CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Owen
The smell of maple syrup wafted into my nose and filled my head with memories of early mornings as a young boy at the family cabin. It was a warming, pleasant reminder, and I had an extra buoyancy in my step as I carefully ascended the stairs.
As I reached the landing, the tray rattled slightly in my hands, and I cursed at it to quiet. My footsteps, thankfully, were padded by my bare feet against the hard floor and echoing ceiling, though my lounge pants made soft swooshing sounds as I proceeded down the hall. When I reached the door I’d left cracked open an inch, I turned around and backed into the room, careful to keep the dishes from nudging the edge of the tray and waking the woman curled up in my bed.
She was a vision. Dark blonde hair was sprawled across the pillow beneath her slumbering head, and her lashes were spread across the upper rounds of her cheeks. Her lower lip dangled open just a fraction of an inch, and I could hear the soft breaths of restful peace she emitted. I couldn’t see her form, as it was covered by the comforter, but I could make out her silhouette beneath it and immediately felt an itching in my palms to run my hands over those scrumptious curves.
I rounded to her side of the bed and placed the tray as gently as I could on the neighboring nightstand, taking care to step over the heap of clothes in the way. When I could wait no longer, I lowered myself onto the mattress beside her, leaned down, and pressed my lips to her forehead. She didn’t move. Persistent, I trailed down to her cheek and planted a second kiss. This time, she groaned and rolled over. I snaked my hands beneath the blankets, cuddled myself up behind her, and dragged my stubbled chin over her neck. She scrunched up her face and whined, “I’m sleeping!”
“Not anymore, you’re not,” I chuckled into her ear. I resumed nuzzling her with my coarse, budding facial hair, and she flung her foot backward. It connected with my shin, making me laugh.
“I’m going to beat you up if you don’t knock it off,” she warned throatily.
Her eyes were still closed, and she was making no effort to get up, but I raised myself up onto an elbow and peered over her anyway. “Oh, yeah? That’s how you want to play?”
“I don’t want to play. I want to sleep.”
She threw her arm lazily at me, which I easily dodged before diving in to nibble the soft place just below her ear. Her whole body convulsed, and she rolled onto her back with a squeal, batting at me with her hands. I refused to relent and continued scratching and teething the place until she was reduced to quivering giggles, then I pulled back and grinned down at her.
“Wake up,” I commanded.
Tabby glared at me through squinted, tired eyes. “No.”
I lifted both of my eyebrows at her defiance, crawled back out of bed, and retreated to the end of it. Yanking the blankets up and throwing them onto her middle, I snatched one of her feet and locked it in place beneath one of my arms. She tried to kick free, but I wouldn’t budge. Poising my fingers threateningly near the sole, I looked down at her and repeated sternly, “Wake up.”
“Don’t!” she exclaimed with widening, panicked eyes and a second wiggling attempt at freedom.
“Wake up, or I’m going to wake you up,” I insisted. I brought my fingers closer until the tips pressed against her skin. She stiffened. “I don’t care what you decide. I’m either going to get to tickle the shit out of you or you’re going to wake up. I win either way.”
“Everything seems to be a win-win for you, doesn’t it?” she commented dryly.
“Always, sweetheart.” I grinned again, broadly, and scribbled my nails from her heel to her toes. She burst out into raucous giggles and flailed on the bed, twisting the sheets around her body. I stopped as quickly as I’d started and winked. “So, what’s your decision?”
“Fine. I’m waking up,” she snapped but it was a good-natured grouch. I released her and returned to the space beside her as she scooted into a sitting position. “You really get a kick out of tickling me.”
“Tickling elicits involuntary response,” I idly replied, reaching for the tray and bringing it to her lap. “It’s primal.”
“It’s sadistic,” she countered.
I gave her an evil laugh. “That too.”
She leaned over the breakfast I’d prepared — with the help of Arturo, naturally — and breathed in deeply. “Oh my god, this smells so good.” Her eyes darted from the butter-topped pancakes to the steaming mug of tea to the bowl of cinnamon grits. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Here,” I volunteered, snaking the fork from under her arm and stabbing the pancakes. I brought a dripping, fluffy bite to her mouth, which she accepted. I was met with a low hum of approval.
Selecting a spoonful of grits for myself, I handed her back the fork and we ate. It was the first time I’d shared breakfast in bed with a woman, and I was amazed at how wonderful an experience it was. Even when we didn’t talk because our mouths were full, I still felt connected to her, almost like we didn’t even need to speak to communicate our feelings. Just watching her expression was enough to tell me how much she liked the pancakes, how strange she found the grits, and when she was getting full. It was surreal, in a way, like I’d adopted magical powers of perception overnight.
When we were finished, I got to my feet with tray in hand. “There are clean towels in the bathroom, and Marie also left a new outfit in there for you as well. If you like it, I get the credit because I’m the one who told her what to pick out.”
Tabby laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She nodded her head toward the tray. “You’re taking care of that yourself?”
“My hands aren’t broken.” She flushed a bit, and I continued, “I know TV and movies portray staffed houses as these busy places where the employees run themselves ragged and the homeowners sit on their asses. That’s probably true in some cases, but in this house, I do what I can. My staff’s job is to keep the property clean, orderly, and functioning, not to clean up after my laziness.”
“That’s… wow,” she said, clearly a little embarrassed. “I mean, that’s amazing. I’m actually really happy to hear you say that.”
“I aim to please, kitten. Now, get in the shower and clean yourself off so I have a good excuse to get you all dirty again.”
I returned the tray to the kitchen, where another housekeeper, Dominique, took it from me. I might have taken care of my smaller messes, but frankly I hadn’t washed a dish since I lived with my parents. Then, I trekked back up the stairs and headed down the hall again to my bedroom. I could hear the shower running, so I opened the bathroom door and peeked in to ensure Tabby had found everything all right.
Her unclothed body was stretched beneath the spray of water, arms up and hands combing through her hair. I traced the round of her ass with my eyes, skimmed all the way down to her feet, then wandered back up again to admire the shapeliness of her bare breasts. The image was skewed by the frosted glass, but I saw enough to send blood pooling in my groin.
Already hard, I stripped out of my lounge pants and approached the shower. She jumped when I opened the door, but she didn’t protest as I stepped in. Up close and uncensored, she was even more beautiful. Droplets were trickling from her shoulders down her chest, dangling from the tips of her nipples. Her small patch of pubic hair looked soft and shiny and inviting. The swell of her belly was slick with moisture, and the steam had pinkened her face the way I liked.
I rubbed her ribs with my palms, easing downward until the bow of her hips. As I did, I lowered myself onto my knees. I heard her sharp intake of breath as she realized my intent, and I brushed my nose against her mound. She spread her feet, urging me in, and I obliged.
Starting at her clit, I stroked my tongue over and around it. She flattened a hand against the shower wall to keep steady, but I wasn’t going to make it so easy. I leaned in and circled the bead with my lips, tugging back just enough to bring the shy globe out from under its protective hood. Then, I conducted a symphony on her. Swooping, soaring, swaying, I maneuvered my tongue in every direction at randomized paces to keep her on her toes. The hand she’d hoped would aid in maintaining balance tangled itself in my hair, and she pulled roughly in response. I didn’t mind. I loved the lack of control she had, the way she yanked on my strands and the way her toes curled into the tile. And I wanted more.
I left her clit and journeyed farther south to the awaiting tunnel. She was already wet from the shower, but I could smell her arousal. I could also smell myself on her, which made my dick throb like an overworked heart. Experimentally, I dipped my tongue between her folds and plunged inside, rolling upward to lick the spongey area of nerves within. She buckled momentarily, and her other hand curled around the built-in caddy. I repeated the motion and used my nose to nudge her clit. Her whole body reacted with a jolt and a moan slipped from her mouth, just like the water drips slipped off her erect nipples.
Faster and faster I went until she shattered, her cries echoing off the bathroom walls at an ear-piercing volume. When I stood, she was still panting, and sweat was visible on her forehead, discernable from the shower raining down on her.
“Now,” I murmured against her ear, “let’s get you clean.”