of worry on her sister’s face.
“So, I was thinking,” Sybil began as Mallory poured the eggs into a pan. “Maybe you could try working for me on a trial basis.”
Mallory’s eyebrows rose. “Hell has frozen over. What changed your mind?”
Truthfully, it had been Peter. But she was never going to admit that.
“I’m dusting off the old coffee cart for the movie and could use some help running it. At least if you screw up there, you won’t piss off my existing customers.”
Mallory rolled her eyes and moved the eggs around the pan with a spatula. “Don’t let the weight of your confidence in me break your back.”
“Do you want the job or not?”
“Do I get to keep the tips?”
“We’ll split them.”
Mallory frowned. “Don’t you have a job on this movie? How is it fair to split the tips if I’m doing more of the work?”
“Fine. We’ll split them 60/40.”
“Still doesn’t seem fair.”
“There’s an education surcharge.” Sybil took two coffee cups from the cupboard. “If the coffee cart goes well, maybe you can pick up some shifts at Stardust and we can go from there. But you’re not replacing Lorna.”
“How are you planning on training me?” Mallory asked, sprinkling some salt over the eggs, which were exiting their runny stage.
“Can you go in with me before we open tomorrow?”
Mallory shook her head. “I’m closing at Moonie’s tonight. I won’t be home until close to three.”
Sybil frowned. “I thought you did weekends at the hotel?”
Mallory sighed. “I’m doing both. I’m at the hotel until nine when things kind of die off there, and then I go to Moonie’s to finish the night because that’s when things pick up there. The goal is to maximize my tip potential.”
“When were you planning on working for me? Because you’ve got shifts at Cranberry Brothers too.”
“Mid-day. Come in between ten and four, which covers your mid-morning crowd that’s meeting for coffee and your mid-afternoon crowd that needs a pick me up to survive the rest of the day.” Mallory moved the pan off the burner. “Then I’d go to the hotel or Cranberry Brothers, work a shift there, and then Moonie’s to finish the night. Do you want me to pan-fry your burrito?”
“Um, yes, please.”
“I saw something where someone sprinkled the cheese on the outside .” Mallory wiggled her eyebrows enticingly, and an unexpected laugh bubbled out of Sybil. “I knew you liked it cheesy.”
Even though that wasn’t necessarily about him, Peter jumped to the forefront of her mind. The man was cheesy as hell, and she did in fact like it. And as much as she hated it, he was probably right about giving Mallory a chance. If she was as effortlessly good at making coffee as she was at everything else she’d ever tried, she might even admit to his face that he’d been right.
“If you can find time to pencil me into your incredibly busy schedule, I could find time to teach you.”
Mallory scooped scrambled eggs onto a tortilla. “It’s a date.”
There was a plaintive yowl from the laundry room, and Sybil splashed coffee on the counter. “Oh my god! I forgot about the cat!”
“We have a cat?” Mallory shouted after her.