Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,44
lines at the corners of his eyes said he had experience. The crooked bend to one side of his lips said he knew the effect he was having on me, and his unapologetic smirk one hundred percent relayed the message loud and clear—he was every bad boy ever, all rolled into one sinful package.
I was in trouble.
Big trouble.
GETTING OFF FROM THE LOOK on her face, I smiled. It took balls to ask me if I was a breast man, I’d give her that. If she had ten years on her, I probably would’ve been fucking her on the kitchen counter by now.
She rolled her eyes, giving me the exact reminder I needed.
No matter how slamming her body was, or how big her tits were, she was a goddamn teenager.
Nineteen.
Jesus fuck.
Needing to concentrate on anything other than her tits or fucking her, I laid out the sandwich shit. Quietly watching me, she didn’t say anything until I had the food plated and was holding it out to her.
She stared at the sandwich. “My stepmom used to cook for me. Even after she divorced my father, she kept up with the Sunday dinners.” Her eyes met mine. “It’s not like Leo Amherst ever cooked for me.”
I fought to keep from calling her old man a tool. He hadn’t called his only kid once since I’d picked her up from rehab, let alone checked-in with me or Luna to see if she was still in one piece. And I wasn’t touching the fact that he couldn’t be bothered to pick her up himself. “I’m not your father, and I didn’t cook.” I assembled. “It’s a sandwich.”
She took the plate and dropped her gaze. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” I sat down next to her. Then I did what I hadn’t done in years, except for the restaurant this afternoon—I ate a meal with a woman.
No words between us, she finished her sandwich, and I didn’t know what I liked more. The fact that she ate it all or that the silence between us was comfortable and she didn’t feel the need to fill it. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the similarities between us were stacking up.
Without comment, she stood and took our plates to the sink.
I watched her in the kitchen, and truth be told, I never imagined a woman in here. I’d bought the place as a backup, somewhere to get off the grid. And when I’d furnished it, I definitely hadn’t been thinking about a woman. But seeing her in my kitchen, her small hands washing the heavy plates I’d bought because they’d looked like they’d take a beating without breaking, the shit circumstances of my life were suddenly in my face.
The countertops were too high for her.
The plates were too heavy.
The sink was too deep for her to comfortably set dishes in.
The upper cupboards were eye level with her.
She didn’t fit a goddamn thing about this place, but fuck me, she looked damn good in my kitchen.
Setting the last fork on the drain board, she shut the water off, then dried her hands on a kitchen towel I wasn’t sure I’d washed before I put it out. Carefully folding it back over the oven door, she turned to me. “Thanks for dinner.” Her cheeks flushed. “And lunch.”
Staring at her, I didn’t get up. “You’re welcome.”
Looking nervous as hell, she glanced around the kitchen. “This cabin is pretty stocked for a place you don’t live at full-time.”
“Caretaker. I texted him from the road.”
She nodded, but she still wouldn’t look at me. “Well, I guess it’s late. You must be tired.”
I wasn’t tired. I was amped, and my dick was hard. I wanted my hands on her tits more than I should, and her nervousness was only feeding into my twisted thoughts. “I need to do a perimeter check and pull in some firewood from the shed.”
Her head snapped up and worry creased her brow. “You’re going out there again?” She glanced out the kitchen window. “It’s like, feet deep now.”
I chuckled. “Pretty sure I can handle it, sweetheart.” Pushing the stool back, I stood. “But thanks for the concern. Get some shut-eye, and we’ll reassess in the morning.” I turned toward the door.
“Shade?”
I looked back.
Her gaze dropped, her hands twisted, and her voice went quiet. “Please don’t make me sleep alone.”
Staring at her, I took in every inch of her pretty features, but nothing about her was as it looked.
Her body was a woman’s, and some of the shit she said? Christ, her