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“Well, I wait tables at a bar called O'Malley's over in Brooklyn until ten, then I cover the bar until closing. I help my friend out at her bakery a couple blocks from the Brooklyn Bridge, in the mornin’s.” She moves back to the refrigerator, pulling it open and scanning the shelves again. When she turns back, she’s holding a jar of pickles. As she opens up the jar and pulls out a spear, she says, “Then there’s the task app. I mostly do dog walkin’ and school pick ups on that one.”
I watch, fascinated, as she puts the tip of the pickle in her mouth, her straight white teeth sinking into it. The juice runs down her plump lips and onto her chin. My cock jerks to life. It takes all of my self-control to not adjust myself in my sweats. Why the fuck am I wearing gray sweats? I pray Savannah doesn’t notice.
There’s no thought behind my words when I demand, “I want you to cut back on the jobs.”
Savannah laughs, choking on the pickle. She uses the back of her hand to wipe up the juice off her chin before moving to the sink to clean up.
When she’s done, she turns toward me. I don’t see any anger at my uncensored words. Instead, I see a look of determination. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen. I’m close to saving enough to not cramp your style and find my own place.” Savannah swallows, briefly closing her eyes before she looks at me again. With a smile on her lips that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, she says, “I’ll try to be gone by the end of the month.”
“You don’t need to do that. Please, cut back on the jobs. You’re working yourself into an early grave and it’s concerning. Nobody needs to be working as much as you are.”
Savannah folds her arms over her chest, popping her brow as she replies with more Southern twang than I’ve heard in a while, “Alright vinegar callin’ lemon juice sour.” With a sigh, she moves back to the leftovers she’d taken out, turning to put them away as she says, “I know I don’tneedto move out, but I think it’d be for the best. You don’t need to worry about me, Noah. Honestly, I’m doin’ fine.”
When she goes to walk past me, I hold my arm out. She stops inches from me and the intoxicating scent of lavender mixed with the distinct aroma of beer fills my nostrils. “Quit the bar job, Van.”
She rolls her eyes, lifting her chin in defiance but also to meet my gaze. “Or what? You’ll take me over your knee?” She scoffs at the idea before continuing, “I don’t think so. I’m off limits,remember.”
She is. I need to remember that. Maybe get it tattooed on my body. It seems to be harder and harder each day to keep that at the forefront of my mind.
Brushing past me, Savannah leaves the kitchen, the sound of her bedroom door closing echoes around the now silent apartment. I need to find a way to get her to quit at least one of those jobs.
The lingering scent of her fills my nostrils. I tip my head back as my cock throbs for attention. Fucking hell. My body feels like it’s on fire. An inferno raging inside of me, trying to claw its way out and devour her.
How can I react to Savannah like this from just having stood near her? I’m almost ashamed to admit to myself that I never craved Sutton like this. My relationship with Sutton was built on the foundation of a friendship. It’s what I’ve tried and failed to do with Savannah.
Recently, the urge to strip Savannah bare and give into my most basic of instincts has been eating me from the inside out. I know I can’t. But it doesn’t stop my muscles from tensing when she’s near or the way I come alive at the thought of her.
My movements are hurried as I go to my bedroom, flicking off the lights as I go. I move to the bed, sitting on the edge. It’s not my intention to pull out my cock and stroke the length of it, but a sharp exhale hisses through my teeth at the first contact.
I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. Closing my eyes, I squeeze the shaft, fighting for control. Ever since Savannah came to stay, I’ve refrained from touching myself, but there’s only so much I can take. I need just a little relief.
An image of Savannah with the pickle in her mouth, juice coating her lips as she wraps them around it, fills my mind.Christ.
It’s because I haven’t had a release in so long. That’s why seeing Savannah eating something as innocuous as a pickle, has me jerking myself off. It’s nothing to do with it beingher.
Whatever you need to tell yourself.
I quiet the voice inside that’s taunting me as I lean back. Pushing my sweats and boxers down, they pool around my ankles. Spitting into my palm, I drag my thumb over the head of my dick, gripping the length.
My strokes are slow and steady as I try to hold off from reaching my climax.
Shutting out the world, I close my eyes and sink into the moment. A tingling sensation rolls through me, and my chest tightens as my arousal peaks. My breaths come in short, sharp pants as I try to remain in control.
A rushing in my ears drowns out the outside world, and with each stroke, the volume increases. When another image of Savannah, wearing next to nothing in my kitchen, rolls through my mind, my grip tightens reflexively, strangling my cock. It’s like a fucking 4K movie of temptation teasing me, bringing me closer to the precipice.
Even in my imagination, I can smell her lavender scent. I inhale deeply, filling my nostrils with the fragrance. As much as I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but imagine it’s her hand stroking me as she tells me how she can’t wait for me to fill her.
My hips buck into my hand. A ferocity taking me over as I jerk clumsily. “Fuck, angel, you feel so good.”
A soft gasp that sounds too damn real has my eyes darting open and my hand freezing. My focus goes to the open door and I’m met with the wide, surprised gaze of Savannah. We stare at each other for a moment, her chest rising and falling in a heaving rhythm that matches my own.
My balls draw up and my body jerks as I bite down on my tongue, unable to stop the thick streams of cum from erupting from my cock.
She’s the first one to move; darting away from the door as I fall back onto the bed.
Fuck.
What have I done?
