I rest my forearms against the counter in her personal space. She doesn’t jerk back in fear like I would expect her to. She didn’t the other night either. She stares at me with wide, innocent eyes that are one of a kind because they belong to her. They are the most beautiful eyes that I have seen like ever, and yes, it’s because they are hers.
For some reason, my mind travels to how it would feel having her tiny body inside my arms as I lift her from the ground and onto the counter. What it would feel like to have her legs wrapping around my waist holding me to her body as my mouth take hers chewing her sweet pink lips until they are swollen and red.
“I want something sweet,” I say, winking at her.
Her eyes widen and those plump, pink lips part. I’m certain she thinks I’m talking about something else entirely. The corner of my lip itches up.
She coughs clearing her throat like she’s trying to regain her composure. Turning, she stretches up to turn the music down, her tee rides up showing off her white skin. It’s so white, it’s just about translucent. I struggle to stifle the groan reverberating up inside me. My cock is so hard under my jeans I fear I may blow my load at just the thought of my hands on her skin, my teeth sinking into her flesh.
“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” I raise a single brow, challenging her. What’s even more surprising is when she meets that challenge head-on, crossing her arms over her chest like that’s the end of the conversation. My eyes dart down to said chest, appraising the swell and curve of her breasts. I dig another hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet and slide it across the counter toward her. “Still closed for business, babe.”
“Yes, Irish boy, we are. You can’t come up in here and just lay out one-hundred-dollar bills and think that I will drop to your demands,” she blurts out, turns her back on me and focuses on washing the dishes in the sink. Walking around the side of the counter to where she stands, I lean in really close to her. My lips graze the skin on the side of her neck as I reach around to grab the tea-towel from the other side. I feel her hold her breath and her hand grips onto the side of the sink holding her in place. I feel her body hum.
“Well I was kinda hoping that you would,” I breathe into her heated skin before grabbing the tea towel and taking the clean cup from the rack and drying it while she just looks into the sink filled with bubbles and washes the dishes, humming along to the music and trying hard to ignore me.
I glance at her; I see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. The way her lips quiver. My mind undresses her more and more the longer I look at her.
I need to get her to talk. I don’t want to be the creep standing here staring at her. I want her to turn and look at me, talk to me. I want to hold her hand and kiss her lips. She makes me feel and it scares but excites me. No other human has ever had this effect on me before and it scares me. I don’t like feeling, because to feel - you’re opening yourself up to hurt.
She looks close to tears, and I don’t fucking like it. It’s like the other night when her eyes held tears, I didn’t know what to do. Fuck it, see what I mean? I’m fucked. I’m not equipped to deal with other’s emotions. Especially not that of a woman. I continue watching her. I turn, resting my back against the bench as she heads over to the cabinet, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and emptying the slices and cakes from inside and placing them in teal green boxes with the coffee shops logo stamped in black on the top.
She inhales a deep, stabbing breath before she slides the boxes over the counter and turns to face me.
“I’m sorry,” she says it so quietly I almost don’t hear her. But I know she said it because when I meet her eyes, I see how sorry she really is.
“For?” I say without even thinking. I walk over to her. My hands fall to her hips as my eyes meet her green ones with the insanely bright yellow streaks through them. I’m falling for her harder than I ever thought would be possible. She’s a stranger, a fixation. Just a girl I’ve been following because I found her unique.
“Don’t apologize. Ever,” I glower, keeping my voice stern. “Not to me or to anyone,” I say pulling her hips into me. Her hands go up to my shoulders trying to push me back but I don’t let her. I pull her in wrapping my arms around her body and squeeze her into me.
“You’re perfect,” I breathe into her.
“And you’re a fool,” she says. Her voice cracks as I feel the wetness of tears on the skin under my shirt.
“Are you following me?” she says hiccupping.
“Maybe,” I say running my hand up her spine, cupping the back of her neck then pulling her head back slightly, so I can look into her eyes.
“Would that be a problem if I was?” I ask her. She shakes her head unable to find words under the weight of my stare.
Her eyes burn into mine and I feel my cock move under my jeans. She feels it also. Her eyes burn with wildfire as her tongue rolls over her drying lips wetting them.
“Can you save me?” she asks leaning closer to me, her breath hot on my lips. Closer, she moves closer and I can partially taste the coffee still laced to her lips.
“What makes you think you won’t need saving form me, sweetheart?” Raising my eyebrow at her my fingers curl tighter into the flesh of her neck. She sucks in a deep breath through her teeth and the sound just about pushes me over the edge.
“Because you’re not that type of guy.” I laugh at the nonsense coming from her mouth.
Biting down on her lip, my other hand whips my knife from my sheath slamming it fast to her neck as I release her lip and pull back her head with a fist full of hair. The cool steel of the blade shines against her skin, fire burns in her eyes egging me on to draw blood.
“Want to rethink your statement, sweetheart?” She smiles at me.
“No,” is all she says before she pushes herself forward into my blade, the razor-sharp edge digging into her skin. Pop goes a small piece of her flesh from the tip of my blade and blood, such a deep purple, rolls over my blade marking the sliver with art, pure fucking art. That has me so damn fucking hard I can feel the precum move over my head squirting into an arousal I have never felt before. What the fuck is she doing to me?
“You could have been killed you know?” My voice is a blunt whisper so close to her lips. What I wouldn’t do to have them on mine.
Running my tongue over my own lips, I can practically taste what her kiss would taste like.
“M-m-maybe,” she stutters out, her finger going to the small slice on her neck. Wiping the blood over her index finger, she lowers it into her mouth sucking the blood from it.
