There.
That’s why I keep trying again with Jenny, why I keep making conversation despite her ‘no small talk’ rule. Because once in a while, I coax this soft, secret smile from her lips, and then I want to sprint a lap around the block and yell my triumph at the sky.
“You’d drop food down your fancy black t-shirts.”
I tilt my head, my insides rioting. Can’t believe my fucking luck. “Are you teasing me, sweetheart? You making fun of my clothes?”
That blush deepens, and she ducks her head. Adjusts the fabric under her sewing machine needle, then presses the pedal like I never even spoke.
Loud thumping fills the kitchen. Jenny feeds the fabric under the needle, lips pursed.
Fuck, I love her little-miss-prim act. Makes me want to ruffle up her hair and get a real laugh out of her. A belly laugh. Makes me want to drag out a chair and yank her onto my knee and run my big hands all over her.
“What are you sewing?” I ask instead.
Jenny huffs. “I’m raising the hems on a client’s skirts. Do you mind?”
I grin, suddenly light as a feather, because that’s not how you speak to a man you’re afraid of. Pushing off the door frame, I stroll across the tiny kitchen, and come to a stop behind her chair.
When I lean over her shoulder, my breath mists against her neck. Goosebumps ripple over her bare skin, the tiny translucent hairs standing on end, and heat coils through my gut. “Am I bothering you, Jenny?”
A puff of air. “Yes.”
“You want me to leave you alone?”
There’s a long silence. “…Yes.”
I grip the table on either side of her waist, the wood creaking under my hands. Fuck, she’s small. Tiny and curvy and perfect. “You don’t sound sure.”
Her chin drops down, the bumps of her spine standing out on her neck, and her voice is wobbly and breathless when she speaks. Pleading with me. “I’m—I need to work, Lincoln.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” I straighten up and back up a few steps, though every inch away from her feels so fucking wrong. But I’ve tormented her enough for one day; pushed my luck as far as I dare.
Will she let me tease her again tomorrow? Will she let me get this close to her again?
Fuck, she smells amazing. Like vanilla and laundry powder.
Sucking in a final breath, I stride out of that kitchen before I do something I’ll regret.
* * *
Jenny comes to me that night, tapping softly on my bedroom door. I startle where I’m leaning against the headboard, one arm bunched behind my head as I read a battered old paperback. I lower the book to the covers.
“Uh. Jenny?” Have I ever been less fucking smooth in my life? As if I haven’t been praying for this moment since the second I laid eyes on her. “Come in.”
The door creaks open, and Jenny pokes her head in the gap, staring at the wall over my head like she might see something terrible if she dares to look down.
“I’m decent.” My mouth twitches when she lowers her gaze, that pink tinge spreading over her cheeks as she stares at my bare chest. “Well.” I shrug one shoulder. “Decent-ish.”
I’ve got sweatpants on, haven’t I? And the blankets cover my lap anyway. It’s no different from when I emerge from the shower, a towel secured around my hips, and anyway—I’m reading, not white-knuckled and working my cock with her name on my lips. This could have been a lot more awkward.
Casually as I can, I shift the paperback to cover my lap. I clear my throat. “What’s up, sweetheart?”
“I wanted…” Jenny’s voice is faint, like it’s coming from far away. She gives herself a little shake, drags her gaze up from my chest, and meets my eyes. Then tries again, voice stronger. “I, um. I wanted to ask you a favor.”
“Ask away.” Anything she wants, I’ll give it. Anything at all.
“I need you to turn me into a different person.”