Chapter Fifty-Two #2
"He brought this woman who demanded they have a relationship chat in the middle of a game of Pictionary. Then when she didn't like what he had to say, she locked herself in Kenzi's bedroom and broke all her mirrors and shit."
"He can really pick them, huh?" she asked, smiling at the idea. "Well, I would be happy to have some crockpot dinner. I haven't had anything home-cooked in a long time. Do you know if we can bring anything?"
That word stuck out.
We.
Not only because no one was ever in my life long enough to use it.
But because I liked the sound of it, the implication behind it.
Because I found myself hoping that it was more than a show, that we were doing this for real, not just to put on a show I had asked her to do.
I guess we could maybe talk about that after Sawyer—and his all-seeing eyes—left.
"Kenz should have it all covered, but there's no such thing as too much dessert."
"Got it. When should we get there?"
"Two hours," he told us, making his way to the door. "Nice finally meeting you, Clarke."
With that, he was gone, and we were left standing there, a world of words unsaid between us. About her father, about dinner, about us in general.
"Cheesecake is always a good idea. The Golden Girls taught me that," she told me, turning back, eyes still red and swollen, but a small smile was pulling at her lips. "What?"
"What what?" I asked, buying myself a little time.
"You look really intense right now. Was it weird that I said we would go?
I mean, by now, you should know that it is pretty much impossible for me to turn down food.
Even if I've already consumed like five thousand calories today.
I have to pencil in a double grappling class as soon as my ribs heal up. I'm gonna get all wobbly."
"Think you could pull off wobbly."
"I'm saving that for when I get old. I will get nice and rotund and wear hideously flamboyant muumuus and house slippers and watch soap operas all day while I eat freezer dinners I got on sale and bemoan how my children don't visit me enough."
"That is a very specific image," I told her, shaking my head.
"I have given it a lot of thought."
"You want kids?"
To that, she paused, taking a breath. "I think I'd like one or two. No more than that. It is a bad idea to be outnumbered by your spawn. Do you want kids?"
"I haven't really given it much thought," I admitted.
Since I didn't really have women in my life, there was no reason to think about things that come after you had a woman in your life.
"I like the kids in my extended family. They just say whatever comes to their minds.
It's refreshing. I wouldn't mind having one around. The, ah, diapers, though..."
"Oh, don't worry about it. You clean up bird crap like a champ," she told me, rapping a hand on my shoulder playfully.
"You never answered me, by the way," she said, moving past me to go into the bathroom, running the tap as she reached for paper towels, soaking them, then pressing them to her eyelids.
"Which question?"
"Was it weird that I agreed that we would go to dinner?"
"No, ah, it's what we're supposed to do, right?" I asked. "Couples join other couples at dinner."
"I, ah, wouldn't really know."
"You've never had dinner with other couples?" I asked, confused. There was no way she hadn't had boyfriends before. She even mentioned her bad taste in men.
"I've never had dinner with someone's family before.
I, ah, have been serious about some guys.
But they have never been that serious about me," she admitted, pulling the towels from her eyes, staring at her reflection, almost like she was looking for something.
A flaw, maybe? What she felt she must have been lacking to have never had a relationship advance to that stage?
It was a fucking shame that she didn't know that she wasn't lacking anything.
She was everything.
There was nothing wrong with her.
"I think I might already be getting wobbly," she said, mostly to herself, pressing her hands onto her stomach as she watched her reflection.
That, well, was about enough of that.
I wasn't great with words; even when they were fully formed in my head, sometimes I couldn't get them out from between my lips.
I couldn't seem to open my mouth and tell her that she was beautiful, perfect, that she shouldn't doubt herself, that any guy who couldn't see what she had to offer was a fucking moron. But that his loss was my gain.
I couldn't say it.
But I could show it.
Or at least I hoped I could.
I made my way across the office, moving in behind her at the sink.
"Do you need me to go..." she started before my hips pressed forward, pinning her pelvis to the sink. "Oh." The sound rushed out of her as her eyes already started to get smaller, needier.
My hands moved in at her hip bones, gliding upward over her stomach that seemed the same to me as it did when I had first seen her, but in my experience, no one was more critical about the tiniest of changes to their appearance than women.
My hands kept moving upward, cupping over her breast, feeling the nipple harden under my touch, suddenly very thankful that after her shower, she had walked out into my living room declaring it was Too freaking hot for a bra then yanking it out through the sleeve of her tee.
One less barrier.
Her head dropped backward onto my shoulder, eyes closing, but there was still plenty to see in her reflection—the way her lips parted to suck in air, the way it shivered out, the rosy flush overtaking her cheeks, spreading down her neck.
As she got more and more lost, that flush would spread over her chest, down her belly, even her upper thighs.
"We have to get the cheesecake," she reminded me as my hand slid under the hem of her shirt, reaching upward to roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, something that made her ass grind backward into me.
"Fuck the cheesecake," she decided, her arm curling up, going around the back of my neck.
For a woman as into food as she was, words such as Fuck the cheesecake were pretty telling.
Last night, I wanted to take my time. I wanted to get to know her hotspots, see what set her on fire.
Tonight, though, I wanted to see how many times I could make her come before we had to leave; I wanted to see if I could get her legs to shake the way they had the night before, if I could make them fail entirely.
My hand left her breast, shoving under the waistband of her shorts, going under her panties, pressing my thumb against her clit as my fingers thrust inside her.
She nearly yanked the sink off the wall with her hand, she was holding on so tight.
"Oh, my God," she whimpered, rubbing shamelessly against my palm, demanding more.
I was more than happy to oblige, thrusting with my fingers against her top wall as my thumb started to work her in careful circles until I got her closer, feeling her walls tighten around my fingers, then circling harder, pressing deeper, feeling her shatter apart as she came with a choked cry.
"No," I objected when she came back down and she tried to curl away, tried to reach downward toward my pants.
"Barrett..." she tried, her voice still needy, wanting more.
Next to my name on her lips while her pussy clenched around me, it was the sexiest thing I had ever heard.
"Shh,” I demanded softly, pulling my hand out of her pants, reaching for the button and zip, then yanking the material down over her hips, down her thighs until they fell freely down to the ground.
She didn't even bother stepping out of them, just stood there watching my face in the mirror as my fingers reached for her shirt next, pulling it up, freeing her head, but yanking the material back and down at the last second, trapping her arms to her sides as it exposed her completely.
The flush was overtaking her already, pink teasing over the swells of her breasts, down her belly, over her lower stomach. And judging from the heat of her thighs as my fingers traced up them, it was there as well.
Impatient, her ass pressed back, grinding against my hard cock, making me need to grit my teeth to keep control as my hand moved upward, over the purple and blue bruise on her side.
Not terrible. I'd had mine busted once, the bruises taking over my entire side.
I wondered if they were bothering her, or if the post-orgasm hormones were flooding her system enough to take any pain away.
"Barrett, please," she begged, doing another grind that wiped away any idea of trying to hold off any longer.
"Please what?" I asked, reaching to undo my pants, grabbing a condom I had put in my wallet that morning just in case, sliding it on, my gaze rising to hold hers in the mirror. "Please, what?" I asked again, sliding my cock between her lips, watching her mouth fall open at the sensation.
"Please fuck me," she demanded, making the desire stab through my stomach as my hand pushed her forward, down, gathering the material of her shirt up the center of her back, making her shoulders arch backward as I slid my cock back, pressing, then slamming deep inside, nearly seeing white at the feel of her hot, tight walls closing around me, squeezing tight, her hips moving, creating friction, demanding motion.
And, well, that was exactly what I gave her.
In the quiet of the office, the sound of our bodies meeting was loud, deafening to my ears as Clarke's whimpers rose to moans, then became a gasping, barely-there sound as her walls tightened impossibly, holding on for one last thrust that sent her crashing down into the orgasm, taking me with her.
One of my arms anchored around her lower stomach, holding her upright as her legs shook, the other slamming into the wall beside the mirror, trying to brace both our weight as most of the strength left my body as well.
It was her laugh that finally pulled me out of it, my eyes opening to find her reflection, her smile big enough to make crinkles form beside her eyes.
"What?" I asked, feeling my own lips curve up in response as I pulled us both backward to stand up straight as I slid out of her.
"We didn't lock the door. Could you imagine a potential client walking in on that?"
I managed at the very last second to keep myself from saying Or your father in a rare moment of foresight to how that could royally fuck with the mood.
"Whoops," I said, not looking the least bit bashful about it, making her head fall back into my shoulder, turning in to plant a little kiss under my jawbone.
"Alright, free me. We need to get dressed. And get cheesecake."
"I thought we said fuck cheesecake," I said as I yanked the material of her tee back into place, not even pretending I wasn't enjoying the view as she bent forward to retrieve her shorts and panties.
"That was when you were holding my orgasm hostage.
Now I have it. And I'm dying for cheesecake.
Would a Nutella one be too crazy?" she asked, brushing her hair back into order, straightening her shirt, seemingly bursting with energy as it felt like I was suddenly drained of most of mine.
"Or peanut butter? Wait... how old are the kids?
They're not supposed to be around those kinds of allergens until a certain age, I think.
So maybe we should avoid nut products. Oh!
Vanilla bean! That sounds perfect, right?
" she asked as she moved into the office, making me finally reach down to pull my pants back into place, toss the condom, wash my hands, then follow her out, finding she was still having a running commentary about the cheesecake, namely about toppings.
Apparently, canned cherries and blueberries were absolute essentials, but whipped cream was vastly underrated as a cheesecake topping.
And, of course—this went without saying, though it was news to me—that there would be chocolate and caramel drizzle.
I stood there in silence as she babbled, moving around the room in that chaotic, energetic way I had come to know her for.
And it hit me then.
This was something.
Maybe we didn't talk about it yet; maybe I didn't know dick about anything like this, but this was something.
She was something.
To me.
Something I wanted to hold onto, someone I wanted in my life.
Maybe even in a permanent way.
Which was something I needed to find a few minutes to tell her.
"Well, are you coming or what? Cheesecake awaits!" she declared, all smiles, completely oblivious to the revelation moving through my system.
I guess I would have to tell her later.
Because... cheesecake.