Her cheeks turned red with the compliment.
“I like that pretty blush. If I had it my way, I’d keep it on your face forever.” I leaned closer, dusting my lips on hers for a moment and breathing her sweet scent in. “It’s the same shade your cheeks get when your pussy is soaked for me.”
“Elliot!” She tried to cover her mouth, but instead I covered it with my lips, pressing together and stealing the air from my lungs. Just like she had a habit of doing.
“I’m all wrong for you on paper, Miss Winters.” I nudged closer to her core, thankful she hadn’t yet put on pants and was only partially draped in that fuzzy duck robe. “But thankfully, I fit just perfectly,” I swept my fingers through her slick pussy, “right here.”
I popped my fingers, glistening with her arousal, into my mouth and sucked all the sweetness of her off. I leaned back, a satisfied grin on her face as she watched me, only slightly incredulous.
“Ham and cheese sandwiches and the taste of your pussy are all I need to live on.”
Her cheeks flamed before her cute little lips popped open to protest. Before she could, I pressed a piece of the cheese to her lips, halting her words. She accepted my offering, chewing a few bites before she busied her hands making a proper sandwich. She even folded a napkin with tight little corners around the sandwich before passing it to me.
“I wish I could make you more. I’m usually a pretty good cook, but it was cramped quarters at Dolly’s house.”
“This is perfect.” I bit into the first sandwich. “It’s delicious. I’ve never been taken care of so well before.” I took another bite, thankful for the napkin she’d provided when crumbs dusted my lips. “After my mom passed away when I was young, well, Dad wasn’t much of the mothering kind.”
“You’ve been on your own that long?” Her own sandwich hovered in her hands, bite untaken.
“Almost twenty years.” I shrugged, preferring not to think about the more painful parts of my life.
“I guess that’s why self-reliance comes naturally to you. It’s so impressive, everything you’ve built.”
I swallowed the last of my sandwich and set to work opening the bottle of wine with the corkscrew she’d set out. I poured her a glass in one of the few tumblers left in the cabin before setting it aside and pressing the glass to her lips. “Drink.”
“I don’t really drink that much,” she said before doing it anyway, taking the tiniest sip and then shivering once. “It’s not really for me.”
“I don’t drink at all.” I smiled inwardly, glad that we were on the same page with that too.
“I don’t like how it makes me feel light-headed, and trust me when I say there’s nothing more head-splitting than shrieking five-year olds when you have a wine hangover.”
I laughed, enjoying how amused she looked at even the less than sunny memory. I think that was just one of the things that drew me to her–her ability to turn bad lemons into the tastiest damn lemonade. Life through toddler-colored glasses was starting to sound pretty damn good after all.
“I made a decision long ago to never drink.” My eyes lingered heavy on hers, the pressing need to reveal one of my darkest secrets coming over me when her face filled with tenderness and love. “I have the alcoholism gene, and I don’t want to trigger it.”
“Oh.” The air puffed past her lips.
“My dad used to go on epic benders. He’d be drunk for days sometimes. I remember the first time he whipped off his belt and started laying into me because I got home late from school. The rage in his eyes was terrifying. I’d never seen him that way, and my mom promised he’d never do it again. She said he’d just had too much to drink and wasn’t himself.” I shook my head, heart still stinging with the memory. “She was so tender and sweet. God, she loved to laugh. They used to have so much fun together, but the sicker she got, the more he drank. The day of her funeral, we got into our biggest fight in the parking lot of the funeral home. I could tell he’d shown up drunk to the funeral, and I was so fucking mad. He was slurring his words and telling me it was my fault she’d gotten sick because I put too much stress on her.” I cast my eyes to the red and black checked blanket spread between us. “I believed him for a lot of years, but that day I was so angry he’d stolen my mom’s last moments of peace on earth with his drinking and the constant hell that swirled around him. I cocked my arm back and threatened to send him to the hospital if he ever talked to me that way again. I was fourteen.”