Chapter 33 Girl’s Be Slangin’ #2
"I’ll tell you what though, Sarah,” I lean forward to clasp my hands together between my legs, planting my feet on the floor and leveling her with a stare.
“If in fact, I should get up before you do, and I see more nude skin in my peripheral vision than is normal, then I will blindly cover you up without looking. Just like I did at my house. Scout’s honor. ” I hold up two fingers.
What color are your nipples? What do they taste like? I think, keeping my expression neutral. Fuck, the shit I want to do with this woman should qualify me to go straight to the insane asylum.
“Were you even a scout?” Sarah asks doubtfully, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Not for a single day.” I smile my best smile at her, not even crossing my mind to lie to her. My eyes roam, seeing the long length of her hair peeking out from the curve of her hip.
How do we keep from getting it snagged if we’re fucking—
“Okay, well, you could have lied about that, so good enough for me. Just don’t act like you’re going blind if you wake up and you see my breasts slangin’ here, there, and everywhere, okay?” Sarah says, rolling her lips.
Her cheeks are bright red as she puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes going wide as she stares at me.
I have a half second of awareness before seeing her jump as I suddenly roar with laughter.
I put my my fingers up to the bridge of my nose and squeeze as I lose all control of myself, and just laugh at her fucking hilarious joke. Not able to help it, I carry on for a minute before I'm able to calm down and take a deep breath. I have tears in my eyes as I look at her.
She's got her fingers to her lips and is giggling with me, her brows are pinched, and she's looking at me like she thinks I might be going crazy.
“I swear to God, when I get up on stage, and I get a weird case of stage fright or get bored, I’m going to think about what you just said.
It might just give me the push I need to finish my speech.
Like, instead of imagining the audience naked, I’ll just think about their breasts slangin’ and stuff.
” I heave a deep breath, wiping a tear out of my eye.
“Oh, shit." I clear my throat softly. "Thank you. Because that was fucking funny.”
I get up and go into the bathroom, wet a towel, and wash my face carefully. Thinking how no woman has ever made me laugh the way she just did.
I smile at my reflection, and something rises in my chest. An emotion that feels a bit like…fulfillment.
See, you’re not the cold-hearted psychiatrist everyone’s making you out to be, I think, replacing the towel and checking my teeth in the mirror.
Giving my teeth another good brush, I look over and see Sarah’s travel makeup case, a small pointy tube of oil, and a white travel tube of what looks to be lipstick.
Turning my head quickly to try to listen for her, I reach over, pick up the heavily embossed plain white tube, and open it. I’m curious as to what color lipstick she likes because I never see her wear any.
My brows rise as the top uncovers perfume, not lipstick.
I spit, rinsing my mouth and the sink quickly before taking the small vial between my fingers at the top, and carefully pull, plucking the spray out of the holder, before turning it to read the words engraved on the side.
I look around before landing on the tissue on the side of the vanity.
I grab a couple, fold them over, and wrap it around the spray before pumping one spray into the tissue.
Carefully replacing the perfume where I found it, I double the tissue again.
Holding it to my nose, I groan.
It’s her. That’s why she smells so fucking amazing. Oh, Jesus. I lament, letting myself have a couple more seconds to savor her scent before shoving the tissue into my pocket.
Walking out of the bathroom I pause, seeing her standing at a full-length mirror and struggling to zip up the side of her dress.
She rises on her toes and does a cute little bounce before making a frustrated sound, scowling at herself in the mirror.
I hold back a wicked grin, knowing her issue is the full size of her breasts.
My eyes lower slowly down her body, taking in her lush figure.
I fight back the sharp, dizzying wave of arousal that hits me at the sight of her delectable body, and I can't believe I'm so lucky as to be graced with her presence for dinner.
She's wearing a soft, leather-pleated dress that hugs every curve from the waist up before the pleats taper down in a flowy pattern, cutting off at her knee.
She continues to struggle with the zipper, the tip of her tongue touching the corner of her mouth.
My eyes pause on the long, creamy expanse of bare skin exposed by the zipper halfway up her torso.
My groin tightens painfully at the knowledge she's didn't put a bra on for this dress.
I inhale deeply, praying for calm.
“Here, let me. Before the girls start slangin’ or whatever you said,” I joke, seeing her pretty smile as she twists to the side to let me have access to the zipper. She holds her arm up in the air and puts her other hand to her ribcage and pushes.
“It’s gotta freaking go up,” she mumbles, looking down at my hands on the zipper.
"Oh God, please don't accidently zip me up in it; I'll scream!
" she says, sounding half like she's going to cry.
I meet her eyes, giving her a teasing smile as my fingers brush her skin softly.
I tug, hearing the teeth of the zipper lock together.
It's going up alright, not because it can’t, but because I'm going perfectly slow, enjoying my fingers caressing her naked flesh and the goose bumps that are pebbling on her skin that she probably isn't even aware of.
When I get to the top, I fasten the tiny hook and then step back, giving her a thorough perusal.
“Spin,” I say, twisting my finger, pleased as she does so easily.
I watch the pleats in the dress spread. “I didn’t know leather could do that.
You look wonderful.” My eyes land on her five-inch heels, the tiny straps fastened delicately against her ankles.
A little fissure of displeasure enters me because I don't know that she should be wearing heels this high with her back possibly still bothering her.
“Aww, thank you, Alex,” Sarah coos, obviously in a good mood and effectively quieting my desire to bring up my unhappiness at her possible discomfort.
She flicks her hair behind her suddenly and bends forward, trying to adjust the top slightly. There's only so much willpower a person gets a day, so I squeeze past her, knowing if I watch her touch her breasts, then I'm a goner.
I pull out my phone and grab a nice pair of slacks and a white button up shirt before heading back into the bathroom. I line up my permanent five o'clock shadow and splash on some aftershave before changing my clothes. Glancing over at her makeup bag again I grin.
Because I definitely have a type, and it's high maintenance women. And it's putting me through hell that Sarah's checking all my boxes but is currently unattainable.
“Alex, it’s three-forty! We have to go!” Sarah's soft voice calls through the bathroom door, interrupting my thoughts.
I quickly step out with my travel clothes, put them all into a laundry service bag and grab my wallet off the small side table.
“Well, let’s get going then, Ms. Promptu,” I tease, flashing her a smile as she walks past me and out the door I hold open for her.
Dinner is a success, and I'm pleased that she doesn’t pout anymore after our initial conversation regarding who was paying for dinner.
Truthfully, I'd expected more pushback and just knew it was coming when she saw the prices at the resort restaurant.
Her face fell slightly as she desperately tried to find something cheap to order, but everything was expensive, so she took a deep breath and ordered a salad and an entrée.
Accompanied by exactly two alcoholic drinks. A red merlot.
We ate together over a small candle on the white linen cloth-covered table, going over things to do in Vancouver, and found she really wanted to take a day just to sight-see.
So, we looked up a few things to do on her phone and reserved what we wanted.
At the end of the meal, we shared a chocolate cake dessert.
The napkin I’d sprayed with her perfume suddenly began burning a hole in my pocket.
I ate the dessert slowly, instinctively knowing how well it would go mixed with the taste of her skin.
If I ever get to, that is. The two licks I got when I’d lost my mind and lapped up the droplet of syrup off her collarbone doesn’t count in my opinion.
When we get back to the room, Sarah falls immediately into bed, high heels and all. I chuckle, crouching down to pick up one foot, taking the shoe off before repeating with the other one. “Sarah,” I grasp her hand, shaking her gently. “Sarah, you need to get into your pajamas.”
It's like she doubles down on being limp, so I haul her up by both of her arms and sit her up against my chest. She scrunches her face at me and opens one eye.
“But I’m so tiirreed,” she moans, trying to fling herself back, but I catch her before she can hit the mattress.
“I know, sweetie," I say back quietly. "But you’re not going to blame me for the reason you have a pimple on your face tomorrow. Let’s get up; I’ll help you get your makeup off and unzip your dress.”
I pick her up, carry her into the bathroom, set her on the vanity, and pull open her makeup case, finding the makeup remover wipes. She wakes enough while I take her makeup off that I can give her privacy for her to change into pajamas. Then we both fall into bed. Exhausted.