by D. C. Ruins
He gave the tip of her tongue a little flick with his before chastely pressing his lips to her temple and wrapping his arms around her tightly, pulling her into his chest.
"Go to sleep," he murmured into her hair.
She wanted to protest, wanted to move her hands against him, wanted to taste his lips some more, but the shock of pleasure her body had just endured was melding into a warm, soft heat, a sleepy, friendly heat, pulling her down to relax in his arms and she was asleep before any other part of her could move.
Chapter Twenty-One
The little bundle of warmth that had spent all night pressed into Heath's chest was suddenly gone and he immediately opened his eyes in the darkness, reaching out automatically, seeking for it, when he felt a small hand grab his.
"Hey," a sweet voice whispered in the darkness. "Just stay there and sleep a little. I have to get ready to go into the café."
Years of military training had taught him to wake up instantly, so he was already fully awake. "It's like, four-thirty," he replied, his voice deep and gruff with sleep. "Come back here."
Her small form sat back down next to him and in the next moment he felt a pair of soft, pillowy lips press into his cheek and then his neck.
"I left early yesterday and I need to get there early this morning to make it up to Bunz," she whispered back. "I feel like I've been sneaking out early all the time lately. Otherwise I would still be laying with you, I promise." She trailed a finger down his cheek and along his jaw. "Just lay here for a little bit while I go get ready. It's too early for anyone sane to be up."
Heath lay quietly as she got up from the couch and disappeared into her bedroom. After a moment, he faintly heard the shower in her bathroom turn on. A small, lithe shadow leapt onto the couch beside him, a low purring noise accompanying it.
"Hey, man," Heath murmured to the cat, holding out his hand as Rocky luxuriously leaned his head into his palm. After a few moments of being scratched between the ears, Rocky jumped down and sauntered into the kitchen. A moment later Heath heard him lapping up water from his bowl.
Heath leaned back against the sofa cushion and shut his eyes but he knew he wouldn't go back to sleep. He thought about Drew in the shower and felt simultaneous arousal and also an ache deep in his groin from being unable to release himself the evening prior. Even so, he still felt satisfied that he'd brought Drew pleasure after what had undoubtedly been an agonizingly long time; he'd never intended for her to reciprocate and had she really tried, he wouldn't have allowed her to do so anyway. He knew he had to ease her back into intimacy and that in doing so he'd be doing most of the work, but as he thought about what that work might entail, he couldn't help a half-smile from tugging up one side of his mouth. He'd never known how pleasurable for him it could be to bring someone else pleasure, and he fully accepted and was just fine with the fact that as he got Drew comfortable with being physical, he'd be going "without" as it were. But as he recalled the amazing feeling of the wetness her body produced signifying her arousal for him, the way her body had tensed right before she'd exploded, the tremors that overtook her, the way her lips had parted and how she'd gasped out something that sounded like his name—all of that had been so satisfying for him and he sincerely could not recall another time in his life when he'd been so aroused.
Of course, he'd love to "take the plunge" with her as soon as possible; he was a man with needs, too, but something told him that taking it as slow as possible with Drew would reap delicious rewards for them later on. Moreover, he respected and liked her far too much to be so insensitive to her needs and boundaries. Drew was beginning to trust him, he could sense it, and he'd be damned if he did anything to destroy that trust, ever.
She emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, her dark hair swept up into a bun at the crown of her head and was dressed in tight jeans, motorcycle boots and a soft-looking, slightly oversized black sweater that hung off one shoulder. She smiled shyly and looked down at her feet, lifting a hand to scratch her head. He knew she was feeling timid after their "encounter" the previous night, but he wanted her to feel great about it and not awkward. He got up off the couch and stretched a little, the small bones of his back popping satisfyingly, before making his way over to her. He trailed a hand over her bare shoulder before lowering his face to her neck, breathing in her freshly clean scent before he pressed his lips to her flesh. He was pleased when she shivered a little.
"All right if I use your bathroom?" he asked.
She smirked up at him. "No. You have to pee off the balcony."
He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I've done worse. I mean, they're your neighbors."
She laughed and shoved him in the direction of her bedroom. When he entered it, it was still warm and humid from her shower, the mirror still slightly fogged. He smirked as he glanced around. She was tidy to a fault, he could already tell, and her bathroom was filled with all sorts of girly things—makeup, a shamefully large collection of perfumes, various bottles of fruity and floral scented lotions, hair products. He noticed that she'd set out a still-packaged toothbrush and a small, travel-size tube of toothpaste on the counter. He smiled at her thoughtfulness and quickly splashed water on his face and opened the package and brushed his teeth thoroughly. He glanced at his watch as he did so, noting that it was just after five. He'd need to leave soon and get home to change and get to the gym. He was leaving for Smackdown in a week and needed to make these last workouts and sessions really count.
Speaking of Smackdown… He wondered what she would ultimately decide. He'd like to think that she would agree to come with him, because she liked him just that much, but if she declined he wouldn't be upset with her, nor would he not be understanding. He'd be disappointed…but he'd get it. After all, the Smackdown tournament was immediately before the trial. She would be traveling with people she barely knew—including him. Although her anxiety issues seemed to be a lot better than when he'd first met her, he didn't know how she'd fare in such a testosterone-riddled, violent atmosphere as befit an MMA tournament. He inwardly face-palmed himself; what had he been thinking, inviting her along?
He rinsed his mouth and slipped the toothbrush back in the box. He wasn't sure what to do with it, so he left it on the counter. He exited her bathroom and then her bedroom and headed down the short hallway that opened up to the living room and kitchen area. Drew was leaning over the back of one of her chairs in her small kitchenette with a grocery store weekly ad open on the table in front of her. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her backside and thighs showcased in her tight jeans before walking up behind her and resting his hand on her back gently. She looked up at him and smiled, then straightened so she could give him a proper hug.
"You know," he began. "I was thinking about how I invited you to come to Smackdown."
"Mm-hmm," she murmured back, her cheek against his chest.
"I was thinking maybe that wasn't too good of an idea."
She lifted her head and cocked it curiously. "Why do you say that?"
He shrugged. "Just got to thinking maybe it wasn't the best environment to bring you to—loud. Violent. Dudes walking around like they got somethin' to prove to everyone."
"And those are some of the things I'm thinking about," she replied lightly. "Deciding whether or not I can handle that. But you just can't disinvite me." She frowned at him. He couldn't help laughing.
"All right. Well…you keep thinkin' about it then. I wouldn't be upset either way."
"You wouldn't?" she murmured, pressing up onto her toes. "You wouldn't be upset if I didn't come?" She brushed her lips lightly against his, and his body stirred at the slight touch. He swiped his lips slowly over hers, enjoying the way her hands suddenly tightened around him as she tried to press her body against his. His body continued to respond to her touch so he carefully gripped her waist in his hands and held her away from him slightly.
"Thought you said you needed to get to work," he said. She made a little noise of frustration an
d dropped her arms.
"I do," she sighed. She moved to her kitchen counter and handed him a steaming mug of coffee. He accepted it hesitantly.
"You didn't have to make this for me," he said. "I won't be able to drink it all before you leave."
"Take the mug with you," she said. She smiled at him playfully. "I know where you work. Not where you live—but where you work. I'll find you."
It occurred to Heath that Drew had never been to his place before. "I guess I can't hide from you, then," he said lightly. "I'll drive you to work."
"Heath, it's like three blocks away," Drew protested. He shook his head.
"It's also like, five in the morning," he mimicked. "It's dark outside. Come on."
He carried his mug carefully down the stairs as she fed Rocky and locked up behind her. Her boots thumped hollowly down the stairs as they walked out to his car. As he usually did, he reached for the handle of her door absently and pulled it open for her. She rolled her eyes playfully at him, but smiled appreciatively too.
"So what are you gonna do in there so early?" he asked once they were settled in his car. "You don't open for a couple hours."
"Oh, I'll get the front end going, the machines assembled, then get the bakery case loaded, stuff like that," Drew said, stretching in her seat. "And what about you?"
Heath sipped at his coffee. "Run to the gym. Open the gym. Do some paperwork, study film. Train. Spar. The usual."
"One more week," she said lightly.
"One more week," he echoed.
When they arrived at the café, he insisted on walking her to the front door and waited while she unlocked the gate, pulled it aside, and unlocked the door. She wedged her foot between the heavy glass door and the frame and looked up at him. He got the feeling she was suddenly shy again. He met her gaze and reached out to push a stray lock of hair that had fallen free of her bun behind her ear.
"Take care of my mug," she said finally.
"I'll protect it with my life," he joked. "Have a good day today."
"Oh, I will," she murmured, the words come out far more suggestively than she'd probably intended as her cheeks suddenly turned crimson. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind and he knew it was on hers too. He smiled and leaned down to give her a kiss in that slow, lingering way she seemed to like. When he pulled away her eyes were bright and she was smiling widely. He remained on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, as he waited for her to step inside, pull the gate back across the entrance and then shut and lock the door again. He smiled at her once she was secure and she waved. They both turned away, Heath heading for the car, when he heard a rapid tattoo of knuckles on glass and turned around. He grinned when she blew him a kiss, dimpling, before spinning on the ball of her foot and disappearing into the back of the café.
He turned toward his car, feeling a little ache in his gut; it reminded him of the feeling he got whenever he thought of his mother or Joaquin. This feeling was slightly different, though; it was bittersweet instead of just bitter because Drew was here, she was alive, she was fine. Yet, as he got into his car and drove off, he missed her already, just the same.
***
"So," Bunz chirped a couple hours later. "How was your night? Dinner and a movie, right?"
Drew tried to give her a withering stare but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Oh, you know how the night was, you sly minx," she said as she opened a fresh bag of espresso beans.
Bunz laughed. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you just called me a 'sly minx'," she said. "What makes you think I know how it was?"
"C'mon," Drew said. "Heath told me you put a bug in his ear."
Bunz opened her mouth as though she wanted to protest, then thought better of it and shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, give credit where credit is due. I did do that. But," she lifted a finger in the air dramatically, "he didn't have to listen to me and he did it anyway. So you had a good time?"
"It was amazing," Drew said, with a dreamy smile. "The ballet was great, too."
Bunz laughed. "Wow, the day when your favorite ballet takes a backseat to the rest of the date is a day worth remembering. So what was so great about it?"
"He's just…amazing," Drew repeated, filling the top of the espresso grinder with fresh, whole beans. "Such a gentleman. Cleans up very well. Thoughtful."
"Delicious," Bunz added, then shrugged when Drew looked at her sharply. "What? He is. Did you get some?"
"B!" Drew squealed. "I'm not that kind of girl." She thought again of their night on the couch and reddened. It did not go unnoticed by Bunz. She gasped and pointed.
"Oh, my God!" she said in a hushed tone. "You did! Your chest is all—splotchy now."
Drew's neck and chest did tend to redden along with her face when she was embarrassed, and it intensified now that Bunz had pointed it out.
"We didn't—do that," she said, patting the air. "Calm down."
"What did you do?" Bunz demanded, leaning on the counter.
Drew pursed her lips. "Just—some things," she hedged. "Let's just say that he gave me a little release last night. In a very…respectful way."
"You are such a prude," Bunz complained. "I tell you about me and Anthony."
"And trust me, I want you to feel that you don't have to do that anymore," Drew replied, holding up a hand.
Bunz scoffed in annoyance and shook her head, then smiled. "Well, I'm really happy to hear you had a good time and that afterward you had….a good time." She laughed. "You deserve it."
"Thanks," Drew said. "I, uh, asked him if he would come to the trial. To be there for me."
"Oh, yeah?" Bunz lifted her eyebrows. "What did he say?"
"He said yes. Then he asked me if I would go to the tournament with him."
"And what did you say?"
"I asked for some time to think about it," Drew replied. "I felt like a hypocrite, but, there's a lot I have to take into consideration."
"Like what?" Bunz asked. "You asked him to support you, he asked for the same thing in return. What's to think about?"
"Well," Drew began. "The trips are a little different. The trial, I'll be with you guys. My family. I'll be safe. By me going with him and his family…I don't know them. I don't know him nearly as well as I know all of you, obviously. What if he turns out to not be the person I think he is? I'm by myself, I'm stranded. That's a bad situation."
"I get that," Bunz said. "I do. But ask yourself this—do you honestly feel like he's not who he says he is?"
"I want him to be who he says he is," Drew replied. "But—who the hell really knows?"
"Okay. Then ask yourself this. What made you invite him over to your apartment for dinner a couple weeks ago?"
Drew blinked, then thought about it. She shrugged. "I wanted to take a chance and put myself out there a little, I guess," she said.
"Right, but a part of you trusted him on some level," Bunz said. "You could have invited him out to dinner but you asked him to come over to your place. So while that was definitely a leap of faith on your part, you also felt some sort of comfortable way around him and trusted that he wouldn't hurt you. If he really meant you harm, he could have done whatever it was to you that night. You were alone with him in your own home with no one around to save you. But he didn't. And now, you know him even better than you did then."
"Unless it's all part of his scheme to win my trust before he goes in for the kill," Drew said wryly, surprising herself with the joke.
"Right," Bunz said sarcastically. "Basically what I'm saying is—get out of your own head. I think you should go."
"That's sort of what I was leaning toward," Drew admitted. She held up a finger. "But if he chops my head off I'm personally going to hold you accountable."
"I'll take the blame," Bunz teased back. She made a face. "You know you're gonna have to tell your parents, right? And by 'tell your parents', I mean ask them for permission."
Drew rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm twenty-seven. I don't have to ask anyone for
permission." She scrubbed at the countertop and pictured her father's face in her mind and shuddered. He would not be thrilled that she was going anywhere with a guy he'd only met once, even under the best of circumstances. But with her history, he would like it even less. She knew that ultimately she would do whatever she wanted, but even at almost thirty, her father could make her feel as timid as child at times. She dropped her rag.
"I'm gonna have to ask 'em," she said.
"Yeah, you are."
The opportunity presented itself sooner than Drew had expected; her parents came in just in time for the early morning rush. Her father worked the cash register while Drew made the drinks, and her mother went into the kitchen to help Bunz labor over several large loaves of braided Italian herb bread. Two solid hours flew by before things settled down.
Her father took the opportunity of the lull to count the drawer and reset it to make an early afternoon deposit. Drew used the lull to clean the espresso machine, refill the grinder with whole beans and wash the metal milk pitcher used for steaming and the long metal spoons used for mixing the espresso with the milk and spooning on foam.
"So, how's my princess?" her father asked absently, punching numbers into a calculator and jotting down figures on a yellow notepad.
"Good, John," Drew replied. "Just spending lots of time workin' on my showcase piece for next month."
"I'm sure it's gonna be beautiful," Mr. Carnevale replied, counting a stack of bills again. "What else you been doin'?"
Drew cleared her throat. "I've been spending a lot of time with Heath," she said tentatively.
Her father glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned back to his task. "Oh, yeah? How's he doin'?"
"He's good," Drew said. "He took me—well, he surprised me—by taking me to go see Giselle last night."
"Your favorite," Mr. Carnevale commented. "That was nice of him."