Chris
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With a sigh, I set Amelia on the bed. Damn, when she’s out she’s out. Actually not quite, it’s obvious she’s in pain. A few times in the car she moaned, and even in sleep she clutched at her knee. As much as I want to let her sleep, I know it’s not what she needs.
I go into the bathroom then turn on the bath, she’d been excited when she saw it this morning. She was running too late for us to enjoy it together. I’d pushed her in here to have her shower, not trusting myself not to make her any later than she already was. She demanded a rain check on the bath, I was happy to give her. Too bad this time it’s about lessening her pain, not making love in the bath.
I head downstairs to grab a hard-boiled egg, then toast a half of an English muffin so she’ll have something in her stomach, and take a bottle of water to wash it down with. Back upstairs I get her undressed, wanting to throw the damn boots out the window. Shit, my cock goes hard as I peel the yoga pants off her long silky legs. The dress is easier and makes my cock harder. The lace bra and panties she’s wearing have me fighting my cock.
Satisfaction rolls through me to see the bruises at her neck. Damn, she’d been mad. Then her eyes went wide, her breathing quickened and I could smell her pussy get soaking wet, when I told her she wasn’t going to cover them up. Yes, sweet little good girl Amelia wanted to be owned by me. Good, because she is.
Taking off the bra, I can’t keep from pressing a kiss to her sweet pouting breasts as her nipples tighten in the cool air. She moans, and her hand comes up, sliding into my hair to press me back into her. “Chris.”
“Yes, sugar, I would love to have my wicked way with you and I will. I need you to eat this so I can get a pill in you and get you into the bath. Come on, sit up for me.”
Her smile is wide as she nods. “Okay, then you’ll fuck me again, right?”
I laugh—tequila is the downfall of many. “Yes, I will. For now though, eat the egg. There you go.”
I’m able to get the egg and most of the muffin down her before she tries to push it away. It seems like enough, and I slip her the two pain pills. They’re strong, I noticed she had the same ones on her bedside table while I was looking around her place. The memory of the two vibrators comes back out of nowhere. I’m going to owe Holly big when I meet her.
Amelia comes awake when I get into the bathtub with her in my arms. She hisses in pain at the heat, yet it’s a sign of how much she needs it when she sighs in relief. I’d dropped some oil in the water when I started the jets so I wouldn’t have to oil her up later when I massaged her leg. Simply holding her small, soft body against mine is pure pleasure.
When the timer goes off on the bath, telling me we’ve been in it for twenty minutes, I snag a towel and wrap it around her as I take her back into the bedroom. She barely moves as I lay her on the bed. It’s when I begin massaging her leg she comes awake with a moan. Damn it. “I know, sweetheart, I know. Just a little more.”
A little cry comes out of her, reaching into my chest where it twists me hard. I stop, frozen, unwilling, unable to continue at the thought of hurting her. What the hell was that? She whimpers, she’s reaching out, my name is a moan. I sway. I don’t even think, I pick her up and get into bed with her, holding her tight. It doesn’t matter I haven’t let out the water in the bathtub or brushed my teeth; all that matters is holding her close like she wants me to.
***
Amelia
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Ugh, make the sun stop shining. I pull the covers over my head as I roll over. Oh gross, it feels like the Sahara Desert in my mouth. Thirsty, so thirsty. I want water but not enough to face the sun, it’s too bright outside the covers. Hey! The covers are snatched from my hand. Chris is smiling down at me, blue eyes bright, both dimples on display. How is he gorgeous so early, in a tight long-sleeved gray shirt and jeans? Wait, he has water. Stop moving the water further away. “Stop it.”
“Up, sugar, it’s eight o’clock. You’re late, again. Your brother called your cell a few times today. I put him out of his misery the last time.”
I’m up. “You talked to Ethan?” I grab the water bottle, swallowing it down in gulps.
“Yep, we had a chat. He wasn’t happy about the strip club, he tossed a few threats my way. I told him to bring it then hung up on him.”
“You hung up on Ethan?” I don’t think anyone except Holly has hung up on Ethan before.
Chris shrugs. “I didn’t like what he had to say. I’m sure we’ll talk again. I’m going to take you to work today. Then I’ll stop by your place to get some clothes for you. You only packed one outfit for today. You’re here until I say differently. As I don’t see that happening anytime soon, you need more clothes here.”
I choke on the water and cough. “Like all the time, even weekends?”
He smiles, grabs my hair, wraps it around his hand then pulls my head back. Oh, his tongue runs along my neck to where the bruises on my neck are probably even brighter today. “All the damn time.”
“I thought I was a pain in the ass.”
Licking the hollow at my throat, he hums against the skin. “You still are. But I haven’t slept so long and deep as I do when you’re in my bed, so it’s where you stay.”
With a sigh, I toss the bottle of water and pull him down to me. “Yes, okay, whatever you say.”
When he pulls away I groan. “No, Mary says you have a client meeting at nine thirty. If I fuck you, you’ll never make it.”
“Please, I need you. I thought men were into quickies. It only takes me three minutes flat to hit my climax with you inside me.”
A hard hand hits my ass; ouch. I push my ass out for another with a pout he ignores. “You only think it takes three minutes. I don’t do quickies, I told you that. Three minutes isn’t even enough time to warm up your pussy and get you wet enough to take my cock. How do you like your eggs?”
Dang it, he’s at the door already. With a groan I roll off the big bed. “Over medium, just a little bit of yolk to dip my bread. Coffee, please, please, with half and half and tons of sugar.”
“Fine, but you’ll need to finish the bottle of water and drink another before you get the coffee. You’re already dehydrated, the coffee won’t help it.” Rolling my eyes, I swallow the last of the water. “Towels are out for you. I left a toothbrush on the vanity. Move it.”
Crap, I didn’t pack my flat iron. Normally, I would have washed my hair last night so it could dry overnight. A peek through his cabinets and I find a hair dryer—yes. As I did the first time I was in here, I’m astonished at how large and modern it is. There is a huge shower with a strip of multiple showerheads, a rain showerhead and a bench to seat three. I’m jealous of the massive double vanity in marble; my vanity is a quarter of the size.
Once again I’m too late to enjoy the huge jetted tub, twice the size of mine. The tub, a flickering memory of Chris holding me in it, comes out of nowhere. I look down at my knee; he’d massaged my leg last night. He’d been so tender when he took care of me, his hands gentle as he fed me then held me in the tub. Even though the massage hurt, he whispered soothing words.
My chest goes tight; he wanted me here all the time, he took care of me as if he was really concerned about me. I remember all the beautiful things he said to me in my office, the sincerity in his eyes, in the way he touched me. No, stop it. Down that road is pain. For now, just enjoy it.
I quickly shower, using the yummy, surprisingly expensive shampoo he has. Out of the shower it takes forever to dry my hair. I give up when it’s only a little damp and put it into a bun.
Loving the sweater dress from last night, I had packed a sweater dress in a houndstooth pattern for work, thankfully with a high collar which hides the worst of the bruises. Teeming it with thick leggings, I shrug. I’ll do.
For the first time I’m able to really take in Chris’s house. It’s beautiful, from the original oak on the floors to the moldings around the doors and windows. I stop again at the gorgeous stained-glass window on the landing between the first and second floor.
The landing itself is huge, you could stick a chair in the corner. I run my hand along the wooden banister. The staircase screams prom pictures. This isn’t a house, it’s a home, a home for a big family with the four bedrooms and two bathrooms on the second floor. Chris said it was originally five the previous owners took one of the smaller bedrooms and made the massive master bathroom he has now.
There’s even a third story with another bedroom, bathroom, and a media room where he has his television. He mentioned the basement was gutted to be redone when the last owners ran out of patience with Chicago winters and moved to Florida. Right now, he’s using it as his indoor batting practice and gym.
I find the kitchen by following my nose, yesterday I’d ran down the stairs and out the front door without getting to look around. I’m surprised when I find the kitchen, not at the yummy food waiting for me, by how the kitchen doesn’t fit the rest of the house. It’s in dark gray with slate on the floor. Chris is waiting at the big, dark table. Good, it’s not as uncomfortable as it looks.
He laughs, “Yes, I have plans to redo the kitchen. I haven’t been here for more than six months. I was going to live it with it before deciding what to do with it.”
Sighing, I nod. “It just doesn’t fit the rest of the house.”
“Nope, I almost didn’t buy it because of the kitchen but there were too many other things I liked about it. Considering I use the kitchen often I’m not excited about being without it. I figure once I retire I’ll take the time as I also have to redo the basement. Down there I wanted to update the Jack and Jill bathroom between the two guest rooms but turn one of the rooms into a gym and the rest of it into a game room with a pool table and set up.
“I like how your place looked. Did you do it?”
“Yep, it took months and thousands but it was fun. I would love to turn this back into the kitchen it came with; Updated, of course, it would be beautiful. We would have to blow through that wall that separates the kitchen from the dining room. It wouldn’t be a true dining room but I notice a thick layer of dust on the table, so you don’t use it often. We could also make use of the sun porch that runs the length of the back of the house, maybe use part of it as a new dining room. There are a lot options.”
“I like the idea of a more open kitchen. Even though I can’t see right into the living room, I wouldn’t feel so closed off. Maybe your new career could be remodeling my kitchen.”
A happy little glow starts inside me. “Sounds fun, I love remodeling with other people’s money.” I cut into the pancakes...wait. “What kind of pancakes are these?”
He chuckles. “It’s egg, bananas, rolled oats, and blueberries. Try it before you turn up your nose at it.”
“Hmm...these are so good.” I cut into it with glee, I had no idea how hungry I was. There’s no talking as I eat my eggs, cooked perfectly. I’m not surprised by it. There’s also an English muffin with butter and the two nice-sized pancakes. Chris has almost the same thing, except his eggs are scrambled and have spinach in them.
His phone rings. He checks the display, frowns then sends it to voice mail. “Who is it?”
He hands me his phone. “I have no idea. Google the zip code for me, would you? Whoever it is has called twice before; they didn’t leave a message though. I didn’t record the voice mail outgoing message—it’s just the robot thing. I’m not sure if it’s a wrong number or what. Every once in a while, I get a baseball groupie or a fan who gets my number and I have to change it. Usually, though, they leave some kind of message.”
“Hmm...looks like Baltimore. Do you know anyone there?”
“Nope, if I get any more hang ups I’ll look into changing my number. I’d just rather not, it’s a pain in the ass.”
I had to change my number once, almost five years ago, he’s right it’s a pain the ass. As Chris gets up to rinse off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, I feel useless. Getting up, I look around for something to do. “That was so good. Thank you. Now I feel guilty. Last night was supposed to be fun, and you ended up taking care of me and we didn’t even have sex. And I don’t cook.”
Chris crosses the kitchen, and his hand goes around my neck. “I like taking care of you. Don’t feel guilty. You’ll make it up to me tonight.” His words start a warm hum there. “I don’t care if you can’t cook, I can, so it doesn’t make a difference.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to cook the most basic stuff, and you cook all the healthy stuff, like quinoa.” He nods with a smile as I spit the word out. “And kale,” He laughs as I try to get word out. “I don’t even like the stuff you cook all the time. And I know I should, maybe if I did I wouldn’t—”
His mouth comes down hard on mine. I melt into his kiss he is the best kisser in the entire world. I may have only been with three men, but I’ve kissed a lot of really bad kissers. Chris makes up for all the bad experiences. He runs a finger down my face as he breaks the kiss. “We’re different, sugar. My body is for business, yours is for pleasure. I cook the way I do because I’m too lazy to spend any more hours in the gym than I have to. I love pizza too, I’m a fan of pasta, and I have a weakness for chocolate almost as strong as the one I have for your body. I adore your body exactly as it is, I don’t want you worried you need to eat a certain way to become something else. We’ll find a balance. I can cook regular rice and pasta, and I don’t mind at all.”
I open my mouth and suck the finger on my lips into my mouth. His eyes darken as I lick the pad of his finger. “I won’t eat quinoa, but I promise I’ll always take as much of your cock as you want to give me.”
With a growl a hand goes to the back of my neck and brings me up to his mouth. Hot, fuck, the kiss is so hot I’m sweating, trying to climb his body, desperate for him. Tearing his mouth from mine, he’s panting. “Naughty girl, getting me hard and aching when I have to send you off to work. I’ll make you pay tonight. My cock will look good in your sweet, dirty mouth.”
Yes, please. As we go into the hall to leave I spot the flowers I sent him in the vase on a silver plate on an ottoman. I touch one of the tulips opening in bloom. “I’m sorry, I sent the beautiful vase back to you. If I had it to do over, I wouldn’t have.”
His arms come around my waist, pulling me back against him. He presses a kiss to my temple. “This is the part where I say that I’m sorry I broke the vase but I’m not.”
I slide my hands over his, I understand and hear the warning loud and clear. “I know.” His arms tighten lightly before letting me go. Then I see the books. Wow, there are books filling two walls from the top to the bottom. There’s a section behind glass, and I recognize the binding. I stand in front of the glass as Chris opens the case. “You can touch them.”
A first edition of Sense and Sensibility, a first of Oliver Twist, A Christmas Carol, The Old Curiosity Shop, The Wind in the Willows, The Grapes of Wrath, Poirot Investigates, The Pothunters, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Trumpet-Major, Tender is the Night, a book of poems by Yeats, I love Yeats. With a gasp I turn to him. “You cheated. You’re a bookworm too.”
He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. An eyebrow lifts. “I didn’t cheat. While we are both readers, my dear Amelia, one of us escapes into books and the other lives in them. That is a huge difference. You’re going to have to decide if you want to keep living in them or if you’re willing to come out into the real world where there aren’t always easy answers. The story doesn’t end with a kiss; it keeps going through good and bad.”
I’m being chastised, and it feels unfair. I know the real world is hard, it’s the reason why I—damn it. Can’t he ever be wrong, just once? He kisses me gently before I leave. There’s a cab waiting, because of course there is.
On the way to work I consider what he said. Did he mean he wants me to stop living in books so I could live the good and bad with him?