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She finds him in the office.
Sitting there in the chair.
Like he was waiting for her to come to him. It makes her simmering frustration start to boil over again.
For some reason, she didn't leave. Like Nat did. Like Richie, when he finally left them to it. Fucking alone again for once.
He stops looking self-indulgently pathetic before he meets her eyes.
“Like, so that’s it,” she starts, with a shrug. “You’re leaving. I just have to deal with all your shit now. Cool.”
He sighs. “I said, I would be around to help you get it-”
“What-what am I supposed to do with that?” she asks him, throwing her arms in the air. “Half the time the one fucking toilet doesn’t even work-”
“We’ll get it fixed,” he answers, his jaw tensing.
“With what money?” she asks. It's like, does he think it grows on trees, or everyone's rich uncle has a handout, or what?
“Just let me help,” he offers. It almost sounds like begging.
He glances at the open door behind her. There’s silence on the other side.
“What’s the point? You’re leaving,” she tosses back, crossing her arms over her chest like armor.
“Restaurants,” he continues, leaning back into the chair that just gives a tiny bit of resistant squeak. It puts her right on edge for some reason. “I said that I was leaving restaurants.”
What, does he want her to fill in the blanks here?
“Well, this is,” she says, gesturing animatedly. “A fucking restaurant!”
“I’m not leaving,” he repeats softly. So softly, that it's found the chink in her armor. The one opening, and he knows exactly how to use it. She still wants to be mad. She really does.
She's holding her breath; chin raised towards him. The change in her demeanor must be evident, if his expression is to be believed.
“You want to help.” She drops it coolly into the silence hovering between them. A concession.
“Yes. Very much,” he replies, his eyes widening, although he's lowered his voice to a whisper for some reason.
He leans towards her in the office chair now. The squeak punctuating the silence again. They should probably try to fix that, she tells herself, but he weaves together his tattooed fingers, and his tongue crosses his bottom lip. She turns around to hide her reaction.
To look back out the empty door, just like he did. To listen and know that they're very much alone now.
“Then, um, let’s do a walk-through,” she says, gesturing towards the door. “I’ll tell you what needs the most work.”
“Where should we start?”
She turns back towards him, at the hint of amusement in his words. He almost looks like he might smile.
“Here?” she ekes out.
“And does this office work for you? Sydney?” he asks, standing up out of the chair, and she takes a half-step back to give him more room.
“These...these paper clips,” she mutters, reaching for the desk, for any prop, really. His arm brushes against hers as she does it, and she swallows down her reaction. She slides her hand across the surface to capture the object, then holds it up between them.
He focuses on it, intensely.
“They’re too blue,” she announces, as his eyelashes flutter at the idea. “Like, impossibly blue.”
He cracks a smile now. “You don't like blue now?”
“Who says I ever did?” she asks haughtily, tossing her head at him, and watches him try to figure out what to do with that.
“Okay. We'll get you new paperclips,” he says, as though he's unbothered.
Reaching out, he touches her fingers. It's unexpected, and electric, but the paperclip is in his hand now, and he slips it into the pocket of his pants. Leaving her to do whatever the fuck she's supposed to do with herself.
“The chair squeaks?”
“Mmm,” he says contemplatively, nodding. “Maybe it won't, uh, for you?” he asks, and gestures towards it with his hand.
It makes her have to get past him, for them to have to switch places. They somehow manage to do it without touching, but she can feel him everywhere. She sinks down into the chair, her body vibrating with tension. There's no sound now.
But she's eye level, and she looks. She looks and then lifts her eyes to meet his. Her guilty expression flattened with her sucking in her cheeks, like she's saying, I dare you to say something. And his eyes look less blue now. They look...darker.
“Seems like a good fit,” he tells her, eyelashes doing double time as he stares down at her.
“Help me up,” she demands, and sticks her hand out.
He takes it, and pulls her as she raises, until they're so, so close. It's like they're in a contest, to see who is going to give in first now.
“Is, uh,” he tells her, concentrating. “I-I mean. Should we...the FOH,” he manages, laughing quietly at himself.
She snickers, too. It's like a release valve for both of them.
“No. The kitchen, I think?” she says, raising her eyebrows at him.
“Like, we should start at the pass,” he agrees with a nod.
“I think so,” she goes on, pushing past him, forcing him to move out of her way so they don't collide right there in the office. She can feel the nerves in her voice now, almost shaking with each breath, as she makes her way to the end of the counter.
The brief absence of his energy is alarming, and she turns over her shoulder to see if he's even really coming, but he's suddenly there behind her. His familiar smell, that's all him, and she closes her eyes and inhales it, as his breath tingles against the side of her neck.
It's like he's almost right on top of her, and she doesn't know how to start, but then he puts his lips on her neck first, a soft kiss, as she breathes out and leans back into him.
He's right up against her ass, hard as a rock through his pants. She wonders how big or not he is. Has the delicious thought she's about to find out, and turns and reaches back for his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers.
It's wild what happens. No one has ever made her feel like this. No one has ever felt like him to her. He kisses her so gently, so tenderly, that it makes her want to fall apart in his arms, and that's not what she needs right now after what just happened in the alley.
Her hips grind up against his, and he lets out a stuttering breath, swallows deep, closes his eyes, but his hand drops to her waist and directs her to do it again. She threads her fingers through his hair, mussing it, enjoying him turned breathless for her.
They start to move together in a rhythm; they fall into it so easily. She already knows this is going to be so good.
Just so he gets the point, she undoes the belt on her pants quickly. The sharp noise of the buckle tapping against the edge of the counter. She hears the rustle of his clothing, then his fingers move, in between her thighs, finding her wet center with a heated moan that makes her even wetter.
Leaning back into him again, she finds his mouth. He kisses her, getting his tongue into the mix now, as his finger moves inside her. She moans, sending an echo through the kitchen. His slow, relentless pace. His hard cock pressing into her hip now, like warm velvet.
However this happened, she doesn't it want it to stop, so she tries to hold off the urge to come when he moves in closer and slips his hand down her front beneath her underwear. His fingertip just inside her again, his cock teasing against her from the back.
“Oh, fuck me!” she moans, and feels him push inside of her, like he's obeying. He stops being slow about it. She has to lift a hand to try to anchor herself as he fucks her hard, his breathing going shallow. It's like chaos, the best kind of chaos, and her hand hits the bottom of the dish rack above, searching along the edge for a grip.
It's too late. The plate slips out instead, and crashes to the countertop, shattering in front of her.
“Holy shit,” he says, pulling her away from it, fast. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm great, actually,” she answers with a laugh as they both start to smile again now that it's safe.
“Oh, Sydney,” he says, gazing at her, tipping up her chin with the crook of his finger.
He leans in to kiss her again. It starts off slow, but she pulls him in closer, tighter. She wants to feel him inside of her again and she slips her tongue into his mouth, drinks up his groans, and leans back against the counter with the heel of her hand without thinking.
“Shit.” The sharp prick of the shard is there, and she looks at her blood drop onto the counter.
“Fuck me, hold on,” he tells her, zipping himself up quickly and moving away towards the sinks.
He comes back with the first aid kit, and opens it then sets it on the counter.
“Here,” he says, gently taking her hand, carefully starting to clean and dress it with a bandage.
“Thanks,” she tells him appreciatively, their eyes meeting again, both of them turning shy.
She sees what feels like the beginnings of doubt there.
“FOH?” she asks brightly.
“Yeah, um,” he says, turning a deeper shade of red at his face and neck. “Yeah, I'd like that.”
Hooking her finger around his, she pulls him after her through the doors, into the dark room. The light from the streetlamp outside is flooding its way in.
He eyes one of the tables, but she keeps going, until they're at one of the booths in the very back. The darkest corner.
“Could you, um, could you sit?” she asks him, gesturing towards the booth. He starts to move, and she puts a hand on his shoulder. “Wait. Carm. Carmen,” she clarifies, as he turns back to her.
“This,” she tells him, pointing to a pinpoint drop of her blood on his white t-shirt.
He bites on his bottom lip and then pulls the t-shirt up and over his head in one swoop. He's very well-built. There are new tattoos to view and wonder about. A dark trail of hair pointing downward below his stomach that she could feel before.
“Yeah, heard,” tells her, even though she didn't say a thing, which gets a sharp laugh from her. His pants and boxer briefs go down his hips, and he sits down into the booth, waiting.
She slides the striped, blue shirt down her arms, glancing around the room briefly, like there would be anyone else here this late but them? It was always them here. Alone together. All of this time.
“Sydney,” he says admiringly. “You're so fucking hot.”
It pulls her right out of her thoughts. “Are you serious?” she asks, leaning towards him, his hands on her hips.
“Are you?” he asks with his eyebrows raised, his fingers messing with the hem of her t-shirt. “Let me look at you. Since you picked the darkest fucking corner of this-”
She starts to laugh with him, and goes all the way in as they kiss again. They kiss so furiously this time, trying to breathe through it so they don't have to part, while he works her t-shirt up over her head and throws it to the floor. His hand moves her braids out of the way so he can see her ass.
By the time she's thrown her pants off and is seated on his cock, he's up underneath her sports bra, feeling his way across her breasts while she rides him. Head tipped back against the booth, trying to stay in control of his own body. Just watching her expression as she works him over, like she will find a way for them to get even closer.
Her eyes start to roll back. It's not going to take anything to get her to come now.
And then he pulls up the sports bra, exposing her, licking across his lips and then running his tongue across her nipple. Circling it with the point and cupping her breast in his hand. His blue eyes disappear as they close. He hums as she pushes to get more of herself into his open mouth.
She starts to get loud, flashes of whipped cream, whipped to stiff peaks appear in her mind, and he stops and holds her hips in place.
“No, no, I want to watch. Please,” he begs.
“Are you?” she pants, her voice gone all high.
“Yes. I'm close,” he says with a dreamy smile.
“Should we?” she goes on, messing up her face because he pulls his head back at her expression.
“Sydney. I think...we are?” he says with a bright laugh. “Why? Oh, you mean-”
He just looks so happy. She's never seen him look so happy before. It makes her want to tear up. How much he looks like...like exactly how she feels.
“Yeah, I mean,” she tells him, going in for another kiss, her hand carding through his hair, tightening her grip.
“Whatever you want,” he whispers obediently, with lips so ripe and pink.
“I,” she starts, flustered with the idea of saying it aloud. “I want you to come in me.”
“Shit. Okay. Yeah,” he nods, eyes gone wide. His hands palming her hips impatiently. “How?”
“Like you were doing before. In the kitchen,” she requests, biting on her bottom lip.
“Like, back to-to front?”
“Yes,” she confirms with a nod, smiling at him, getting off him as he groans and rises from the booth, stretching his legs. He turns her around, arms bracketed on the table over her.
“But I can't see,” he complains. “I won't see your eyes.”
“I think...I think it'll be alright,” she tells him, turning over her shoulder to look at him, blinking to persuade him of this. His fingers start tracing down along her back.
“You got some ink,” he says delightedly. “Anchovy tin. Nice.”
It is nice. He pushes right into her with that, slow and so deep, it's like he's melting into her, right there on top of her where she wants him.
She almost complains that he goes so slow, but the ache is perfect. It's him. He's stretching out her, stretching out every moment, trying to make the most of this connection, his hands kneading into her hips correctly as he fucks her until she's the one begging.
It's how he says her name that tips her right over the edge into bliss, his hips slamming slow and hard into her. She feels him let go, stuttering against her body. He sounds almost relieved as he goes slack against her back.
He seems out of breath, sighing contentedly.
She still can't believe he's leaving the restaurant.
“That felt...right.”
It echoes through the room and sinks down deep inside of her. They pull themselves apart and start to quietly pick up their clothes.
“We should...,” he starts, his voice sounding pensive. “We should probably talk about some things.”
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” she agrees with a nod. “Also, I think we trashed the kitchen?”
“Okay,” he says with a short laugh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls his t-shirt on.
“And the design of that dish rack. Whose idea was it to put it that height?” she says, slipping on her blue stripped shirt.
“I'll take care of it," he chuckles and plants a sweet kiss on her cheek.
“Carmen,” she answers, her hand on his neck to keep him there a moment more. Their eyes meet again.
“I like this.”
All the softness inside her, it pours out like honey.