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Her glasses are long gone, and her hair is a tangled mess. She’s looks thoroughly fucked and well taken care of. Just the way I like my woman.
I run my hands through her hair, smiling up at her. “Hi.”
“I’m hungry.”
I chuckle. “I’ll make us some lunch. Grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
She nods, climbing off me. I shoot up, grabbing her arm before she can clean herself up. Saoirse peers down at me, a confused look on her face.
“Sit,” I say, nodding to the chair. When she’s sitting, I add, “Spread.”
Her knees bow out, exposing her. My come drips from her entrance, and I nod toward it. “Let me see you push it back in.”
She lets out a strangled sound, but complies, scooping up a mixture of our releases, then massaging it around her lips, before plunging inside. A low hum of approval leaves my chest. My thumb reaches out, pressing against the pad of her clit as she continues to play with herself.
“Jaime,” she whimpers.
“I know,” I croak, knowing she’s too spent. “One more, please.”
She nods, a soft sigh escaping when I pull her digits out, replacing them with mine. Then I suck hers into my mouth, tasting the tangy sweetness of her mixed with the saltiness of me. Saoirse squeezes around my hand, giving me one more piece of herself.
Chapter Forty
Saoirseentersthekitchenbarefoot and changed out of her work clothes. Her hair is wet, fresh out of the shower, and I do a double take, loving the way she looks in one of my button-down shirts. It stops mid thigh, and she left the top few buttons undone, revealing the swell of her cleavage.
I swallow, forgetting about the tomato soup, and hurry for her. My mouth clashes against her lips, tasting minty toothpaste. I moan against her mouth, and she tugs me closer, bringing our chests flush against each other.
When we pull away, we’re both panting. “We need to eat,” she whispers.
And I nod, hurrying back to the stove. She’s asked for food twice now, and I’m not about to let her starve. Not when she’s been eating much more, and putting on some muscle. We’ve been training in the evenings, working on self-defense moves, and I’ve been upping her protein intake.
Slowly, one day at a time, she’s getting stronger and healthier. I love her body no matter how it looks, but the thought of her depriving her body of the nutrients it needs to survive stirs uneasiness in me.
I reach for the metal serving spoon in the pot, immediately letting out a curse as the heat reaches my hand. I drop the spoon on the ground, immediately running my hand under cold water to soothe the pain.
“What’s wrong?” Saoirse asks, hurrying over.
“Burnt myself.”
She glances at the spoon on the ground, then at the stainless steel soup pot on the stove. “Oh. Oh, my God! Jaime!” She screeches, yanking my hand from the cool water.
The burn comes back straight away. “No cold water. You’ll make it worse.” She shakes her head. “Fuck, we need honey and I’m an asshole! I don’t have any.”
“Honey?” I ask, grinding my teeth to bare down on the pain.
“It takes away the sting. Ma always did it whenever we had burns.”
Instead, she rummages through a drawer, grabbing a white container and some gauze. She returns to treat me. The cream in the jar soothes the pain, and I swipe it to read the label as she wraps my entire hand in gauze. It’s got silver in it, another natural remedy or some shit.
“It feels better,” I say. “Thank you.”
She hums, leading me to a stool at the kitchen island. “Sit. I’ll finish cooking.”
I don’t protest, enjoying the view of her backside as she goes back to rummaging through the drawers.
“For future reference,” she says, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “Metal conducts heat. Metal against hot metal. Bad, baby. That’s why you need a wooden spoon.”
Saoirse opens the last drawer toward the end of the cabinets, and I open my mouth, hurrying to stop her. She hasn’t cooked a single meal since we moved back into the brownstone, so I thought the kitchen would be safekeeping for an item if I didn’t want her to find it.
