Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Let Me
Boldly, I lean forward and brush my fingers across her knuckles. My heart pounds at the contact.
God, baby, you feel so right.
Her hazel eyes land on my hand before they flick to mine sharply and widen. However, she doesn’t move; rather, her fingers flex under mine as I continue to boldly stoke her. She licks her lips when I move higher and caress the soft skin at the top of her hand.
Her breasts rise and fall a little harder, and I can tell I'm affecting her. I just wonder if it's as deeply as I'm affected right now.
“I’m not...doing anything with you... I don’t even know you, really. I just got out of a relationship—I just had a miscar—” Her breath hitches, her eyes well up suddenly, and she glances away, clearly overwhelmed.
Squeezing her hand minutely harder, I work to settle her.
Because whatever is driving her nerves, I'm not about. At all. And I need her to understand that. “I’m not asking for any of those things, Sarah, I promise,” I say reassuringly.
“We don’t even have to talk about them if you aren’t ready.
I swear I’m not pushing you in that way. ”
But, contrary to my words, my heart pounds painfully hard in my chest, stealing my breath. My sanity.
But God, do I want to. I wish I could. My lips tighten. I want this woman with every fiber in my being. This fucked-up situation, Goddamn it.
Why did I have to find her at the wrong time, wrong place like this?
As our hands pull back from each other, her eyes dart to mine almost as if she heard me, and she hesitantly puts a small bit of lettuce to her lips, chewing.
I sit there patiently, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. As I wait, I find myself drinking in her pretty dewy skin, the curve of her shoulder, the litheness of her arms. I busy myself looking at the charms on her small bracelet that fall down her forearm.
The hug we shared enters my mind, throwing me off center. The feel of her against me is nothing like I've ever experienced before.
I inhale a sharp breath as she suddenly speaks, startling me out of my thoughts.
“I do want to say thank you." Her eyes flick side-to-side, as if she's desperately searching for her words. "You didn’t ask for any of this. I was just doing my best trying to advocate for my client, and then it all went to shit. It just went to complete shit!” Sarah spits out.
Her use of expletives throws me off guard, but then her face pinches as she becomes even more overwhelmed with emotions. To my horror, she lets out a sob, throws her fork down, and puts her face in her hands with her elbows on the table.
Her tears break my soul.
I put my own fork down and get up to sit in the chair beside her.
I understand the past she's coming out of, but I'm not that fuck-up of a man, and she needs comfort, badly.
She's incoherently sobbing into her hands, hiding.
I try to not let that bother me because I desperately want to see all of her, so I reach forward to tug her hands away from her face.
"Come here, sweetheart," I murmur, leaning into her and wrapping my arms around her gently. “Shhhh.”
When she shudders and sags against me, I click my tongue, gently pull her into my lap, and rest her head on my shoulder.
I take only a second to revel in the feel of her soft body on mine.
Rubbing up and down her arm gently, I press my lips to the top of her head, enjoying her silky hair against my lips.
Her tears soak my shirt.
My heart races as she wiggles before settling a little too perfectly into the nook of my body. Biting back a groan at the feeling of her pressing into me, I lick my lips, feeling an unusual warmth saturate me.
Intimacy.
I wonder if she can feel the beat of my heart as she lays here.
My hand itches to hold hers and press it deeper into my chest. To make her feel me.
It's what I desire the most. What I've tried and failed multiple times over the years to express to Johnathan.
What I never could get from Hannah. What I've hopelessly searched and searched for within various women over the span of a decade.
I bury deeper into her. “You have nothing to be sorry for or ashamed of," I say quietly, stroking down her hair. "Bad things happen, and they tend to happen to people who least deserve it. I don’t consider you a burden, and I am glad…blessed, really, to be able to have been there when you needed it the most.” Resisting the urge to kiss her temple, I keep my focus on calming her, not on what I want.
God, she smells so good. So good. Like warm, vanilla, marshmallow, pillowy softness….
Sarah sniffles and pulls back slightly, turning red eyes to me, and brings up a hand to wipe the wetness off her cheeks. "I didn't deserve it?" she asks tearfully, almost bringing my heart to a dead stop.
"No, sweetheart. You didn't deserve any of it." My eyes flicker between hers, and I beg everything that's holy to let her believe me. "None," I stress.
Let her believe she's worthy.
“Are you sure?" Her bottom lip quivers. "I've been such an ass to you—"
"No," I murmur, but she carries on, frantically talking over me.
"—Even though I meant what I said to you in that email. I really take my job seriously, you know?” Sarah says, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth and biting down.
At the mention of our rivalry, I can't help as my eyes crinkle slightly as I assess her face.
I hum, soberly. “Oh, I know. I mean, you were three seconds away from having my license revoked!” I wink at her, then grin, my eyes lowering to her lips for a split second. There's a little crease in the middle of her bottom lip that's just so distracting.
Sarah's eyes dilate, and all too soon she's shifting to get off my lap, her cheeks staining pink again. Turning shy.
I clear my throat, thinking it best to change the subject. “Let’s finish eating. You think you might be up for a documentary after dinner?” Standing back up, I reluctantly go back to my seat.
As I sit, Sarah gives me a watery smile. “I love documentaries, especially animal ones. But I hardly get to watch anything. What did you have in mind?” she asks. Her momentary sadness disappears, and she twirls her food on her fork, making me relax.
“There’s a documentary called The Longest Third Date that looks promising. Or you can pick whichever one you want. Want some more wine?” I ask, pushing my plate away and topping off our wine without waiting for a reply.
“Okay, well, let’s see what it’s about then!” It delights me that she sounds a bit more perky.
She throws me a bright smile, causing me to feel a little helter-skelter as I hold my glass up to my lips. I get up from the table and hold out my hand to help her up, seeing she’d eaten almost all of her plate, and that pleases me greatly.
I'd like to know more about her.
“Hey, when’s your birthday?” I ask, looking down into her face while we walk towards the lounge. I tuck her arm into mine under the guise of keeping her steady. But really, I'm wanting her closer.
“Oh!” Sarah's brows pinch, and she looks caught off guard. "It’s August third. I'm…I'm twenty-nine,” she replies rather disdainfully.
“Hey," I say slowly, "your birthday's during our trip!” I pull her to a stop just before we get to the lounge and face her head on, crossing my arms. My feelings are a bit hurt.
“Were you even going to say anything?” I ask accusatorially.
Trying my hardest to make my tone playful, I arch a brow at her.
"And what's wrong with twenty-nine? That’s a good year!”
It really is, too. I was twenty-nine when I got the building for my practice.
Sarah smiles at me. “Oh, come on, I’m like this close to being a washed up spinster,” she jokes, scrunching her nose up and forcing my eyes to the tiny hoop in her nostril.
“I like your nose ring a lot. It’s so delicate, a lot like you, I think...” I say quietly, catching us both off guard now.
“Oh,” Sarah says, rubbing her hand down her arm and turning to the side slightly, obviously feeling vulnerable. I take her hand this time and pull her deeper into the lounge. “And yours is July second, right?”
I glance at her with a cheeky grin. “Yes,” I reply. A little thrill goes through me at the fact she’d noticed that from the code to my house. “Is your favorite color purple?”
“Yeah,” she giggles. “Like Barney."
“What’s that?” I ask inquisitively, making her break out in peals of laughter. She doesn’t answer my question, merely giving me a little head shake. "I'm assuming it's before your time."
I scoff. Ouch.
I keep her hand in mine as I lead her to my plush living room; it’s the only other room besides the kitchen and the study that I’d worked very hard to make mine, erased completely of Hannah's influence.
It's a dark green room with cream floor-to-ceiling drapes that are electric powered.
There's a rich golden leather couch that faces a huge, mounted flatscreen television that hangs over a stone gas fireplace that's lit.
The room boasts recessed lighting that's currently dimmed, giving the room a romantic glow.
In front of the couch, there's a long, chunky wooden table that looks like a weathered trunk. I’m so thankful I don’t have any glass tables. Under the tall, glittery expanse of windows sits a long cream-colored chaise lounge, and I momentarily imagine laying her there to kiss her.
She sits on one end of the leather couch, the rich leather creaking softly under her weight.
A hesitant, tiny spark of pleasure flickers in my chest at the thought that with enough use, the couch might actually get broken in.
Visions of her lying right there, just like that, night after night until the leather gets soft and smells of her becomes a want that settles deep inside me, becoming incessant.
“Hang on, darling,” I say, reaching into the trunk and grabbing a couple of chunky beige blankets. Our eyes lock when I spread one over her legs, and something passes between us. Tingles erupt across my skin, and not wanting anything to come across wrong, I break it before reaching for the remote.
“Thank you,” Sarah says with a smile, sitting back and curling her feet under her.
“Get comfy; this is going to be good. I hope anyways,” I mutter, finding the show and hitting play.
I walk behind the couch and over to the end table next to her to turn off the lamp, just leaving the recessed lights dimmed behind us.
She throws me a shy look as I sit down on the other end and kick my legs up on the table in front of me.
We sit back comfortably as the movie starts, nursing our glasses of wine and staying quiet.
I notice Sarah’s fingers rub together, and I wonder if she's still feeling the grip of my hand around hers.
I know I'm still feeling hers.
We watch the show, and I truly get a kick out of her gasps and breathless “Oh my Gods.” She's so expressive
As we near the end of the movie, Sarah gets quieter.
Curious, I look over and see she slid deeper into the cushions and has tilted further onto her side and tummy.
Her eyes flicker, and her chest rises and falls slower and slower.
Simply watching, I take a lazy sip of wine when a soft snore comes from her.
Chuckling, I lean forward and adjust her blanket further onto her.
I pause when I feel something press into my thigh and draw my gaze down.
My chest heats with pleasure at the sight of her small feet poking out from under the blanket.
I go still at her pretty, chocolate tipped toes. Boldly reaching forward, I brush my fingers over them, admiring the feel of her soft skin. Her lips part on a quiet whimper, and her toes wiggle.
I wonder when the last time was that she had her feet rubbed.
My eyes roam up her body, still seeing her deeply asleep, and I take one of her feet gently in my hand, pressing and circling my thumb into her soles, and finish the rest of the movie before getting up and lifting her carefully in my arms. I walk slowly, cradling her weight in my arms, careful not to press her breasts against my body.
No need to overly tempt myself if there's no need to.
Rounding into the spare bedroom, I lower her to the mattress and once again fuss around with her hair, ending up twisting it into loops onto the pillow.
Covering her gently, I make sure the fan is on high like she seems to like it and leave her bedroom to clean up the kitchen, not minding in the least the clean-up after cooking.
Taking my time, I fold up the blankets in the lounge and instead of putting them back into the trunk, I place them over the back of the couch.
Getting a whiff of her scent from the blanket as I fold it up, I harden and groan, shaking my head.
I've masturbated more times than I care to think about since she came into my life.
I journey back up the stairs, shower, and then slip into bed with Sarah who's still soundly sleeping, not having moved even a single inch.
Realizing, I feel at peace.