Page 45 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
He nods and gets busy. I notice then he’s already boiled water for the potatoes, so I dump them in, check the chicken, and start the biscuits while sipping my wine.
It doesn’t take Rush long to finish his task, and I’m more than a little surprised when Kitty Pie slinks his way and proceeds to sniff him. Rush lets her, kneeling to pet between her ears. Minutes later, my skittish kitten, who spent her first three days here running away every time I did anything except feed her, is curled up in his arms, resting her dainty chin on his big shoulder and slumbering away.
“How did you do that?”
“Patience. She was curious but nervous, so I put myself in her space and let her come to me.”
Suddenly, I wonder if we’re actually talking about the cat.
“Well, it worked.” And I fear it’s working on me, too. Now that he’s here and offering to keep me safe, it’s all I can do not to slink closer and rub up against him.
“She’s sweet.”
“Do you like cats?” I ask as I flip the chicken.
“Never spent much time around them, but she seems like an adorable fluffball.”
We talk about Kitty Pie before conversation drifts to work. No, I missed the drunk man urinating in the elevator at last weekend’s wedding, but he’d totally heard that one of my co-workers had been fired for spending the night with a guest—and his wife.
Our laughter is still ringing around the room as I plate the chicken, which looks perfectly fried, and pull out the biscuits. He stops me with a single question.
“So…I hear Paul asked you out. You say yes?”
5
Rush
* * *
Fuck me. If it’s hard not to want Vanessa while watching her from the curb outside, being this close to her and not claiming her is agony. Somehow, I find the restraint to be a good boy—at least until it’s obvious she doesn’t want to answer my question. And I need to know. The idea of her with Paul makes me violent.
“Um…” She bites her pouty lip. Her long lashes brush her cheeks flushed from the wine.
Any chance my nearness is contributing to her rosy face?
“You heard about that?” She winces, then tries to cover the expression with a smile.
Yep, within five minutes of the guy asking. I know everything that happens to Vanessa. At work. At home. At school. I know what she’s watching on Netflix. I know what she’s reading on her device. I even know what she surfs on her laptop late on a Saturday night when she’s feeling alone.
What would she say if she knew I was aware of all her most forbidden fantasies?
Vanessa bustles to the table with platters of food. I take the rest and follow her, grinding my teeth as she bends over to set the plates down, revealing the womanly curve of her ass—and more. Jesus, is she even wearing panties?
As we sit, I start to sweat. I knock back the last of my wine, trying to cool down. But I’ve done all the drinking I should tonight. Vanessa needs me to keep her safe, which means staying sharp—and keeping my hands off of her.
No idea where that fortitude will come from.
I shrug. “Everyone heard about it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why is the staff so gossipy?”
“Because talking about co-workers is more entertaining than work.”
“It’s so annoying…” she huffs as she loads up a plate of chicken, potatoes, and biscuits that look every bit as good as my mother’s—and that’s saying something.
Vanessa isn’t a gossip. She doesn’t seem to care one whit who on staff is doing whom. In the months I’ve watched her, she’s kept remarkably to herself, mostly chatting with co-workers if it affects the job in some way. But I’ve also seen her comfort people. I especially adored the way she dropped everything a few weeks back to help one of the new front-desk clerks who suddenly had to put down her dog. Vanessa was compassionate and sweet and everything a person could want in a friend.
Once she hands me my plate, she dishes herself some dinner, then digs in while I pour more vino into her empty glass. I’m not trying to get her drunk so I can get her underneath me. If I ever coax her there, I want her one-hundred-percent sober and on board. But right now, she needs to relax and forget about the danger. Worrying about that shit is my job. But since I’m not allowed to put her in an orgasm coma, booze is my next best option to calm her.
