it.” The back of his hand definitely brushed a taut nipple.
Fuck. No bra.
His eyes zeroed in on the bundle in her arms that he was in the process of taking from her.
“No!” she squeaked, pulling back. “I know where the utility room is. I just thought I’d ask.”
A wicked thought spurred him to find out more. “Sylvie . . .”
He tugged, the bundle unraveled and a tiny scrap of clothing fell to the floor.
Fuck. She’s totally naked under the shirt.
Sylvie, blushing furiously, yanked her clothes free of Nate and crouched on the floor to pick up her panties.
“Uh . . .” Nate stepped back and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“You did that on purpose.” Emerald eyes flashed at him accusingly.
He only smirked at her.
“Ugh!” She turned around and stomped to the laundry room.
Nate felt guilty, but then again, he didn’t. Fuck. He was bipolar when it came to her. Anyway, Sylvie paid him back the only way a feisty woman like her would. After she tossed her clothes in the washing machine, she returned to the living room and watched TV beside him on the couch.
Sylvie. Naked under his shirt.
Nothing happened obviously. She wasn’t really seducing him, but more like telling him, “Hey, you were a dick for wanting to know if I were wearing undies or not, but here’s me trusting you not to do anything.”
And now he was lying on his bed as wide awake as his dick. His shaft had risen past the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Nate reached down and groaned when he brushed the tip, which was now moistened with pre-cum. He wrapped his hand around his erection, gripped it tight, and started to stroke. He imagined Sylvie on her back, shirt shoved all the way past her tits. Her breasts weren’t big, but he remembered how her dusky nipples responded when he had sucked them. Nate groaned again.
“Sylvie,” he muttered. “Fuck.” He pumped his dick harder. Now he imagined his face between her thighs as he lapped up her juices. She’d moan and squirm against his face as he ate her out. Finally he would push inside her . . .
“Fuck!” Nate grunted. He stiffened as warm jets of cum landed on his abdomen. He continued milking his cock, still imagining thrusting into Sylvie, fucking her hard into his couch.
After an indeterminate stretch of time, he looked down at the mess he’d created and muttered, “Fuck.”
CHAPTER FIVE
She continued cranking the pasta machine. Ramen noodles were everywhere. Tangled in her hair, stuck to the ceiling, hanging from the kitchen cabinet. Flour spilled into a mound on the counter top, the smell of potassium bicarbonate reacting with her dough permeated the air like soured beer. Sylvie needed to get this recipe right.
Crank.
Crank.
Crank.
Her face started itching from the specks of flour. She swiped her sleeve on her face, but it too was covered in powdery residue.
“Perfection, Sylvie San. You will never amount to much if you do not strive for perfection,” her chef-mentor’s voice echoed around her.
Crank.
Crank.
Crank.
The noodles continued to stick together. Too much water? More flour? Sylvie yanked them from the machine in frustration and hurled them on the wall. She grabbed more flour to make more dough, but the air suddenly became pressing. She couldn’t breathe.
“It will be okay, Sylvie.”
She looked up, and there was Nana, looking at her with understanding.
“I can’t let you die, Nana.”
“It will be okay.”
“Nana . . .”
“Sylvie.”
She awoke to Nate’s frowning face and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
“You were mumbling in your sleep and uh . . .” He glanced down her body. “Thrashing around.”
The shirt she was wearing was bunched around her waist exposing her bare vagina. Yanking the shirt down in mortification, she croaked, “A decent man would turn around and leave the room.”
“I’ve had you wrapped around me in sleep and naked before,” Nate chuckled, although his heightened
Fuck. No bra.
His eyes zeroed in on the bundle in her arms that he was in the process of taking from her.
“No!” she squeaked, pulling back. “I know where the utility room is. I just thought I’d ask.”
A wicked thought spurred him to find out more. “Sylvie . . .”
He tugged, the bundle unraveled and a tiny scrap of clothing fell to the floor.
Fuck. She’s totally naked under the shirt.
Sylvie, blushing furiously, yanked her clothes free of Nate and crouched on the floor to pick up her panties.
“Uh . . .” Nate stepped back and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“You did that on purpose.” Emerald eyes flashed at him accusingly.
He only smirked at her.
“Ugh!” She turned around and stomped to the laundry room.
Nate felt guilty, but then again, he didn’t. Fuck. He was bipolar when it came to her. Anyway, Sylvie paid him back the only way a feisty woman like her would. After she tossed her clothes in the washing machine, she returned to the living room and watched TV beside him on the couch.
Sylvie. Naked under his shirt.
Nothing happened obviously. She wasn’t really seducing him, but more like telling him, “Hey, you were a dick for wanting to know if I were wearing undies or not, but here’s me trusting you not to do anything.”
And now he was lying on his bed as wide awake as his dick. His shaft had risen past the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Nate reached down and groaned when he brushed the tip, which was now moistened with pre-cum. He wrapped his hand around his erection, gripped it tight, and started to stroke. He imagined Sylvie on her back, shirt shoved all the way past her tits. Her breasts weren’t big, but he remembered how her dusky nipples responded when he had sucked them. Nate groaned again.
“Sylvie,” he muttered. “Fuck.” He pumped his dick harder. Now he imagined his face between her thighs as he lapped up her juices. She’d moan and squirm against his face as he ate her out. Finally he would push inside her . . .
“Fuck!” Nate grunted. He stiffened as warm jets of cum landed on his abdomen. He continued milking his cock, still imagining thrusting into Sylvie, fucking her hard into his couch.
After an indeterminate stretch of time, he looked down at the mess he’d created and muttered, “Fuck.”
CHAPTER FIVE
She continued cranking the pasta machine. Ramen noodles were everywhere. Tangled in her hair, stuck to the ceiling, hanging from the kitchen cabinet. Flour spilled into a mound on the counter top, the smell of potassium bicarbonate reacting with her dough permeated the air like soured beer. Sylvie needed to get this recipe right.
Crank.
Crank.
Crank.
Her face started itching from the specks of flour. She swiped her sleeve on her face, but it too was covered in powdery residue.
“Perfection, Sylvie San. You will never amount to much if you do not strive for perfection,” her chef-mentor’s voice echoed around her.
Crank.
Crank.
Crank.
The noodles continued to stick together. Too much water? More flour? Sylvie yanked them from the machine in frustration and hurled them on the wall. She grabbed more flour to make more dough, but the air suddenly became pressing. She couldn’t breathe.
“It will be okay, Sylvie.”
She looked up, and there was Nana, looking at her with understanding.
“I can’t let you die, Nana.”
“It will be okay.”
“Nana . . .”
“Sylvie.”
She awoke to Nate’s frowning face and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
“You were mumbling in your sleep and uh . . .” He glanced down her body. “Thrashing around.”
The shirt she was wearing was bunched around her waist exposing her bare vagina. Yanking the shirt down in mortification, she croaked, “A decent man would turn around and leave the room.”
“I’ve had you wrapped around me in sleep and naked before,” Nate chuckled, although his heightened
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