Sugar on the Edge (13 page)

Yeah, Brody is right… that was definitely my shining moment in life. I had something within me to battle against evil, and I never gave up. I never waited for someone to save me. I saved myself.

Gavin Cooke doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Anti-heroine my ass.

I hear something… a creak maybe… down on the first floor, and my ears perk up. Glancing at the time on my laptop, I see it’s getting close to ten o’clock and I’m on fucking pins and needles waiting for Savannah to get here. I even left my office door open this morning so I could hear when she arrived. So I could, by chance as far as she knew, go down into the kitchen to get something—a bottle of water maybe—and see her.

Fuck, I need to see her, because I’ve spent the last three days obsessing about the woman. Ever since I pushed her off my raging erection and right out the door last Friday night, said raging erection has become positively monstrous. Jacking off doesn’t seem to help, because all I can think about is how her skin felt when I slid my fingers up her leg, or how her eyes darkened when she told me to touch her between the legs, or how frustrated she looked when I wouldn’t.

I’m frustrated as hell that she wouldn’t go that extra step and give in to me. I’m frustrated at myself that I let a golden opportunity get away, because had I just given up a minutia of control, I could have had her. I could have fucked my brains out and then been done with her.

I had to stop myself probably five times on Saturday from going to help her at that animal shelter, just so I could get another whiff of her scent, maybe brush up against that warm skin. I feel like a boy with an insane crush or something. Frankly, it’s buggering me.

Leaning forward in my chair, I read the last few lines of my manuscript and sigh. It’s not flowing the way I want it to. I started a scene this weekend, writing it almost word for word exactly how my Friday night turned out on the couch with Savannah. My hero, Max, demanded she give him the words he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear her beg,
I want you to touch my pussy, Max.

And just as it happened in real life, my little anti-heroine, who I named Honey—because, yeah… honey is sweet—pushed away from him in embarrassment and shyness, refusing him.

I wrote it that way because I have no intention of changing the plot line regarding this character. Max is ultimately going to have her, but he’ll discard her as well. And he won’t be able to save her from evil, and she sure as hell won’t save herself.

Yup… needs to stay that way… true to my muse.

Staring at the screen, I wait for further inspiration to hit, but it never comes. I read my last paragraphs over and over again, now doubting whether Honey should really deny my hero.

My fingers twitch.

What the fuck… the scene definitely needs tweaked.

Max inched her skirt up her leg, letting his fingers glide along her skin. “You know what I want to do to you? I want you to let me touch you… see if your panties are as wet as I suspect they’d be. Then I want to finger fuck you… let you ride my hand a bit. Just to start…”

Honey’s breath turned ragged, but she remained absolutely still other than her fingers, which dug into his shoulders.

“Tell me, sweet girl,” Max crooned at her in a velvety voice. “Tell me you want it too… tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Honey’s eyelids drooped, and she licked at her lips. Max’s fingers stroked along the edge of her panties, causing her to jerk slightly in his arms. He was so fucking hard at that moment he could probably jackhammer a sidewalk with his cock.

“Come on, baby,” Max murmured near her ear, easing just the tip of his finger under the elastic edge. “Show me that raw craving I know you have.”

Honey gave a soft cry and tilted her hips in a vain attempt to move his hand closer to her core.

“That’s a bad girl,” Max said with censure and, just to punish her a little, pulled his hand away. “I need the words, Honey. Give them to me.”

“I want you to…”

“Tell me,” he demanded harshly.

“Touch me,” she said in a frustrated rush.

“Where?”

Honey’s eyes darkened and the pulse in her neck was leaping. “Between my legs.”

“Not good enough,” he sneered. “Dirtier. If you want it, make it fucking filthy for me.”

Honey gnashed her teeth, and her eyes sparked with determination. She leaned in close to Max, putting her lips just a hair’s breath away from his, and snarled, “I want you to touch my pussy, Max. I want you to finger fuck my pussy.”

Max chuckled as he brought his hand between her legs, stroking the damp cotton of her panties. “Good girl. I’m going to hit you hard with my fingers, then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you hard from behind.”

Yes!
I yell out in victory inside my own head as I type out those last few words. That is fucking perfect. Exactly the way it should be.

Pushing back in my chair, I let the elation of a well-written scene course through me as I stare at the computer screen. It’s how it should be. Well… it’s how it should have been the other night. How I wanted it to turn out. How I wanted Savannah to demand me to pleasure her.

But fuck if that happened.

The thrill of the great scene wanes as I realize I’m not keeping Honey true to my muse. I’m making her into something I want Savannah to be, and it’s sick, sick, sick. It’s sick, because I’ve decided I want Savannah badly even though she represents so much of what I don’t like in a woman, so I’m trying to plump her up into something she’s not… in a fucking work of fiction.

I’m quite possibly the world’s biggest wanker.

I hear the faint click of the front door closing and know that Savannah has arrived. My pulse leaps with the knowledge, and I push out of my chair.

As I hit the bottom landing that abuts the kitchen, I see her laying her purse and keys on my counter. She darts her eyes at me, and then turns to lift her bucket of supplies up. “Good morning,” she says softly.

I stare at her, my mouth unable to form any words, because I’m not the type to exchange pleasantries. What I really want to do is crowd in to her, push her back against the refrigerator, and get all up in her space, so we can maybe go back to that intimate interlude that got destroyed by her skittishness. But in the bright light of day, that doesn’t seem plausible. She’s not coming out of a deep sleep, with a foggy brain and sluggish reactions. No, she’s standing there, seeing me with clear eyes and probably a jaundiced mind.

So, I don’t say anything, and I just walk to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. I do, however, walk between her and the back counter, taking care to walk close enough by her that my arm brushes against hers. I can see her actually push herself into the counter to give me space, and that doesn’t set well with me. Normally, just knowing that I was affecting her that way would give me a rush, but it’s not what I had intended to occur. I want her to step in closer to me, not shy away.

“Do you want me to vacuum right now?”

“You can do it whenever,” I tell her as I twist the cap off the water bottle. “It’s fairly warm out today… I think I’ll write on the back deck.”

“Okay,” is all she says as she starts loading the dishwasher with the huge pile of plates and silverware I’ve accumulated.

I wait for her to say something more but she doesn’t, soundly ignoring me as I stand there. I don’t like it, and I don’t know what to do about it because I suck at normal conversation. When it’s clear that she’s not going to give me the time of day, I give a silent sigh and head back toward the stairs to grab my laptop.

Just as I hit the bottom step, I’m struck with inspiration and turn toward her. “I’d like to hire you for the full day tomorrow.”

Savannah jumps in surprise and turns to face me. “I’m sorry… I can’t. I have two houses plus a photo shoot to attend.”

“Cancel them,” I tell her. “I’ll pay you more than whatever they’re paying you.”

She huffs at my demand and turns back to the dishwasher. “Sorry, Gavin, but I can’t cancel. That would be unprofessional.”

“Who cares?” I throw out. “I’m paying you more than they would.”

“And, I’d probably lose those jobs for good, so that’s still not going to work for me,” she says with exasperation as she closes the dishwasher.

“Then I’ll hire you full time,” I say… maybe a tad too desperately.

She turns back to me with a bit of a softer look. “Um… no thanks. But what is it you needed me for tomorrow? Can it wait until Thursday as I can swing it that day?”

My brain fuzzes for a minute, because I have no clue why I’m hiring her. I don’t need a damn thing.

Think, Cooke. Think.

Finally, I blurt out, “I need to go to Raleigh to pick up a car I’m buying. I want you to drive me so I can work the entire time.”

F-u-u-u-ck.

Looks like I’m buying a damn car so I can spend a few hours with this woman.

“Seriously?” she asks. “Why can’t you just buy a car here?”

Fuck, oh fuck.

“Um… because they don’t sell the type of car that I want in this area. The closest dealership is Raleigh.”

I hope to God there’s a dealership that has foreign imports or something unusual in Raleigh, because I am so fucking flying by the seat of my pants at this point.

“Well, if you can do it Thursday, I’ll be glad to drive you,” she says and then starts scrubbing the counters.

“That works for me,” I tell her. “I’ll just go up now and call them to let them know I’ll be there Thursday instead.”

“Cool,” she says, never lifting her head to look up at me again.

Her indifference to me is pushing all my buttons, and I feel the insane need to get her attention. Except, the way that I want to get it is by stalking up to her and kissing her hard… maybe with my hand between her legs. But that won’t do, because it will send her scurrying like a frightened mouse, and I’m not ready to send her totally packing just yet.

So for now, I’ll have to bide my time and play according to the rules she’s silently laying out.

After I get back into my office, I quickly do a Google search and find there’s a Maserati and a Rolls Royce dealership in Raleigh, breathing a quick sigh of relief my impromptu trip didn’t get cancelled before it started. I unplug my laptop to take it outside to do some writing when my phone rings.

Pulling it out of my pocket, I see it’s my father calling and as much as I don’t want to talk to him, I know it’s probably important, so I answer.

“Hi, Dad,” I say as I connect.

“Gavin,” he says cautiously and I cringe, because his pain is my pain and I’ve had enough of both for now. “How have you been?”

“Fine. Good. Settled in and writing nicely. You?”

“I’m good,” he says, but his voice is sad. “We’re doing the best we can.”

I close my eyes against hurt and take a deep breath. “So, what’s up?”

My dad is silent for a moment, and then he clears his throat. “Listen… you got an offer on the house. It’s way more than what you’re asking for, so I accepted it.”

Pressure squeezes my chest, strangling every nerve, muscle, vein, and artery within. I open my mouth to tell my dad,
That’s great. Awesome.

But not a fucking sound comes out.

“It will all be settled within the next month,” he continues, and I feel dizzy so I sit down in the squeaky office chair I haven’t been able to replace yet.