Tess
THINGS AREN’T EXACTLY going smoothly—in both my business and personal worlds. In fact, both are rather a mess right now.
Turns out the floorboards in the backroom of the café are rotted and need replacing. And the pipes are so old, they too need to be replaced. In addition, two coats of paint isn’t covering up the water stains on the walls from an old leak, and the painter recommends some kind of treatment be used and then he’ll need to repaint again.
All of these things require capital, a lot of capital. Unfortunately, the small business loan I applied for hasn’t been approved yet. Turns out since I wasn’t on any of the accounts that I managed at Gaspard, my credit hasn’t been established. The loan officer isn’t sure how long it will take for all the paperwork to go through. If my funds run out before the loan is approved, I will have to put the renovations of the café on hold.
That will only cost me more money.
As if all that isn’t enough, whatever this thing is I have going on with Nick will probably be over by Thursday. And oddly enough, that makes me sad. I’m not ready for it to end.
It’s after ten o’clock by the time I pull into Fiona and Ethan’s driveway. The snow had stopped falling days ago, but the temperature hasn’t warmed up at all. Fiona and Ethan’s vehicles are in the garage, and I park next to Nick’s Range Rover on the pavement. I’m not quite ready to brave the cold between my car and the back door, but because I am exhausted, I open my car door and make a run for it.
My fingers are already getting numb as I fumble with the key. When I finally turn it, I realize the door isn’t locked.
Nick.
This means Nick is still awake.
Every night he has gotten up to check all the doors, even though I have reassured him they were locked. That’s how I know he’d never go to bed without locking up.
More than likely he’s waiting for me.
In the downstairs entryway, I remove my boots, hat and coat, and slowly climb the steps. As soon as I hit the top one, I see him across the room sitting on the stairs that lead upstairs. The room is dimly lit, only a single light on over the kitchen sink, but I can see him clearly. His elbows are on his knees, and his hands under his chin.
“Nick?” I say softly.
He nods, his lips pressed firmly together. “We need to talk.” he responds getting to his feet.
He’s going to break it off with me.
I nod back, knowing this was coming, but still not ready for it. I tried to prepare myself when he hadn’t called or texted me all day. And I couldn’t believe how much I missed hearing his husky voice or reading his funny emails, his lewd innuendoes, and his dirty text messages. I’ve grown used to them over the past two weeks, especially the dirty texts. Things like:
I’m thinking tonight while I eat your pussy, you can suck my cock.
And then there are things like this sent in the middle of the day:
I’m thinking about stopping by the café before picking Max up and finger fucking you, anyone around?
At first I’d roll my eyes while reading them. But then I would wonder if he was in a meeting or on his computer when the thoughts struck him.
Was he hard?
After a while though, I’d crave the messages. I would be at the café or with Max when I received them and pause for a moment to envision his suggestion. Shivers would usually roll over me at first glance. Once I’d calmed myself, I’d answer back with something like:
Sixty-nine—I don’t think so,” or “Finger-fucking is way overrated.
Despite my text responses, we always did as he suggested because come on, there is really nothing better than a sixty-nine, and finger-fucking is definitely not overrated.
Now all that will be over because I . . . I . . . I don’t know what. Wanted to be more than a sexual object to him? Wanted him to say something to me that wasn’t based on sex? Wanted him to—what?
That’s the question, isn’t it?
I clear my throat. “Should we sit on the couch?”
He nods.
We meet in the middle of the room and Nick places his hand on the small of my back. I swallow back my emotion. It started this way, and it will end this way. Seems rather fitting.
We both sit on the couch, not really close, but not that far apart. Nick immediately turns to me and allows his gaze to flicker over me for a few short seconds before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Surprised, I blink and again swallow back my emotion. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say softly. “I had no right to act like that. We’ve been fuck buddies, and that’s what fuck buddies do—talk about sex.”
Nick places his hand on my knee. “Tess,” he says in a shaky voice, “I’m not very good at the relationship thing. Sex with women is all I know.”
I give him a weak smile. “I know that, and I never should have expected more.”
He moves closer, his hand squeezing my knee tighter. “Yeah, you should have. We both know this,” he motions between the two of us, “isn’t only about sex. Don’t get me wrong, the sex is amazing, but there is more.”
Taken completely off guard by the direction this conversation is taking, I stare wide-eyed at him.
I was not expecting anything like this.
That’s when he takes my face between his hands as if wanting to reassure me that this is real. “You have to be patient with me, Tess. Saying things like, ‘I can’t wait to see you,’ is so much harder for me than saying, ‘I can’t wait to fuck you.’ To me, they both are meant to convey the same message, but I realize you don’t know that. Hell, I don’t even think I knew that was what I wanted to say until about ten hours ago when you left me standing alone in the kitchen.”
My stomach does a little flip, and I mentally warn myself to proceed with caution. Still, I feel a pull to him that I can’t resist, and I cover his hand with mine. “I like when you tell me you want to fuck me,” I joke before admitting, “but with Fiona and Ethan returning so soon, I think I just started to mentally prepare myself for the end.”
He moves our hands down to his lap and rubs the back of mine with his thumbs. “I’m not planning on this ending after they return. I don’t know what the future holds. I can’t make any promises, but I swear I want to see where this thing we have goes. I’m not going to tell you being with me is going to be easy. I’m a dick. An asshole. A jerk,” he grins. “And that isn’t going to change overnight. I’m unsteady. In unchartered water. And I’m going to fuck up. Can you handle that?”
I bite my lip. “I can handle just about anything you throw at me, Mr. Nick Carrington.”
His brow rises. “Even if I want you to call me sir?”
With the heavy conversation over, I decide to get back to us. “I’d be happy to call you sir.”
“You would?”
“Sure. As long as I get a turn at being the dominant once in a while.”
He shakes his head. “No way. There are no turns.”
“Sure there are. You aren’t a real dom, and I’ll never be a real submissive, so if you want to play the game, you have to take turns. Max should have taught you that by now.”
He moves even closer and hovers above my lips. “Never going to happen.”
“We’ll see,” I grin.
At that he tugs me to him. “Just kiss me.”
And I do.
Soft at first.
Then hard.
Our mouths crash and teeth clash.
Starved for what we weren’t sure we would ever have again, we practically devour each other.
When we are both breathless, Nick pulls back. “Now that that is settled, do you want to make up by sitting on my face?”
Before I can answer with an absolutely, he wraps his arms tightly around me and whispers in my ear, “Just kidding, baby. How about we get you to bed? And by bed I mean sleep. You look exhausted.”
Funny how sometimes the things you wish for work out and backfire at the same time.