Add in the sight of my marks on her neck, I know what I want to say, or better yet, how I want to act. It’s being unsure of how she’s going to respond if I wrap my arms around her waist and put my mouth on hers again.
I’ve always felt kissing was overrated. You can get to the end goal without complicating things with a kiss on the lips.
Last night rocked my fucking foundation.
Sylvie Davis, of course, isn’t the first woman I’ve ever kissed, but she’s the first in a very long time.
And I fucking loved kissing her. Loved the brush of her lips on mine. Loved the way she nipped at my lips, trying to bring pain when it just made me harder, increased my need to sink inside of her.
I know what I should be saying instead of staring at the outline of her perfect ass in that damn nightgown.
Our conversation this morning needs to include things like I’ve been to the doctor and you have nothing to worry about or sorry, I didn’t ask, but you’re on some form of birth control, right?
I’ve never, not even when I first found out just how great sex felt, skipped the condom. I won’t say it didn’t cross my mind last night because it did. I just didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t bring any with me when I packed to come over here, because honestly, sex was the very last thing on my mind. Although I should’ve asked her last night, I know I would’ve turned into a fucking caveman if she pointed to her bedside table.
Of course any responsible woman would have condoms close to her bed, but I didn’t want the confirmation that she’s been with other men although I know for a fact that she wasn’t a virgin.
These are all things I thought about last night after she fell asleep on my chest, her tears dampening my skin.
I tried to shove those thoughts away, to push them to the back of my mind because I know what they mean. I’ve witnessed it too many times in my life to live in complete denial as to why I want to turn feral at just the thought of men in her life touching her.
The scratches she left on my back begin to warm when she brushes an absent hand over the marks on her neck. My cock threatens to thicken with the possession building in my chest. I’m feeling near fucking wild when she turns around to face me, the peaks of her nipples obvious behind the thin fabric of her gown.
She doesn’t smirk at me when she finds me looking. She doesn’t open her mouth to mention last night, and I know I won’t either, but there’s only so much I can hide when it comes to this woman. It turns me on that she doesn’t climb out of bed first thing in the morning in a rush to put makeup on or wear something sexy. When she showers and changes out of the gown, she pulls on a loose t-shirt and leggings. It’s as if she isn’t trying to impress me which does exactly that.
Despite what happened last night, I get the feeling that she’d rather be anywhere else than here with me, and even that somehow intrigues the hell out of me. If she were any other woman I’ve been in contact with, what happened last night would’ve happened much sooner.
“I want to go see my grandfather today,” she says, the look in her red-rimmed eyes distant.
She doesn’t give me a sly, knowing smile. She doesn’t even hint at what happened last night.
I gave her pleasure. I know for a fact I did, but she isn’t the type to hyperfocus on those moments.
This woman is real. She’s in pain and scared, and independent, regardless of the fact that I’m here to try to take some of that burden off of her.
She doesn’t take a single sip of the coffee she made before pouring it out in the sink and rinsing her cup.
I thought what happened last night was what she wanted, but as she walks away to get a shower, I’m left wondering if it was a mistake.
I don’t care how old Theodore Davis is, the man is still astute. His eyes locked on his granddaughter’s neck the second she walked into his room at the care facility, and although he answered questions and gave her his attention, that gaze locked on me the second she wasn’t looking.
He’s judging me and the way Sylvie and I spent our time last night without a word, and I feel that scrutiny like bee stings on my skin the entire time I’m in his presence.
It’s not like I’m going to open my mouth and explain myself. Sylvie and I are both adults.
But it does leave me feeling like a deer caught in the headlights when Sylvie excuses herself to go have a conversation with the facility administrator.
“I love my granddaughter,” he says, his eyes locked on some daytime game show on his small television. “I loved my daughter, but I never understood how someone could meet such a lovely girl and then walk away from her.”
Sylvie mentioned her mother leaving when she was very young and how her grandfather raised her.
His words hit me right in the middle of the chest. They speak of family and love, but I also don’t miss the warning in them either.
“She’s worked very hard for what she has,” he continues when I remain silent. “I’d hate to see anything unworthy mess that up.”
I swallow, the second warning hitting a little harder than the first.
“Yes, sir,” I say because I just don’t know what else to tell him.