EPISODE 8- Touch Me
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a sudden, hungry collision, a release of all the simmering tension that had been building between us for weeks. I caught him completely off guard. I felt his body stiffen in surprise, a muffled sound catching in his throat against my lips. But it lasted only a second. Then, a low groan rumbled from his chest and his mouth softened, opening to mine, and he was kissing me back with a fervor that stole the air from my lungs.
Oh god. I was instantly, utterly lost. My hands came up to frame his face, my fingers sliding into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to me as if he might vanish. The taste of him was intoxicating—a hint of the red wine we'd shared with dinner, something uniquely him, something dark and sweet and masculine. It was just as good as his cooking. Perfect. Who needed a formal, drawn-out courtship? All the dates in the world couldn't have prepared me for the raw electricity of this moment.
I didn't care that he hadn't officially wooed me. In my mind, as our tongues met and danced a frantic, wet rhythm, we were already dating. We were this.
Driven by a need I could no longer leash, I grabbed his wrist, his hand so much larger than mine, and guided it from my waist up to my chest, pressing his palm firmly against the soft swell of my breast over my thin blouse. His fingers twitched, then curled, his whole arm tensing as he actively resisted the urge to squeeze.
"Charles," I breathed against his mouth, my voice a husky whisper I barely recognized. "Please… I want you to… help me massage my titty." The old, silly joke about it curing cancer felt like the only safe way to voice my desperate need. "Cos we were told that it cures cancer."
I felt him smile into the kiss, a brief break in the intensity. "Control yourself, Beth, please. Just… let's stop," Charles said, his voice rough with a desire he was clearly fighting. He tried to pull his hand away, but I held it tight against me.
"Why should I stop when this is all I want from you, Charles?" The words were out before I could filter them, raw and honest. I'm already so wet, aching with a throbbing emptiness that only he could fill. And he's being so stubborn.
"But you have to control yourself, okay? There's another day. And the food is getting cold already. You know you still have to take it to your sister." His logic was infuriating, a bucket of cold water on the fire he'd just stoked.
"But—" I started to protest, to tell him my sister could wait, that the world could wait.
He cut me off, placing a gentle, silencing finger on my swollen lips. "No ifs and buts, baby. I cherish you so much. And I would also love to have a special moment with you… but not today."
God. The sincerity in his eyes, the struggle in his voice, was almost as potent as his kiss. He wanted to. He was just choosing to be a gentleman. The realization cooled my desperation, replacing it with a warm, throbbing ache of anticipation. Okay, Beth. Get a grip. Don't sound too desperate.
I forced a smile, letting go of his hand. "Okay. No problem. I love you, Charles," I said, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertip.
He captured my finger, kissing its tip. "And I do love you too, Beth. So, what time are you coming tomorrow?"
"When I'm done with the laundry," I replied, my body still humming from his touch.
"Okay. So let me drop you off. I'm sure your sister would have been back by now."
"Yeah. Let me quickly go and pack the food."
"No, don't worry, sit. Let me assist you," he said, his voice back to its normal, soothing tone. He disappeared into the kitchen, and I took the moment to try and slow my racing heart.
A few minutes later, we were pulling up outside my apartment building. The short drive had been charged with a silent, heavy tension, every glance between us sparking with unsaid promises.
"Welcome to my little abode," I said, pushing the door open and gesturing for him to follow me in.
Harvey looked up from the couch, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Uncle Charles! Welcome to our house!" she said, offering a playful, exaggerated bow.
He laughed, the sound warm and easy. "Thanks, lovely."
"So where's the food, please? I can't wait to taste you guys' meal and give my judgment already," Harvey said, licking her lips dramatically as she took the insulated bag from me.
"So this is it. I hope you guys know which plate is whose," she asked, already unzipping it.
"Yeah, we do. So eat," I replied, perching on the arm of the couch.
She opened the first container and dug in. "Hmm. Whose meal is this?" she asked around a mouthful.
"Don't worry, taste the second one please before asking," Charles responded, leaning against the doorframe, looking infuriatingly calm and handsome.
She opened the second plate, and her eyes went wide. "Wow," was all she said after the first bite. "WOW. Yummy, this is so delicious, sis! The mashed potatoes are incredible. Where did you get them?" she asked, already going in for another forkful.
"Take it easy, madam," I chuckled. Charles was smiling, a knowing little smirk, and I shot him a look to behave.
"So, Harvey, who's the winner? Just point to the food that won," Charles said, raising an eyebrow.
"It's this one," she said, pointing decisively at his container. "Here's the winner. Please, just tell me whose food it is."
Oh, you little traitor, I thought with affection. But before I could confess, Charles spoke up.
"I said it. It's your sister's food." He was lying straight to her face. I was shocked.
"Don't mind him, it's his food," I interjected, my loyalty to the truth outweighing my desire to win.
"It's hers, okay?" he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Since you won, I'd give you a gift, but till tomorrow. So, I've got to go now." He made a move toward the door.
"Thanks so much, Harvey, for judging. What did you think of my food?" he asked.
"It's delicious, I won't lie, but not as much as the other one. So I don't know you cook like this! In fact, you're a great cook. Some men can't even cook. And where did you get the mashed potatoes? I loved them," she pressed.
"I made them," Charles replied simply.
Harvey's jaw dropped. "WOW, Uncle Charles, you're too good. Don't worry, I reserve my comments," she said, her smile telling me she knew exactly what had just happened.
"Alright, girls, I've got to go now," he said, his hand on the doorknob.
"Let me see you off," I said, following him out into the dimly lit hallway.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, I turned to him. "Why did you do that? You should have taken your credit."
He leaned closer, his body crowding mine against the wall, his gaze intense. "I don't want your sister to feel bad about you, that's why. You know I love you so much, huh?" The way he looked at me, straight in the eye, sent a fresh jolt of desire straight through my core.
"Yeah, I do. And I love you too. Thank you so much," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight hug.
He held me for a moment, then turned his head and gave me a quick, soft kiss on the cheek. I smiled, nuzzling against him.
"So, go back in. I'm good. I'll call you when I get inside."
"Alright, dear. Bye," I said, reluctantly pulling away and slipping back into the apartment.
The door had barely closed before Harvey pounced. "Hmm, sister, sister. You guys are a couple now, right?" she teased, her eyebrows wiggling.
"Mind your business, miss," I said, feeling a blush heat my cheeks.
"I know it's Uncle Charles that won, 'cos I know the taste of your meal the moment I tasted it. But he's a wonderful man for letting you win."
"Yes, don't mind him. He's a good cook. Even more than me, I won't lie. When I tasted it, it was so delicious. Too good."
"Some men can't even cook. You already found your perfect man," she said, just as my phone started ringing on the kitchen counter. I smiled, my heart leaping, and went to answer it.
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