Sugar on the Edge(25)

I vowed to myself if the smell of the food woke her up, I’d offer her some and send her on her way. When that didn’t work, I figured the banging around in the kitchen while I ate and then rinsed my dishes would wake her up, and then I’d send her on her way. She stayed soundly asleep.

Only after I grabbed a bottle of scotch and a glass, this one a plastic tumbler with a brown and green palm tree on it, and poured my first drink, did I sit on the loveseat opposite of her and vow to myself I’d wake her up after I finished my first one.

Now, two glasses of scotch later, she still hasn’t stirred. I don’t know why I’m not waking her up and making her leave. Staring at her in the dim light cast from the one lamp I have turned on, my thoughts take a dark turn. Why is this slip of a girl causing me so much fascination? She’s not like my usual brand of tramp that I like to fuck and then tell them to get the fuck out of dodge. I’m attracted to her… sure. But it scares me to think that the attraction is because I can’t quite figure her out. I normally steer clear of any type of situation that takes me out of my comfort zone, and she definitely makes me uncomfortable.

I’m pleasurably warmed by the scotch, yet I hesitate to pour another glass. Just weeks ago, I only survived my life by drinking myself into a stupor most nights. Sometimes I’d really launch myself into oblivion by taking some coke, desperate to escape my past.

But now, I don’t have that compulsion. I’m drinking my scotch tonight and enjoying the smoky, sweet flavor… relishing the slow burn when it hits my stomach. I’m not burning my taste buds out by gulping it down, but rather taking small sips to appreciate the fine art of single malt chemistry.

It’s definitely an appreciation tonight, not a compulsion.

Sitting in the semi-dark, sipping my liquor and watching a woman sleep. Some would find that romantically sweet. I find it to be macabre, because no matter the fascination sweet Savannah holds for me, when it boils right down to it, deep down I want to break her. I want to prove to myself that she’s nothing special… that she’s exactly as I imagine her to be. An uninteresting sort of woman who thinks more of herself than she actually is, and in the grand scheme of things, she’ll never amount to more.

It’s why I haven’t changed the plot line of her character. Yeah… she called me an asshole, and yeah, she’s asserting herself with me more, but she’d never have done those things if I hadn’t practically dared her to do them. She doesn’t have it in her… not for the long haul anyway, to really push at me.

Demand of me.

Demand of anyone, for that matter.

No, she doesn’t have the strength of character that would be deserving of heroine status in my book, so I’m not changing a damn thing I’ve written just because she’s shown a little gumption of late.

Savannah lets out a soft sigh from the couch, and I watch her intently. The hand across her stomach moves up, and she stretches both of them over her head, arching her back off the couch in a sleepy stretch. It pulls her T-shirt up higher, exposing more of her stomach and thrusting her breasts out.

The two glasses of scotch I’ve had haven’t mellowed me enough that my dick doesn’t take notice of the unintentional, but sexy move. It thumps against the zipper of my jeans with interest.

I wonder if I could seduce her… right now? I wonder if I gave into this attraction… this lust that’s brewing for her, could the pounding of my cock between her legs drive her right out of my thoughts for good? Maybe that’s what I need… just to fuck her, with raw, primal energy… enough to scare her away for good. Maybe then, I could quit thinking about her. She’d run away crying, her dignity shredded, and I could hire a new cleaning service and be done with her.

Savannah takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then goes still. I can’t see if her eyes are open in the shadows where she lies, but by the measured movement of her chest, I think she’s gone back down under.

Setting my empty tumbler on the table beside me, I stand up and walk over to the couch. I stare down at her, her face so serene and peaceful. I wonder if she’s dreaming.

Without a second thought, I sit down on the edge of the couch, in a small area available to me by her left hip. Taking my finger, I stroke it over the skin of her stomach and say, “Sweet… it’s time to wake up?”

She gives a soft moan in her sleep and arches her back off the cushions again.

And fuck, that’s sexy.

And yeah, I definitely want to fuck her.

“Savannah,” I call out to her softly and bring my hand up to her face, grazing my fingers over her temple. “You need to wake up.”