My palm runs over my face as I stifle a groan. I only came up to tell her dinner was ready. “Fuck. I left the dinner on.” I dash out of the room and take the stairs two at a time as fast as my long legs will carry me.
I pull the food from the oven, praying it’s not ruined. I wanted to make something nice for her, to make her feel like she’s at home like when her mother was alive, but all I’ve managed to do is embarrass the lass and probably give her concussion. It wouldn’t surprise me if she stays in her room.
Steam rises from the tray of food like the rising heat in my cheeks as I rough a hand over my face, wondering how I can put things right.
“Is it okay?” Her soft voice says behind me.
I relax my shoulders at the soothing tone, glad she’s made it downstairs. “It’s a little burnt around the edges, but it’ll be fine.” I grab a ladle from the utensil rack and serve up the shepherd’s pie, another one of Tesco’s finest, but I did add some cheese to the top.
Angelica sits at the breakfast bar, her face still crimson, matching her pyjamas, her head faced down while she tugs the cuff of her sleeve.
Clearing my throat as if trying to clear the tension in the air, I slide her plate over to her, then open the drawer to get her cutlery.
“Thank you.” Her voice is barely a whisper, like a mouse, as she gingerly takes the knife and fork from me and sinks back into her slumped position before she’s caught in my trap.
I sit across from her, taking the same position I always do. Snow settles against the window like the perfect picture postcard outside, but in here, the atmosphere is frosty despite the heating being on full blast.
I clear my throat again before taking a mouthful of the potato and mince. Anything to cut through the silence. “How do you feel?”
She doesn’t look up at me. With her face down, staring at her dinner, she twirls her fork around the plate. “I feel sick.”
I drop my fork onto the plate, causing a clatter as I stand from the stool and grab her a glass of water. Walking around to her side of the breakfast bar, I hand her the water. “Have a drink.”
She does as I ask, then places it on the counter with a trembling hand.
I gently tilt her chin to get a good look at her pupils.
She moves her head away from me and looks down.
“What’s wrong? Is it the light? Does it hurt to look at the light?” I glance back out the window at the snow piling up, wondering how the hell I’m going to get her to the hospital in this. I left the pickup at the building site and there’s no way her car or my motorbike can get anywhere in this.
I pull her face back to mine. “Tell me, angel, are you still dizzy? Blurred vision, headaches?”
“I’m fine. I only feel sick with embarrassment. I don’t have a concussion.” Her cheeks glow red under the kitchen lights.
Sitting back on the stool, I let out an exhale, my shoulders relaxing a little. I dig my fork into the pie. “Everyone masturbates.”
She coughs, spluttering food from her mouth.
Fucking hell, now I’ve made her choke.
I round the counter and pat her on the back as she coughs again. “Get it up.” My palm rubs soothing circles on her back as she shakily takes another drink of water. I should just call it quits today and go to bed before I actually do some damage and really give her something to choke on. Since I saw her in the shower, I’ve thought of nothing but burying myself so deep inside her, I forget my own name.
“I’m all right.” She takes another drink and I reclaim my seat again.
“Sorry. I just mean, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. It’s perfectly normal to touch yourself. I’ve done it many times. In fact, I rub one out every time I take a shower.”
Her eyes widen as she gazes up at me. “You do?”
“Well, sometimes.” A smile curves my lips. “I’ve never defiled a teddy bear before, though.”
She covers her face with her palms. “Oh my gosh. You saw that?”
A chuckle escapes as I scratch my beard, wishing it was my face she was riding instead of a fucking teddy bear. “You violated Mr. Snuggles.”
She bursts into a giggle, and I chuckle along with her. “Poor Mr. Snuggles.” Her palms press against her heated cheeks.
Poor Mr. Snuggles my arse. He’s a lucky bastard, that’s what he is. “He’ll never be the same again.” Another chuckle rumbles from my chest. “Does he need to go in the washer?” I raise an eyebrow, wondering just how desecrated Mr. Snuggles is.
