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Fuck this is gonna be a long day.
I crack a bunch of eggs in a pan and season them with some of the spices left in the cupboard. Stirring so they scramble, my mind drifts to the one thing it shouldn’t. Tiff.
Over the past few years, I’ve felt her eyes on me from time to time, and every once in a while she’d get brave enough to test my interest. An extra swing of her hips here… A flirtatious smile there… It was always subtle, something she could laugh off as just messing with me if I acknowledged it, though I never did. I expected to play that unspoken game forever, or at least until she found a decent guy to settle down with. Instead, that game has moved to the next level.
Tiff isn’t as tentative as she used to be. Hell, at times she’s downright bold. It all started the night she bumped her head, and I’m not sure what to think about that.
Even if she was concussed then, she wouldn’t be now, so how do I explain this switch? Is she finally throwing caution to the wind and doing what she wants, small town opinions and her mother’s expectations be damned? Or is she set on this move and thinking she can clear out before the inevitable fallout.
Either way, being stuck here with her can bring nothing but trouble. My resolve has already faltered once, and now that I’ve glimpsed every inch of her gorgeous curves. That I've seen the pleasure wash over her face as she came… I want more, which means I need to do everything in my power to avoid any possibility of wandering off the saint path.
Thirty minutes later, a stack of logs sits by the woodburning stove, and our bellies are full. I’m flipping through a book of maps I found on the coffee table, and Tiff’s curled into the opposite corner of the couch, rubbing at her feet.
“What are you doing over there?”
“Nothing.” Her hands still.
“You’re fidgeting.”
“Am I distracting you?” I can’t tell if that’s a serious question or another taunt, but before I can respond she starts rubbing again, an almost pained look on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Then stop asking.”
“I wouldn’t have to ask if you’d just answer the question.” The pieces click into place, and I toss the book on the table with a thud. “Your feet are frozen, aren’t they?”
“No.”
“Tiff,” I warn.
“Not frozen, just cold.”
My arms shoot out so I can grab her ankles, yanking them toward me so I can check her feet for myself. Even with her socks on, which are damp, I can feel the chill.
“Jesus,” I mutter, peeling the socks off so I can rub some warmth back into her skin. “This is why I didn’t want you in the snow.”
“It’s not that bad.” She has the audacity to protest even as she winces.
“Your feet are white,” I say wryly. “Are those worthless boots the only thing you have to wear?” I try to focus on the practical instead of the way her tiny, cool feet fit between my palms.
“I was at an interview, remember? I couldn’t exactly wear snow boots, and these are more professional,” she answers without really answering.
“You could’ve still packed them. It’s always a good idea to keep a pair handy around here, even in late March.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She blinks at me with false innocence, and my cock stirs to life as her sultry tone echoes around me.Okay, that was a suggestion, not a command, so why bait me?
“I told you not to call me that.” It’s not my kink, though I’m pretty sure my body will respond to anything she says in that tone.
“I’ll stop calling you that when you stop treating me like a child.” She tries to pull her foot back but I tighten my grip, keeping it on my lap.
“After last night do you honestly think I see you as a child?”
A pink flush creeps up her cheeks. “I don’t know. You’ve barely looked at me all day and you’ve said even less.”
