“What you probably want to hear is that I know what you look like while you’re working, the attention and focus you give a patient and how you ease them.” He glanced to either side of us as though he was making sure no one was within ear range, and then he took a step closer. “But what I’d rather say is that I know what you taste like. I know how tight your pussy gets right before you’re going to come. How wet. How your nails dig into my skin and they don’t release until you stop shuddering. Or how about the way you look in the morning. Not after sleep, but after five orgasms. That amount of coming should wreck you. But you didn’t look that way at all. You were fucking beautiful.”
And I was internally dying from every word he just spoke.
I filled my lungs and breathed, “Gavin ...”
“It only took one night, but I know things, Emily. More than you think I do.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” I shook my head, but my smile didn’t fade at all. “I ... like strawberry.” I laughed, realizing how ridiculous that sounded following everything he’d just said, but if I commented on the sexy stuff, I feared the two of us would be locked in the supply closet in less than a minute.
His expression transitioned from feral to amused. “Strawberry?” He sounded shocked. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Fruity desserts don’t make any sense. I’m all for liking fruit—I like it, too, as part of my breakfast or for a snack. But if I’m going to indulge, it’s not the kind of ending I’m looking for. I want something rich and promising.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, the position causing his jacket to open, revealing more of his chest. The muscles beneath, the ones his shirt were hugging, were as hard as stone and had the ability to toss me on a bed—a counter, a bench in his shower—as though I weighed nothing.
I didn’t know what was making me wetter: his presence, his sexual knowledge of me, or remembering his strength and talents.
I leaned against the wall beside me, breathless, and crossed my arms. “Definepromising...”
“Something that’s going to leave a lasting effect.”
He was good.
But so was I.
“Such as?”
He scratched his short beard, the sound of bristles reminding me of the noise they’d made when he scraped them against my inner thighs. “A satisfaction. A memory. A craving for more.”
“And strawberry doesn’t do that for you?”
“Not even close.”
Breathless ... no. I couldn’t even breathe anymore.
“Okay, Mr. Worthington. I’ll have to remember that. And next time—although hopefully there won’t be a next time—I’ll send half vanilla and half of a promising flavor, whatever that is. I wouldn’t want you to have to indulge in something so plain and unmemorable.” I flicked my teeth over my lip.
“A next time . . .”
“That would mean another button or something worse, and we’re not going to manifest that, so let’s hope your future of desserts are ones you purchase and not ones I send.”
He didn’t respond, but his eyes did. They were savoring me, taking me in like I was wine, and he was swirling it around his mouth several times before he swallowed.
“Gavin ... you can’t convince me you came all the way here just to thank me. Not when you could have called the rehab center and asked for me or your grandmother’s cell and had her give me the phone.”
He nodded toward me. “I tried that the night you delivered the cupcakes. You weren’t here.”
“I only work the day shift.”
“I know that now.”
With his attention on my mouth, I couldn’t help but play with my lips, rubbing them together before biting them. “So if you now know that, why didn’t you call? Why are you here?”
“I had to give you Ben’s drawing.” He shifted his weight. “Plus, I thought it would be more personal if I gave you my appreciation face-to-face.”
“Your appreciation ... It was only cupcakes. You didn’t have to make the trip just to thank me. Unless you came in to see your grandmother too. In that case, it makes perfect sense.”
“She’s part of it, yes, but you’re most of it.”
