Chapter 17 Syrup Skin Licks #2
“I know you don’t expect me to eat that. I just had pancakes two hours ago,” she whispers rather loudly.
"I can hear you," I whisper back.
Her eyes bounce back and forth between the drinks I’d set in front of her, and I'm curious to see which one she'll pick.
Her hands go to the raspberry iced tea, and she pulls it to herself carefully.
“Thank you,” she says in a normal voice, her eyes on me as she wraps her manicured fingers around the cup.
She's endearingly polite.
I watch greedily, as she holds the cup to her plump lips, swallowing a small sip; the tip of her tongue lashes out to lick a drop of tea off her lip, causing my heart to race.
The simple action sets me on fire.
As if my body is not my own anymore, my eyes flicker to that small dot of syrup on her collarbone, and my cock tightens again, making me feel feral.
Her gaze drifts pointedly to the treats, and I clear my throat to respond to her question, though it does absolutely nothing to help. “Hmm-hm. I do expect you to eat it, actually,” I say rather harshly.
I can’t help it. I'm trying everything in my power to get my erection to go away, and so that means other things get put by the wayside. Such as the tone of my voice, dour and clipped, because I'm working overtime censoring how badly I want this woman.
Sarah’s lips part in surprise, and we both watch as she slowly reaches forward and places her fingers against the napkin that holds one of the scones, and pulls it towards her slowly before she picks it up and bites into it.
A shower of crumbs rains down, falling on her cleavage and sticking to her mouth.
I suck in a sharp breath, and my fingers clench on the table.
My efforts were in vain. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
My chest expands as my cock unfortunately forms its own painful heartbeat.
Turning my face to the side, I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose.
Wishing I knew EMDR, or some other technique, to help me in these times that she is absolutely wrecking my mind for absolutely no reason.
It’s astonishing because I just met her, but the intensity of my attraction to her is damn near suffocating.
My mind fights with my body over what is right, reminding me that I am just a man: weak, flawed.
Once I manage to get somewhat of a grip on my emotions, I rise, grab a napkin, and come to stand in front of her.
Aware that I'm being incredibly inappropriate, I brush the crumbs off her chest lightly before leaning down to her ear and ignore her eyes widening.
It's interesting, her reaction. She doesn't lean back, or act like she's afraid; no, she leans further into me.
Her scent makes me drunk, I swear.
“I’m going to take a walk, and be back in about ten minutes, so eat your scone, please. I’ve asked you rather nicely. Can you indulge me?” I ask quietly.
And because I truly can’t help it, and I'm a fucked-up person who probably needs my own psychiatrist at this point, my head dips down, and my tongue laps at that drop of dried syrup on her skin.
Once. Twice. Slowly dragging my tongue along her skin, tasting her unique scent.
And I cannot help but let out a small groan.
If I was drunk before, then right now I am having a straight, raw, unfiltered hit. Guaranteed. Because this woman is a drug.
Her mouth falls open, and her breath hitches as my tongue caresses her yet again, letting me know I'm not in this attraction alone. I straighten, catching her eye briefly before walking away without a word. Thinking she can sue me for sexual harassment for all I care at this point. It was worth it.
Outside the coffee shop I sit on a bench and slide on a pair of sunglasses to block out the harsh sun. Relishing the taste of her on my tongue, I take out my phone and check my notifications, seeing I've already received an email from Shelly.
Dr. Richardson,
As long as her payment is processed, the apartment is hers.
The furniture package is attached to this email, along with a way to pay.
The apartment will come furnished with everything you saw in it today, as well as the dishes in the kitchen.
Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.
Ms. Johnson can move in by Tuesday when the payment is processed.
Best,
Ms. Shelly Tremaine
I smile as I pull up the attachment and do the online payment process for the furniture. It doesn’t take long.
Pulling my messages up, I ignore a message from Hannah asking for money, and then find Johnathan’s text thread.
AR: Hey man, how’s it going? Was wondering if we could meet around noon on Monday? You free? I just licked a woman who I just formally met yesterday, and I feel like I need to talk to someone about how fucked-up my brain has become.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and stand just as Sarah comes out of the building, slipping on a pair of sunglasses to no doubt hide her eyes from me.
She raises a hand and sweeps her hair over one shoulder, taking her time caressing the ends.
A harsh grip of jealousy tightens my jaw so hard a flash of pain works its way across my temple, and it's all I can do to look and sound normal.
By the way, being jealous of a woman because she touches her own hair is not normal.
“You good?” I ask, walking to her and placing my hand on her back, over her hair once again because I just can't help myself.
"Yes, I'm good," she answers softly, tilting her head to look up at me. "Thank you for asking."
She's so polite. Jesus.
I wonder if she's this reserved in bed. I hope not. If she is, I'll be fixing that as soon as possible.
"No problem." I tuck her under my arm—she really fits so perfectly against me—squeezing her shoulder, and trailing my hand down the soft skin of her upper arm to settle somewhere above her elbow as we make our way through the parking lot. Once at the car, I open her door just as her phone pings. Watching her slide in slowly, I keep my hand on her arm at the wince of pain that crosses her features. I wish she’d let me put the ointment on her like I offered.
And then I also wish I would have kept my tongue to myself because now I'm wondering if I crossed a line with her that she won't let me come back from.
Once she's healed, I definitely want to see where this can go between us.
To my delight, she doesn't seem in the least bit bothered by how inappropriate I was.
“Hey, I got approved!” she says excitedly.
“I just gave her that application like ten minutes ago!” Pulling off her sunglasses, her eyes narrow as she reads through the email.
“It’s a contingent based on my payment,” she mutters almost to herself, “which is fine. It’ll take all my savings, but I don’t care! Who needs furniture?”
She turns her face to me and smiles brightly.
A spark of joy enters her eyes. Yet, I keep my smile to myself, not bothering to tell her I bought her furniture packet.
Somehow, I know she won’t like that. I muse it over in my head, deciding I'll contact Christopher and Jerome and let them know so they won’t be bothered with trying to get anything from that asshole’s house.
Pulling out my phone, I do just that, texting them in a group chat as I round the car to get in on the driver’s side. I see Johnathan messaged me back.
J. Dawg: YOU licking someone you just met yesterday? How utterly interesting. Wait, like licked her how? I’m having lunch with Ally at her school Monday. Can we do after work on Wednesday, 7p.m.? Maybe we can meet up at your boxing venue for a round or two?
I'm pleased with the reschedule because I didn’t want to leave Sarah alone. She should be moving into her apartment on Tuesday; surely, she would be okay with staying with me until then. I can't have her sleeping on that poor excuse for a couch in her office or an air mattress.
“So, I think that I should be okay to move in sometime next week, it looks like," Sarah says, looking at her phone as I drive off. "I know my payment will go through, and I have just enough wiggle room to pay up my rent on my office building one month.”
Turning my head, I accidentally see her banking account information and immediately become so pissed my foot hits the pedal too hard, causing my engine to rev.
“Alex!” Sarah's sharp scream pierces my ears as we shoot forward.
Her hand yanks on the grab bar above her window and a look of pure panic fills her face, making me feel so shitty I slow us to almost ten miles under the speed limit to make it up to her.
Fuck, I curse to myself.
“Sorry. The car is a bit…touchy,” I say.
I put a hand to her leg and squeeze before placing my hand back on the wheel.
Little pants sound out, her hand is slightly pale because of her death grip, and her eyes are wide as she stares out the windshield making me feel even worse.
I'd never want to scare her. She’s had enough of that the last few weeks.
My jaw ticks in displeasure when my thoughts go back to her account.
When she said she would be using all of her savings to pay for the apartment, she’d meant that.
She would only have maybe eighteen hundred left over after paying what she needed to…
but she'd also just said she would be paying up her rent on her practice.
Theoretically, realistically, she's going to have nothing.
Nothing.
If she was living with that fucker for four years, then how did she not have money? Did he not pull his weight in bills? Fuck that, why didn’t he pay all the damn bills? My fingers tighten even harder on the steering wheel, but I manage to keep my speed steady.
After a minute, she calms. I listen carefully as her breathing regulates and purposefully keep my expression the picture of focus when she gives me an unsure glance before going back to her phone.
“What’re you feeling like for lunch?” I ask absentmindedly. Stretching my leg out, I put my left arm on the ledge of the window and my fist against my lips, contemplating.
“Alexander, I just had a scone, and besides that, I have a car I can always drive—“
“Negative. No, you cannot, missy,” I interrupt sharply, glancing at her over the top of my sunglasses. “Jesus Christ, you’re hardheaded, aren't you?” I tease, trying to remember what restaurants are in this area.
Drawing a blank, I pull up local eateries in the area. I just can’t think straight when she's around.
“Okay! I know how to doordash, so can I order food to your house just for today?"
"No." I chuckle. "What are you in the mood for?" I repeat.
"I’ve inconvenienced you enough. And some of the time, I’ve been made to inconvenience you against my will," she says rather shrilly, turning away to look out the window. "What a freaking conundrum.”
I fight back a chuckle at her verbiage because it hits me just now that she doesn't curse, something else that endears her to me. She's just so sweet.
“Hey, that’s my lounge!” she says happily, pointing to a brick building.
“Oh, Rosalie’s Cigar and Cocktail Lounge? Yeah, I’ve heard of that place. I’ve been meaning to go there to grab a cigar with my friend, Johnathan, for the last year or so." I glance at her, turning my signal light on and making a right at the light. "Do you like spaghetti?”
Sarah giggles. “Who doesn't? I loovvee a good bolognese,” she mutters, looking at her phone and pulling the doordash app up despite me turning that offer down. “So, can I order some to the house to thank you—“
“No,” I repeat simply. No is a complete sentence, don’t explain yourself, Alexander— “Because you’re my guest, and it’s my responsibility to feed you,” I finish, flinching because mentally I'm just all over the place, and I know it and still can’t help myself.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, slowing to stop at a red light. Together, we watch an older lady cross the street with a tote bag, her cane not doing much to help her. She's so slow.
I turn to face her, since it seems like we're going to be here for a minute.
“Since you’re not hungry, I can drop you off at the house so you can rest while I go to the store to grab ingredients to make bolognese.
Or, you can come with me…but only if you're up to it.
" Her eyes flicker from mine to my lips and back again, focused so intently on me that I can't help warming under the collar of my shirt. "It’s been a minute since I made that dish, so I don’t think I’ll have everything at the house.
Up to you." I look back at the old woman who is just now making it to the curb. "What are you comfortable with?”
The light turns green, and I pull off again.
“I have a choice?” Sarah snorts in amusement, pausing in looking up from her phone to throw me a teasing look with her pretty mouth twisting up into an amused smile.
I can't help the wicked grin that crosses my face. “You always have a choice, sweetness,” I murmur back, forgetting myself. I suck air through my teeth at the obvious misstep. The second one in less than an hour.
Sweetness? Where the fuck did that come from? I'd never even had a nickname for Hannah.
Her eyes widen slightly, and I pray to God she doesn’t comment on my nickname for her.
She doesn’t.
“I’ll come. It takes a while to make it correctly anyways, so let’s just get the stuff so we can get started on cooking. I’d like to sit at the island and help chop the ingredients. Um…a bottle of wine sounds nice as well,” she adds hesitantly.
“Now that, I do have.” I smile, looking over at her appreciatively. She meets mine with one of her own, and I feel myself melting. She really is beautiful. I turn my face forward, saying decisively, "Only way I'll allow you to help is if you take a nap for me afterwards."
Her stare bores into the side of my face, but I don't break and look. "You know, you're kind of bossy," she says suddenly, arching an eyebrow when I break and look anyway.
Her sunglasses hide her eyes from me, but I imagine they're full of mirth. "I know," I grin. "But it's for your own good. So, what's it going to be? You gunna take a nap for me?"
God. Thoughts of sleeping in bed with her again fill my mind.
She heaves a deep sigh before shifting in her seat a bit, confirming my fears that we've done too much today. She should be home resting. In my bed. Where I can watch over her.
"I don't think I really have a choice." She half-laughs, looking out the window.
"Nope." I bite back a self-satisfied smile. "But I really wanted to make you think you did. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all."
We laugh together, heading to the grocery store.