Page 92 of Speak No Claim

I shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“How bad is it going to be?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Your definition of bad.”

“Onyx! You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

I stepped close to her, my face turning into the palm of her hand, and I softly kissed it.

“You’re cheating.”

“I’m improvising.”

She chuckled, “You’re the boy who cried wolf, but instead of crying, you try to flirt your way out of everything.”

“Says the woman who made a makeshift bed surrounded by candles.”

“I thought I could set the mood for the movie.”

With that, she plopped down on the bed, gesturing to follow her. I didn’t have to be told twice. She lit the candles and then turned on an old movie on her laptop.

I leaned against the wall on the bed, questioning, “What movie is this?”

“Fitzcarraldo. It’s about a European living in Iquitos, Peru. He wants to bring the opera to the Amazon and needs to raise money, so he comes up with a plan.” She smiled. “Now you can see my home.”

We watched it for a bit. She was narrating a lot of it, adding details and differences of what she experienced versus what they showed.

Once we were about halfway through, she called out, “You look tired,” as she scratched my head on her lap. “Everyone’s working you too hard.”

I slowly turned my face in her lap, nuzzling my nose along her inner thigh as I gazed up at her, wrapping my arms around her waist. In one swift move, I tugged her tiny frame toward me, making her squeal.

Slowly, I slid my body on top of hers, supporting my weight with my arms on either side of her face. My mouth was now inches away from hers.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

She smirked as I gently brushed my lips back and forth along her mouth. Loving the feel of her lips against mine, so soft, so warm, so mine.

“Shocker, you never want to talk about anything when it comes to you.”

I couldn’t define what we were to each other, but it felt right when it was supposed to be wrong.

“What did you cook for me?”

She giggled. “You’re going to have to wait and see.”

She was the first woman besides my mother to cook me a meal, and I found it so fucking arousing. Something about knowing she was feeding me literally made my dick hard.

“How’s your back?” she asked, grazing her lips against mine. “I made more medicine for you. I can put it on you if you’d like?”

“I don’t want to talk about that either.”

“Then what do you want to talk about, Onyx?”

I smiled. “Who says I want to talk at all?” I worked my way down her neck, yearning to feel her pulse beating against my lips.