Page 38 of Obey

Where has her sweatshirt gone? She’s probably made fast friends with the staff, and they took her ketchup-stained shirt to get cleaned. Wouldn’t be surprised.

Either way, she sits, cradling her mug of hot chocolate under her chin and inhaling what must be delicious chocolatey goodness. Her eyes flicker closed to a stretched out moment, before she giggles at something someone said.

“Look Betty, young love.”

“I remember when my Alfred used to look at me like that.”

Two of the old women are shuffling toward where I’m standing in the doorway to the restaurant giving me serious side-eye.

The urge to tell them I’m not with Talia tickles the tip of my tongue, but I stay quiet. I’ve learned it’s best to let people do their thing and not give them the satisfaction of engaging.

“Ladies.” I tip my head.

“Don’t remember the last time anyone called me a lady, do you, Philomena?”

“Alfred called me an old battle-axe yesterday. They’ll never find his body.” The old woman gives me a wink of her twinkling eye as they pass me. I believe her. What did she do to Alfred to make him disappear? Bet she dismembered the poor fucker.

“Talia’s quite a catch, Jagger.” Philomena’s voice is light and airy.

“Just don’t hurt her like that bastard Harry did.”

“That’s right.” Philomena waves a finger over her head as she walks away. “Or they won’t find your body either.”

I chuckle despite myself. Of course Talia has already told the table of old ladies our entire story. I bet she’s gone all the way back to elementary school in her life story. Dunno how she does it. I’d be happy to live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere if I could. But Talia comes alive as she chats with the strangers around the table. Her eyes dance as her mouth moves at the speed of light. I’m half concerned she’s going to slap one of the women with her hands, they’re moving so fast, I can’t imagine her accident prone self being able to keep up.

She’s animated, smile wide, and sitting on the edge of her seat. The women are all engaged, knitting away, but wrapped up in Hurricane Talia’s orbit. I’ve never seen anything like it. She doesn’t look exhausted from the interaction, hell, if anything she looks energized and deliriously happy.

What a weirdo.

With a scratch of the back of my neck, I leave her to it. She’s going to be there a while. I could take an hour long shower and circle back, she’d probably still be sitting here talking to this group of women. Bet they’d all have knitted double blankets by the time I got back, too.

A few short minutes later, I’m stripped off and standing under jets of steaming hot water. The contrast of the cold, winter wonderland out the window and water so hot it’s almost painful is one of my absolute favorite parts of winter.

I’m on the second chorus of Raspberry Beret by Prince, working up a good lather—or rather, attempting to—what is it about hotel toiletries that don’t lather right?

There’s a dull thud in the distance. Sounds like the room next door. Hopefully it’s not housekeeping here in our room, or they’re about to get the shock of their lives.

I let myself enjoy another few minutes of the hot water before stepping out into the steam. Hotel towels are another thing I take issue with. Why are they always like postage stamps? If I’m gonna pay you a couple hundred bucks a night, least you can do is give me a towel big enough to cover my fucking junk.

I’m drying my face and head as I step through the bathroom door toward the bedroom and straight into something. The something shrieks, then falls on her ass.

Half-Pint’s eyes are wide, her mouth open, then both snap shut. As I drape the towel around the back of my neck, a smile making the edges of my lips twitch, and she reaches out to grab my leg, pulling herself onto her knees.

I’m not sure she quite knows what she’s doing. My body’s slippery, so her hands slide down my thighs, which of course wakes up my cock. But it’s when she tries again I can’t fight the chuckle brewing inside me. She looks so perfect on her knees, her skin so flawlessly creamy and pale, pure, pouty lips that would look sinful wrapped around my dick.

She grumbles, heaving out a sigh, then peeks out from one eye slit. Her gasp is comical. “Oh. My. Goodness.” She flaps her hands. “It’s hard.”

“Of course it’s hard, you keep trying to touch it.”

“I’m doing no such thing! I’mtryingto get up off the floor.”

I’ve never met someone so accident prone before. This woman has probably spent more timealmoston her ass than she has on her feet since I met her.

She hasn’t broken eye contact with my cock. I dunno if she’s intrigued by it, or intimidated by it.

“If you’d come back a few minutes earlier, we’d have been able to check number four off your bucket list.”

It takes a minute for her to register that number four is having sex in the shower. She gasps again. Does this woman do anything other than trip over herself and gasp?

---