On the other, cold food that could be reheated.
She chose the orgasm, and I, in turn, tossed her on the bed and ate her out so thoroughly, I think she actually had two orgasms. A big one and then a smaller one right on the heels of that when I nipped her clit with my teeth as she was coming down. She shrieked in surprise and her back arched off the bed, and I was so fascinated by her response, I pressed two fingers in her wet * and felt the tremors of that release from the inside. Made me start to get hard again, but I figured we needed to eat and get some sustenance for what I had planned for her.
So I pulled a weak-kneed Cat from the bed and tossed her a t-shirt from one of my drawers. After I pulled on a pair of jeans, we stumbled into the kitchen where I fixed us up two plates. Because I was starved and horny for her again, I didn’t bother heating the food. The look on Cat’s face right now tells me she’s not a fan of cold grub.
“The sooner we eat, the sooner I can fuck you,” I tell her in a matter-of-fact manner.
“You’re insatiable,” she says with a grin, then pokes her fork into the mac and cheese.
“You’re a bad influence,” I tell her with a return smile full of mischief, but then I feel the smile slide right off my face when I hear my phone ringing from the bathroom where I left it with my clothes.
Wake Up Call.
I ignore it and stab at the meatloaf, pissed that Tarryn’s calling me again and that she can’t take a hint. Even more pissed that she’s ruining my hard-on.
“Do you need to get that?” Cat asks softly.
I look up at her with a shake of my head. “Nah. We’re eating, and this is fabulous by the way.”
Her eyes light up from the praise. Thankfully, the phone goes silent.
Sadly, it starts ringing again.
Wake Up Call.
I lock my jaw and make busy work cutting up the rest of my meatloaf. Cat doesn’t say a word.
Finally, the phone stops ringing, but within just a few seconds, it’s starts again with that vile song I used to love but now hate because it reminds me about the worst of Tarryn.
“Christ,” I mutter, dropping my fork to the plate and rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration.
Raising my face, I see Cat looking at me with her head tilted and faint worry in her eyes.
“Maybe you should get that.”
The phone stops ringing and for a blessed moment, I think maybe she’s done. I even reach back for my fork, but then it starts back up again.
“Son of a bitch,” I curse as I push up from the table and stalk to the bathroom where I’d left my phone before I got in the shower. I stab at the Accept button and growl, “For fuck’s sake, Tarryn.”
“I was worried since you hadn’t called me back from this morning,” she says in that clipped New England accent that hasn’t faded much after living several years out west.
“Here’s a fucking hint,” I tell her as the anger continues to rise within me. “I didn’t call you back because I have nothing to say to you.”
“Come on, Rand,” she says in a soothing voice. “You don’t really mean that. Regardless of you being angry right now, we shared too damn much for you to just disregard me.”
Closing my eyes, I drop my head in resignation because she is right about that. I could never disregard Tarryn. In fact, my problem was always that I regarded her too much. One of the reasons I tried to avoid her now was because she always seemed to say the right thing to suck me back in. My need to nurture and develop inherently kicking in. It makes it hard to completely let go sometimes. It is also probably proof of why she has a specialized ring tone to alert me to her call, so I have the choice to talk to her or not versus just blocking her number completely.
And as if to prove that sentiment, she strikes fast and hard. “I’ve started training again. Going to take a shot at the giant slalom. There’s an event at Copper Mountain in November.”
Gritting my teeth, I hold back the flurry of curses I want to spew at her. Instead, I force myself to say in a calm voice, “That’s great. I’m sure you’ll do great.”
She’s silent a moment, but then she prods. “Could use a good coach.”
“Plenty around this area,” I say.
“Interested in the job?” she asks with an awkward chuckle.
“You know I’m not, Tarryn,” I say quietly, sneaking a peek toward the kitchen. Cat’s eating silently, her face lowered in an attempt to give me privacy, I think, but that’s impossible in an apartment this small.
“Come on, Rand,” Tarryn cajoles. “No one knows my skiing better than you. No one pushes me the way you do.”
I try hard not to snort at that because there was a time in the not so distant past that she hated the way I pushed at her. In fact, the way memory serves, and according to Tarryn, I pushed so hard that she fell right into the arms of another man.