J. Dawg: Uh-huh. That’s what we ALL think/say.
Shaking my head, I walk up the stairs, stopping at Sarah’s slightly cracked door before knocking when I hear no response. I venture in quietly, seeing the ceiling fan on high and the gray, feather-down covers pulled up to her neck. The clothes she’dbeen wearing are bunched up on the covers. The burnt orange fabric lies next to the matching black lacy bra and panties, just as innocently as she is lying there, teasing me.
My eyes rise, greedy. Her bare shoulders just above the sheet taunt me further, validating she's naked under the covers. My body tightens up hard in response, and my fingers twitch with the need to snatch her clothes up and smell her.
Assaulted, no—overwhelmedby her scent, I step back a foot before turning away and getting control over myself. If this was any other woman, maybe.
Maybe.
But she's not. Sarah deserves reverence. To be respected even when she's not looking.
My heart begins to beat just a little bit harder. Taking a few deep breaths I turn, resisting the urge to smell her clothes, and walk to her side of the bed and sit on the edge, just beside her hip. I place my hand at the sheet bunched against her shoulder, keeping a firm pressure there so when she wakes up and moves, the covers won’t slip and embarrass her. It almost kills me to restrain myself because Idesperatelywant to see her naked…but I acknowledge that it won’t be happening.
No matter what I feel for her, we’d just officially met, after all. Lick or no lick.
“Hey, Sarah, come on. Time to wake up. The food’s done,” I call softly.
My gaze eagerly travels over her face, lax and innocent in sleep. Her eyelids flutter open lazily, lashes brushing almost to her eyebrows; they're so long. She focuses on me for a brief second before squeezing her eyes again, as if in pain. I rub her shoulder soothingly, comforting her.
I know it has to hurt; to wake up in a stranger’s home, with no baby, your back on fire, and your whole life blown up in your face.
“What time is it?” Sarah asks quietly. Her voice is slightly husky coming out of sleep, her eyes open again, and in that split second, everything I'd just thought fills her eyes. She thinks of Bumpy the second she wakes up because the pain I just saw isn't natural.
My heart tugs as she closes her eyes and nuzzles deeper into the pillow. When she takes a deep breath, I do, too.
“It’s almost seven. I’m sorry to wake you up, but I didn’t want you to sleep too late and miss dinner,” I say apologetically.
“It’s done?” she asks, almost with a smile.
Her lashes flutter open again. When she finds my gaze, I smile back at her, encouraging her to let hers free.
“Yes, and it’sperfect. The noodles aren’t too mushy, so come on,” I quip, chucking her gently under the chin before getting up. “I have your pain medicine downstairs.” I rise off the bed and head to the doorway, gripping the knob in my hand before turning back to face her, my eyes falling to her clothes. “Why don’t you put something more comfortable on than that dress? Relax a little. Let your hair down.”
Stepping through the doorway, I make my way down the hall.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back to sitting at the table, the food already spread out, and the table set with plates, bowls, and silverware. I put on some soft, moody music in the background with a woman vocalist, thinking as a fellow singer Sarah might like this artist and be a bit more comfortable.
Waiting patiently, I read the comic section of a newspaper with my ankle crossed over my knee, the folded newspaper in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
My ears prick when I hear her at the threshold, and I look over my shoulder, seeing she's in a pajama set with a cardigan on top that says, “cute, or whatever” in the Cola logo.
Oh yeah, you are, baby. You're more than cute; you're adorable.Tightening my lips, I keep quiet, watching her makeher way to me. Scared I'm going to say it out loud because I've fucked up too many times today. One more misstep might not be tolerated.
"I like your pajamas," I say, before turning back to my paper for no other reason than to prevent the white-hot arousal threatening to take me over. It's not easy, but it's certainly more bearable when I'm not actively drinking her in. "You look much more comfortable."
“You realize you can do that online now?" Sarah says, ignoring my compliment. “And you should have started eating; you didn’t have to wait for me.” As she passes, she places her hand on my shoulder and gives me a little squeeze.
Already tight with anticipation, that small unexpected gesture makes me tense.
Shaking it off, I slide out of my seat and step forward, pulling hers out.
“Well, where would the fun be in that?” I tease, moving to returning to my own seat. I watch carefully as she lowers, sitting in a way that's obvious she's trying to not jostle her back. Reaching in the seat next to me, I grab a small pillow before standing once more. "Here," I say quietly, "lean forward."
Her eyes meet mine for a second, and her slender throat ripples with a swallow that causes my chest to tighten. I wedge the pillow behind her back, pleased at her relieved sigh as she leans back on it. Rounding back to my seat, I pick up the newspaper and give it a little pop that makes her smile before folding it and putting it to the side.
Eager to learn her mannerisms, I watch her carefully put rather a lot of salad on her plate instead of the salad bowl I’d provided. In a split decision I reach forward quickly, before she has a chance to grab the utensils for the spaghetti, and snatch up her plate with a tsk. I scrape the salad into her salad bowl, andthen I grab the two serving forks for spaghetti and put a serving on her plate.
I relish her wide eyes flickering from me to the plate as I take my sweet time, almost comically scraping all the sauce and leftover meat from the utensils on top of her mound of spaghetti with a cheeky grin. Then, I shred some parmesan on top with a little flourish that makes her grin before I plate my own food. Curiously, she doesn't mention me taking over, and I don't either. I watch, silent, as she takes the little jar of ranch and pours an incredibly small amount on her salad. Really, it’s not even enough to wet it.
