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“Jesus. I- I’m sorry.” Unshed tears glistened in her dark eyes, proving that she was truly sorry to hear it.
Byron shook his head. He downed the rest of his whisky and set the glass on the counter. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That was a dick move. Let’s just forget I just dropped that bit of information. I’m okay. It’s been a long time. The pain kind of wears off after a while. Don’t feel bad, and please, don’t you dare cry.”
He stalked across the few feet separating them in the small kitchen, ignoring the flour, baking bowls, buttermilk sitting out, dusty, crusty mess the same way Noemi did. He’d put her up on what little counter space there was left. He wasn’t sorry at all about those waffles going to waste. They probably would have tasted like shit anyway.
Noemi stared at him anxiously, but she didn’t back away, not even when he reached out and pressed the back of his knuckles to her lips, so gently that he barely grazed them. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, holding his hand there and pressing her warm, full lips against it.
“What are you doing?” he asked darkly. Something sharp hit his stomach and twisted it up painfully, like he’d eaten what would have been nearly toxic waffles.
“I’m kissing your pain away. My dad used to do this for me when I was a kid. Mom too. When I fell down, scraped my knees, banged my elbows, hit my head, whatever it was. They were always there to kiss it better.”
The moment was getting pretty damn close to being way too intimate. Over the line intimate. He’d never let someone this close to him in his life, but Noemi didn’t need to know that. How was he supposed to consider making her his wife if he had zero walls when it came to her and she could piece right through the armor he’d hammered and forged over the years. That armor was pretty much foolproof. The rest of the world believed that he was happy, intelligent, driven, and loved shoes with a passion that bordered on unhealthy. Okay, the rest of the world probably thought he was a rich fucker with zero cares. He’d sold that persona to everyone because he didn’t feel like explaining, over and over again, how watching your mother waste away in the prime of her life and watching his father spiral down into dark depression, could really fuck a person up.
“Thank you.” I pulled my knuckles away gently but let my hand settle at her waist.
With anyone else, they would have been booted out the front fucking door in two seconds flat if they’d tried anything like that with me. For some reason, Noemi wasn’t anyone else though, and it had nothing to do with shoes or money or fucking deals with her father. I didn’t put physical space between us, but I rammed all the memories, emotion, and other painful shit back into that dark, dank hole I’d perfected over the years.
“Are you buzzed enough now to tell me about the other firsts you might want?”
Instead of shying away from him and making it awkward, Noemi’s shoulders straightened. She was actually going to tell him what she wanted from him, and god, it was hot as hell and refreshing as fuck to be standing there with someone genuine for the first time in a very long time.
His fault. Not theirs. He never went for the encounters that had meaning. That was messy and he didn’t have time for mopping up after. In a way, he guessed they were genuine. His quick encounters. Both parties knew what they and the other party wanted. It just wasn’t meaningful.
No, Noemi was genuine in a completely different way. The kind of way that was like water that insidiously worked its way into his cracks. It was the kind of water that froze and thawed and tried to bust him wide open.
“I- I want- well… okay.” Her golden, slender throat bobbed as she swallowed. She did as he had and downed the rest of her whisky in a single gulp before her luminous eyes swiveled back to his. “You didn’t have to do what you did. It was amazing, but I don’t want to be selfish. I was wondering if maybe you’d like- like the favor returned?”
Holy shit. Did she just seriously offer a BJ up just like that?
She could have asked for anything. To be screwed any which way and he would have complied. The pit of his stomach dropped out and something in there did a weird clench and release that throbbed in time to the rhythm of Noemi’s pulse point which jumped at her neck.
“No? It’s okay. You don’t have to say yes. I know I’m not very good at it anyway. I- I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking just coming here and making you- do- that, and then asking for this.”
