Chapter 15 #2
“I need to go.” She pushes herself up from the couch with a wince. “I have a shift in an hour, and I still need a shower and maybe get there early to do some mise en place and…”
The hoodie rides up, revealing a bruise blooming beneath her skin. Without thinking, I grab her thigh and draw it closer to inspect.
She gasps, and I feel the tremor that runs through her under my hand. My fingers are splayed high on her inner thigh, close enough to the edge of the hoodie that I can feel the heat radiating from her core. Too close. Far too close for a stranger she just met to be.
I should move my hand and apologize. I should give her the space she deserves instead of gripping her like something I’ve already decided is mine.
But she doesn’t move, shift back, or even breathe, really.
She simply stands there frozen, thighs parted enough that my hand fits perfectly in the space she’s allowing, so I don’t let go.
Instead, my thumb starts to move. A soft stroke along the satin-smooth skin right above the bruise, tracing the curve as if I’m memorizing it.
Back and forth, barely pressure, but enough that I can feel the faint shiver that rolls through her in response.
Christ, her thighs.
They’re thick in a way that makes my mouth go dry. So soft and strong. I know they would dimple under my grip. Hell, they already have the cutest kind of dimples. I could spend hours marking them with my teeth and tongue if she ever let me.
Soon, Paul. If you don’t ruin this.
With my other hand, I stretch the skin around the bruise, tilting her leg toward the light to get a better look. It’s ugly—red, already blooming into blue—but nothing that won’t fade.
I reach for the antiseptic wipe without looking away, tearing the packet open with my teeth. “Be good for me and stay still.”
Her inhale is audible this time, and her fingers curl against my shoulder.
Swiping the wipe over the abraded skin below the bruise in slow circles, my gaze flicks up to hers. Her eyes are wide, fixed on me, pupils blown dark, lips parted to the point I can see the quick flutter of her breath.
For one dangerous second, my mind slips again, and I picture her exactly like this—hoodie rucked up around her waist, thighs spread wide on my couch, my hands holding them open while I sink into her slowly and deeply.
Her back arching, mouth falling open on my name, that same wide-eyed look turned hazy with pleasure as I fill her completely.
How she’d feel around me—hot, tight, trembling—her fingers twisting in my hair to pull me closer, begging without words for more.
The image is so vivid, a groan nearly escapes my mouth.
You just met her, and you’re still celibate, Paul. Remember?
I force the need back and lock it down, dragging my focus to the task at hand as if my life depends on it, because right now, it feels as though it does.
Five years of iron discipline, and she’s managed to rattle it in under an hour.
I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.
The wipe comes away clean, and what’s left is tender skin that flushes deeper under my attention. I toss the wipe on the table, and my thumb starts moving again, higher this time, tracing the line where soft thigh meets the shadow beneath the hoodie.
“All done,” I say quietly.
Her voice is barely a thread. “Thank you.”
I hum and finally and reluctantly, let my fingers slide down to cup the back of her knee. “Mm.” I let my gaze drag slowly from the bruise back up to her pretty eyes. “What was that about a job?”
She blinks as though she’s coming out of a trance, her cheeks flushed deep pink.
“I… uh.” Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and I have to fight the urge to chase it with my own.
“New job. Right. Maybe you know the inn in town? Bennett’s Inn?
I’m starting as their new chef tonight. Although…
” Her gaze drops to her palm, thumb brushing the bandage.
“I don’t know if I can keep up with the orders with this thing.
It’s my right hand, so I’ll be slower, but I guess any food is better than no food.
Maybe it’s fine if I wear a glove over it. ”
“Bennett’s Inn?” I repeat.
I have to bite back a laugh, or better yet, a scoff.
Of. Fucking. Course.
“You know it?”
“It’s my aunt’s inn. I’m Paul Bennett.”
“Oh.” Her eyes go wide, recognition flickering into mild panic. “Well, how about you just… forget everything I said? Pretend I didn’t basically threaten to poison the guests on my first day? I’m actually a good chef, I swear, I just…”
Thankfully, my cock has finally settled enough that I can stand, so I rise slowly, letting my height settle over her. My fingers find her chin, my thumb gliding along the soft line of her jaw, tilting her face up until those wide eyes lock on mine.
She stops mid-sentence, mouth still parted.
The way she rambles, words tumbling over each other in that breathless way, is endearing. I feel the last of the tension in my body shift from arousal to… affection? Possessiveness? The need to calm her and keep her right here where I can take care of everything, is right at the edge.
The room goes quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the windows and the low thud of the pulse in my ears.
“How about you take tonight off? Start fresh tomorrow.”
Her lashes flutter. “But they have no one—”
“No buts, Lennon.” I let a hint of steel slip into the words, intrigued when her pupils flare again. “I’ll speak to my aunt. Tell her you had a minor accident and need a night to recover. She’ll understand. I know someone who can be your stand-in for tonight.”
Lennon leans into my touch without seeming to realize it.
“By tomorrow, the abrasions will be less angry, and you can easily take the bandages off before your shift.” I let my thumb glide over the curve of her chin again.
There’s a tiny beauty mark just beneath her bottom lip, another faint one under her left eye.
Perfect little constellations I want to connect through kisses.
“I’ll bring you home, you rest, and tomorrow you walk in fresh and blow everyone away. ”
She swallows, the movement small under my fingers. “You’d… do that for me?”
“I’d do a lot more than that,” I murmur.
The washing machines let out an obnoxious buzz from the laundry room at the same time.
I freeze, my thumb pressed to her lower lip, which had apparently moved there on its own accord. The heat of her mouth is right there, so soft and tempting.
What would she do if I slipped my thumb inside? Would her lips part? Would she suck on me?
Fuck.
“Looks like your clothes are ready for the dryer.” Stepping back, I clear my throat. “You can stay here while they dry, and I sort the dinner shift… or I can drive you home and bring your stuff tomorrow morning.”
I don’t know which option I want more. Keeping her here feels like standing at the edge of a cliff I’m dying to jump off, and driving her home means I get to see where she lives, plus I can see her again tomorrow.