Instead I said, "I'm starving."
"Then why aren't you eating?" he challenged.
I picked up my fork and knife and cut it all into bite sized pieces before I started to dig in.
It wasn't until I was four moans into my fourth bite when I realized that Sean wasn't eating.
I looked up at him, fork suspended in the air, and raised my brows at him.
"What?" I asked, taking in the strange look on his face.
"Good?" he sounded slightly strangled.
I nodded, not answering.
He carefully picked up his fork, speared a bite, and then popped it into his mouth.
He didn't moan, and I wondered if he had enough gravy. I eyed his plate, seeing his large knife resting against the side of the plate, and returned my attention to Sean's eyes.
"I think you need more gravy."
He looked at me like I was just on this side of crazy.
"I have a lot of gravy," he pointed to the overflowing gravy that was on his mashed potatoes.
"But you have none on your fried chicken. It's sacrilege."
I indicated this by showing him my plate. What I had resembled soup with globs of mashed potatoes and chunks of fried chicken rather than a plate of food dressed with some gravy.
He curled his lip up at me.
"I think I'm good," his lips twitched.
I shrugged and continued to scoop the food into my mouth, wondering if I looked like a fat ass with how much I was eating and how fast I was shoveling it in.
Then I decided not to care.
If he couldn't handle this about me, then we'd never work together. I was a girl who liked to eat. Tacos, fried chicken, gravy, rolls and macaroni and cheese were my all-time favorites. If those five things were in the same room as me, they were going to be eaten. I couldn't help myself.
I was nearly to the end of my meal when I realized, once again, that Sean hadn't eaten nearly as much as I had.
I took one last fork full of food and pushed the plate slightly away.
I would've pushed it further away if there was room to do that, but if I pushed it much more, it would move Sean's plate closer to him. And with the way he was looking at me, I wasn't sure what was wrong with him.
Not wanting to set him off, I watched him staring at me.
It took him a few long minutes, but he finally said something.
"I like that you like my food."
I blinked, surprised by that.
"Okay," I said. "It was really good."
He grinned. "I got that by all the moaning and groaning you were doing. It's like you were having sex … with the food I cooked you," he hesitated. "I want to hear those same sounds coming out of your mouth while my cock is inside of you."
Should I tell him that I wanted that, too? Should I tell him that I'm scared shitless that he'll see me as disgusting when I take my shirt off? Would he notice if I left my shirt on? Or maybe he could take me from behind.
"When you go quiet like this, it drives me fucking insane. I want to know what you're thinking."
His rumbled words had me bringing my eyes-eyes that I hadn't even realized that I'd dropped away from his-back up his assessing gaze.
I chose to run into the bathroom and close the door, composing my thoughts.
Once I'd checked my bag, and washed up, I headed back out to the bedroom where I found him staring at me expectantly.
"You scare me," I informed him. "I want you to like me. I want you to want me. I want you to swear to me that you'll never hurt me. But most of all, I want you to take me with that promise in your eyes that I'll enjoy the shit out of it and you won't let me down."
I wasn't immediately aware of how much of an invitation it sounded like until I was being hauled up by my armpits and then shoved onto the bed.
My back hit the white duvet cover, I bounced and then I found myself without pants.
My shoes had come off with the force of my pants leaving my body, and before I could do anything, even scream, I found myself flipped over onto my belly, my hips brought to the edge of the bed, and my panties following the same direction as my pants had taken only moments before.
I gasped, and went up on my elbows as I tried to brace myself, but I forgot how to breathe when I felt his lips on the inside of my thighs.
"I've wanted to fuck you since I saw you the first day you were on shift with me," he growled. "Wanted to taste you. Touch you. Have you. Now I've got you in my bed, and I can't figure out what I want to do first."
I breathed out shakily.
"To smell your sweet scent with my mouth only inches from your hot," he ran his tongue up the inside of my thigh. "Sweet," the other thigh. "Pussy."