Page 43 of Spoil
“Shit on a shingle,” Nell replies. “We’re comparing stretch meals we had growing up.” Nell’s hand comes to rest on my thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is. She belongs here. She belongs with me.
And tonight I’m going to prove it to her.
“Stretch meals?” I ask as she takes a sip of her wine.
“Yeah. You know, meals that are cheap to make but filling for when you have to stretch the last of a paycheck?”
“Shit on a shingle is what we called creamed chipped beef on toast,” Harrison adds. I guess I never knew that Harrison had grown up poor. His family wasn’t when I met him, but he’s never really shared anything about his past or how he got the scars on his neck.
“Huh,” is all I can say in reply. Somehow in a matter of minutes Nell got Harrison to open up and connect with her in a way we never have before. I get why, though. Nell’s the type of person who is so open and honest, you immediately feel safe in her presence. Like you could tell her all your darkest secrets and know they’re safe with her.
I sit back and listen as Nell and Harrison compare their early days of poverty like old friends. I half-listen to their conversation, more than pleased that they’re getting along so well. In my mind, though, I’m in room twelve, doing everything I’ve wanted to do to Nell since that night five years ago. As I sip my wine and let my imagination wander, I get harder and harder in my slacks until I feel like I’m about to burst.
Finally, I stand a little too abruptly, and the chair scrapes. Harrison’s smile turns smug as he turns it towards me.
“You lasted longer than I thought,” he says, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest.
“You were testing me?” I ask, incredulous.
“You brought your Nell to the club. You reserved room twelve all night. But you lasted longer than I thought you would,” he says simply, raising his glass in my direction.
I grab Nell’s hand and tug her to standing.
“You can bring your glass,” I say, nodding towards where it sits, mainly untouched, on the table.
“Okay,” she replies, her voice small and breathy.
Hand-in-hand I lead her to room twelve before opening the door, ushering her in with my hand at the small of her back, and locking the door behind us.
She stands in the middle of the room, tense, looking at it like she’s seeing it for the first time even though she must have cleaned it dozens of times.
I run my hand down her arm, hoping to relax her some.
“We are only going to do what you want to do, babe. Okay?” I slip my hand into hers and turn her to face me.
She still looks nervous, so I step in even closer. “That night, feeding you, watching you come, watching you moan in pleasure, was the best night of my life. All I want to do tonight is show you how good it could be if you give in to this.”
Her shoulders sag, and her face falls. I know she’s fighting this, and logically, I understand why, but I won’t lie and say a part of me isn’t hurt by her resistance.
“It’s not that I don’t want this...” she trails off.
We’re getting off on the wrong track. I don’t want her sad. I don’t want us fighting. So, I lift her chin with my fingers and stare into the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Here’s what I want to happen tonight. You can tell me if you want none of it, some of it, or all of it, okay?”
She nods eagerly. She’s wearing the weight of her family responsibilities, single motherhood, and navigating a new relationship, and it shows. All I want today is to take away her load for a night. I want her so out of her mind with pleasure she can’t worry about all the things that I know constantly plague her. So, I’m going to take the lead and make the choice easy for her.
“I want to kiss you, feed you the chocolate-covered strawberries that are on the nightstand, strip you naked, bring you to orgasm at least three times, and then I want to take care of you afterwards. Which of those sounds good to you?”
Her eyes turn glassy and faraway as her breathing deepens.
“All of it?” she whispers, causing a smile to spread across my face.
"I was hoping you’d say that."
I press my lips to hers, wrap my arms around her waist and gently walk her back towards the bed. I slide my hands under her ass until I can lift her, wrapping her legs around me. I kneelon the bed, gently making my way to the headboard as I sweep my tongue into her mouth. We both moan at the contact. We haven’t been able to kiss like this, and I plan on taking my time building her up. I sit, my back to the headboard, her straddling my waist and just kiss her. My hands roam her back, her sides, her hair, until she starts to grind on me. I grip her hips to stop her, because if she keeps going, I’m going to blow in my pants.
I’ve been imagining her every time I’ve touched myself for the last five years. I haven’t been with anyone else for five years. For five years I’ve searched, Googled, and watched the door to The Envelope like a hawk, hoping, praying that she would be the one to walk through the doors.
