Page 19 of Festive Fugitive
It doesn’t seem Cesar is anywhere near waking up, so I start with cleanup. With the furnishings so sparse, there isn’t that much to do, and within an hour, the whole cabin (with the exception of the bedroom) has been swiped, dusted, and polished. I used an old magazine to make a simple paper chain, which I draped above the couch, then folded the paper into tree-shaped ornaments.
The sun is heading for the horizon by the time I hear movement in the bedroom.
I’m stunned when I see him in the corridor, because yes, he’s that hot. I thought maybe I just over-exaggerated it in my head, but he most definitely looks like a super soldier. He’s got his sweatpants on, but they sit low on his hips, giving me the most perfect view.
“Good morning! Or afternoon.” I beam at him.
I’m wearing black sweatpants that are a bit on the short side, but at least they don’t pool at my waist, and a blue T-shirt which hugs me. Both these items are probably women’s, but are unisex enough to not make me feel weird. I didn’t find any spare underwear, so I’ve gone commando, but I do have socks.
I added wood to the fire, so it’s nice and toasty inside. Almost like we’re at a couples’ retreat, not trying to evade the law after my murder rampage.
Cesar watches me from the doorway leading out of the main room. “I don’t know either,” he admits with a smile, and my toes curl when his gaze slides down my body. Is he making sure I look good enough in different light?
Maybe I shouldn’t have so much self-doubt, but how can I not, when I’m average, on the side of thin, and he—drop dead gorgeous?
“I’ll make food. How do you like your coffee?” I ask, rising from behind the table. A jolt of pain trails up my ankle, but I manage to hide it from him, because the last thing I want is for him to get nothing in return for all he’s done for me.
“Black,” he says and steps inside after a moment’s hesitation.
Butterflies rush up my throat and my neck tingles in anticipation. It’s all still so fresh and new I hope I manage not to fuck it up. “Coming right up!” I all but chirp and walk over to the kitchenette. I try not to be too obvious about the soreness in my hole, which I choose to treat as a badge of honor, but Cesar can’t be fooled. I’m leaning down to open the small fridge when he stands behind me and places his hands on my hips.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why?” Other than being a murderer with the catchy name of Festive Fugitive. My nape tingles at his touch as I proceed to put instant coffee in his mug. He bought it, so I’m guessing that’s what he likes.
Cesar hums and presses his hips to my butt. “You walk like you’re sore. Did I overdo it?”
I must be going red because heat climbs up my face. I can’t see him, and his presence is almost too much to handle for my touch-starved body. As soon as I turn on the electric kettle, I put my hands over his.
“Just a little. It’s fine. It’s just that it’s been a while, but I was too horny to care.”
He exhales, and his scratchy chin rolls against my sensitive neck. Fuck, he smells so good! “Might need to kiss it betterlater.”
I get goosebumps as if he’s promised to get me flowers. Which I wouldn’t actually even want, but I guess he doesn’t know me that well yet. Nor do I knowhimthat much. I don’t wanna think about that, so I chuckle and nod, because what he’s saying is that he wants to have sex again. I’ll do it with him any time, any day. To be wanted this much… I never thought it possible for someone like me, and the sense of pride it grows in me is addictive.
“Y-yeah, that would be… nice.” I rub my thumbs over his hands, amazed I’m getting to touch this stunning human being. Me. The homeless guy with no friends.
He shoves his nose and lips to the side of my neck, making me rise to my toes with sudden pleasure, but then he’s gone, as if he only wanted a sample of my scent. “Quick shower, and I’ll be back. Sorry I overslept.”
I spin around, salivating at the sight of that broad back covered with intricate ink. “I’ll change the sheet—”
“No,” he says, spinning his head my way, and the sharpness of his voice screws me to the floor. Have I done something wrong? Was I meant to stay quiet and let him have this time to himself? Spencer hated when I bothered him after work, when he liked to have solo time before bed, and all of a sudden I feel the thin ice I’m standing on is starting to crack. But before I can utter an apology, Cesar shakes his head. “Stop running around. Sit with your ankle elevated. I’ll deal with the bed.”
And with that, he’s gone.
Now I want to treat him even more.
While I do see how changing the sheets could be a bit tricky, doing a few things in the kitchen isn’t that hard. I already prepared a lot of the food before, so it’s a question of arranging it on the table so it’s all spread out for him when he’s back.
I time the coffee with when I hear the water turn off, so that it’s hot for him. I’m no house mouse, but—fuck it. Hard to be a house mouse with no house, so maybe I do like the domesticity with the right person. Just because I lost my shit with Sullivan doesn’t mean I can’t be sweet.
There aren’t that many dishes available, but I make use of all that I found, placing hard-boiled eggs, canned peas with mayonnaise, and other simple foods in separate bowls, including a can of tuna in case Cesar wants it. By the time Cesar returns, with a towel around his hips, the spread I’ve prepared for him looks as impressive as it can, given the circumstances. I’m particularly proud of the even way I cut the tomatoes and how I folded the napkins.
It was a lot of work, but the surprise in Cesar’s eye is all the reward I need.
His hair is now out of place, and while he’s towel-dried it, small droplets keep falling to his chest and shoulders as he settles at the table, adjusting the eyepatch. “Is it some kind of holiday I don’t know about?”
I start loading food onto my own plate, maybe a little too quickly but I’m starving. I wanted to wait until he got up, so we could eat together. I did grab a few crackers, but that was that.
