CHAPTER 21
Nash
Leaving Sybil to shower and settle in, I wanted to get food started before showering myself. I assumed Sybil was tired and would want to sleep, if not right away. She wouldn’t do so hungry.
I’d watched her avoid food at the hospital, something my mother did every time we’d gone in for an appointment or procedure. Nervous people weren’t fond of eating with an audience, so I planned to bring food to her room until she felt comfortable being in our presence.
Bee and I got to work chopping onions and green peppers.
“I made her bed with weighted blankets,” Bee said, breaking the silence, “and you stink. You should let me do this and go shower.” She crinkled her nose at me.
I grunted. “I will once I know she’s settled and fed.”
She eyed me with adoration. “Of course. The ardent protector.”
I started the stove and poured olive oil into the bottom of a heavy soup pot. We added the peppers and onions.
Bee was stirring. “Hell, I love the smell of sautéed onions and peppers. It’s masking the smell of you, at least,” she teased.
Shaking my head, I worked the lid off two cans of white beans, pouring them into a colander and rinsing them before adding them to the pot of peppers and onions.
I added a tablespoon of crushed garlic from a jar, knowing the garlic would help soothe Sybil’s raw throat along with the sea salt and thyme I added next.
Bee poured a carton of chicken bone broth in and stirred.
I retrieved a rotisserie chicken from the fridge, and Bee and I set to stripping the meat from the bones. We added the chunks to the pot a little at a time. It simmered.
We hadn’t cooked together like this in a long time, not since the holiday season last year with Dad. Our family had fallen apart in a way, not on purpose, but with time. Mom was always the glue.
Bee retrieved a bar of cream cheese from the fridge and dropped it into the chili to melt and thicken the soup after adding all the chicken. I watched and stirred as it got creamier with each pass of the wooden spoon. The steam felt good on my face.
After a few moments of letting the soup cook and meld, I filled a bowl and poured two fingers of whiskey into an etched crystal tumbler. I set both on a dark wood tray along with some food for Bill and a cat sushi treat in the shape of a fish for Mr. Beans.
I didn’t know what kind of food Bill or Mr. Beans ate, but I had a batch of handmade food and treats delivered from the shop I’d been buying pet treats from for the last couple of weeks.
They’d been receiving a steady diet of this food already, courtesy of me.
I figured that’d do for now until I learned what they normally ate.
Before Bee could stop me and do it herself, I slid the tray off the marble counter and made my way to Sybil’s room around the corner. The shower had been off for a while, and I hoped that meant she was done and dressed.
Reaching the door, I knocked on the oak. I waited a few moments, but only heard Bill panting and whining on the other side.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep? I tried the brass knob, discovering she hadn’t locked it. I saw it as a good sign I could enter.
Balancing the tray, I opened the door, greeted by the wet and curious nose of Bill. His giant brown eyes were wide, the whites showing as he attempted to see high enough to view what I carried.
Letting go of the door handle, I assessed the space, not seeing anyone. I grasped the dog food from the tray. There was a bowl of water already atop a rubber mat Bee set up for the pets, and I placed it there.
Looking back at the room, I wondered if I’d missed seeing her in bed under the blankets, but she wasn’t there. Glancing toward the bathroom, the door was open a few feet. The mirror was fogged, but no movement.
Shit.
Not wanting to be caught, I hurried to the bedside and offloaded the rest of the tray’s contents as quickly and quietly as I could. As I did, movement through the bathroom door caught my eye.
I stilled like a buck in the crosshairs.
Sybil walked across the opening, a flash of red and pink, and a lot of exposed skin.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I didn’t want to open them, too afraid I wouldn’t be able to look away.
Fuck.
Prying one lid open enough to see my own feet, I sidestepped to the hall door. Unable to help myself, I quickly lost the battle and glanced toward the bathroom one last time. Some very male part of me couldn’t shrug off the curiosity. Unwilling to look away, red and pink came back into view.
My heart exploded on impact.
She faced the mirror, the cool glass reflecting her form. Her skin was bare except for the whisper-light touch of lace. A hot-pink pair of underwear cradled her perfect, perky butt cheeks, and a red, nearly see-through bra cupped her exceptional breasts.
I found my eyes helplessly grazing over the curve of her hips, and the petite torso that led to a perfect set of legs. She adjusted the bra. It was a visual jolt—punctuated by lace—that sent a hot, tingling rush down my spine. It pooled low and ignited a sudden and fiery spread through my groin.
Dammit, Bee.
She’d done the shopping, and she’d bought those items with malicious intent. It was just like her to do it, too.
The expression on Sybil’s face in the mirror was curious, admiring, as though discovering something about herself for the first time. She looked confident, and sure in this moment; it only added to the events happening south of my belt buckle.
I needed to move, but the air hung thick, a suffocating blanket that dragged me down. Every bit of me yearned to remain rooted.
When she reached for a pile of clothes on the counter, I knew it was now or never.
She pulled a sweatshirt over her head, body stretching and her torso opening like a damn flower. Grip tightening on the tray that hung in my hand, I allowed myself one last moment to take her in before hurrying to the door.
I was relieved I’d left it ajar. The heavy oak swinging on graciously silent hinges, I cut through the opening and shut it behind me. The latch clicked without a goodbye to Bill. I’d make it up to him later.
In the hall, I could hear Bee’s humming from the kitchen.
I leaned against Sybil’s door, shutting my eyes and panting.
My free hand went to the front of my pants, finding a painful erection making itself known.
I tugged at my belt, holding the tray in front of me and trying to hide the obvious result of my desire.
My roiling emotions were impossible to cool when every blink showed hot pink and red on repeat. Pained breaths dragged in and out a few more times before I rallied and headed toward the kitchen.
“I’m going to shower,” I announced, dropping the tray on the island with an abrupt clatter. I all but sprinted for the stairs, not bothering to explain.
Bee hummed in response, distracted with washing dishes.
I practically flew up the stairs, two at a time, bypassing Bee’s floor and heading directly to my penthouse suite. Once I’d locked the door, I tried to resist, but it was no use. I desperately needed relief, some kind of friction to soothe the throbbing erection.
Rushing to my bathroom, I fumbled to turn on the shower while my other hand yanked my soot-stained shirt over my head. I shucked off my slacks in one long movement. Once freed, my erection sprung free and slapped against my stomach as I removed my boxers.
It was a struggle unlike any I’d faced since I was fifteen. Shower steaming, I wondered if I’d make it in time. Stepping in, I took my cock in my hand, pumping it twice before pleasure exploded over me in a shock wave unlike anything I’d felt before.
I released myself against the shower wall in long spurts that took their sweet ass time to ebb. I hadn’t been with anyone for months. The Montana Man book had assisted on a few occasions, but nothing surpassed seeing her like that. I was sorely ill-prepared.
Mortified and ashamed, I pressed my forehead against the wall. Water ran in hot rivers over my head and across my face. Panting, my mouth fell open, gulping in air.
Hell, I was going to scare this woman off if I kept this up. I had to compose myself before I ravaged her. We needed to take this slow for her sake. I’d never, ever touch a woman without her absolute consent, but I wanted Sybil to be more than ready when that moment came.
She’d only had one awful kiss as a teenager. Intimidated by the steamy books she enjoyed, I felt the need to be ready. I wanted to be perfect for her, to meet her expectations.
I wanted to be The Montana Man.
A dark and driven part of me loved this thought, and I grew hard once more. Dammit, Nash. Getting back on track required working her out of my system.
I let myself enjoy the visions of her one more time, my mind rehashing the way the red bra looked against her pale porcelain skin, her dusky nipple just visible through the lace as she stretched to pull the sweatshirt over her head.
I imagined her breasts in my hands, the perfect size for my grasp, and the scalloped edge of the hot pink panties draped over the curve of her ass.
I let myself imagine the role I could play in her fantasies. How I’d hold her against me, cradle her chin, kiss and suck until she went weak. I wanted her experience with me to be flawless and impossible to forget. It had to be everything she dreamed of.
Some time later, the hot water spent, I finally shut off the shower. I’d drained myself dry. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I was glad for it. Thankful for the extra day of peace before the work week started up again.
One more beautiful, uninterrupted day with Sybil.
I collapsed into bed naked; only pulling the covers up after the heat from the shower and my racing thoughts cooled.
Clutching a pillow to my chest, I wished it were Sybil. I nestled my face into it, craving connection. The gentle reprieve of sleep found me fast.