Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(27)

“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 f*cking 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 *, Max. I want you to finger f*ck my *.”

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 f*ck you hard from behind.”

Yes! I yell out in victory inside my own head as I type out those last few words. That is f*cking 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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.