Cream of the Crop
Page 72
When it was time for lunch, we headed down to the south end of the market to get sandwiches for everyone from the guys who owned the local salumeria. Salami, prosciutto, mortadella—they piled everything onto enormous sandwiches made with some of the best bread in town. As we waited for our Italians on French with everything, he slipped his arms around me from behind, under cover of my apron, leaned his head on my shoulder, and whispered filthy, naughty things into my ear as he slid one hand into my panties to find me wet and wanting.
I was so close I nearly let him get me off in front of a hundred hoagies.
And as the day wound down, I noticed that every time Oscar walked past me or reached around me to grab something, he made sure to grab something else. His hands rubbed my bottom every chance he got. I loved it. I may have even stuck my butt out on purpose to make sure it was in his way.
Finally the last customer paid for his cheese, the market was officially closed, and the stalls started coming down. Thank God, because the sexual tension that was pinging back and forth could have lit up an entire city block. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by his team, which could have been why they had the booth broken down and loaded onto the trucks in record time.
As we said good-bye to everyone, he took my hand, which was also lost on no one, and steered me in the direction of his truck.
“Today was fun,” I said, leaning into his arm. His hand was warm in mine, his fingers laced solidly through mine, his thumb tracing the inside of my palm. I knew these tracings. They were the same ones he drew on my back, or on my front, or on my thighs, or on my bum, before and after he loved on me. For someone who didn’t let a lot of people in, he seemed to love to touch and to be touched. I sighed contentedly, tucking my other hand into his arm, nuzzling his flannel shirt. He smelled clean and sweet, with a touch of barn and clover.
“Fun?” he asked. “You’ve been to the market before—every week, like clockwork.” He looked down, his eyes teasing.
“Damn straight. I had to get my Brie.”
He grinned, not buying it for a second. “Only the Brie, huh?”
“Certainly not for the conversation,” I replied, earning a swat on the butt.
“Thank God you did. Watching you walk away, and getting to see that sweet ass every week—mmm, woman, the thoughts you gave me.”
“Tell me,” I said, looking up at him.
“Tell you what?”
“What you thought about me, before we met.”
“You mean before you scared my cows and then attacked me in Leo’s barn?”
“Yes. Before the luckiest day of your life, what did you think of me when you saw me, stumbling and stammering each Saturday?” I stopped in the street, turning into him as throngs of people pushed past us like water breaking over a boulder.
“Well, you know I loved your ass,” he began.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a great ass, a sweet ass, a beautifully perfect, great, big ass—this we know.” I slapped at his chest. “But did you think anything else?”
“I wondered what made you so nervous.”
“Maybe I was just the nervous type. Ever think of that?” I teased.
“No way. I watched you sail through the market each week like you fucking owned the place. You only got nervous when you got to my line.”
“Wait, what?”
“You don’t think I noticed you before you got in my line, Pinup?” he asked, sweeping a piece of hair back from my face. “Each week you’d come in from the east, buy your coffee, stop at a few other booths, and then you’d come see me. And you’d strut through the place like a peacock, tits up and out, secret smile on your face, knowing exactly what you looked like and enjoying the shit out of the attention.”
My mouth was hanging open.
“And then you’d come see me, and the swagger was gone, and you’d roll on those gorgeous ankles a little, and it was like you’d disappear. And I always wondered why.”
“Because you’re so beautiful,” I answered, slipping under that spell I always felt with him. I wasn’t tongue-tied anymore, but there was still something kind of magical about him that would never go away.
“You’re beautiful,” he countered—and just like that, his lips were on mine. Slow and sweet, he kissed me like we were in a meadow all alone, not a care in the world. When in truth, we were surrounded by hundreds of people on a crowded city street in Manhattan. People with shopping bags banging into my shins, tourists with camera phones pointed up crashed into us as they tried to capture their New York City experience. And people from the neighborhood, just out to enjoy their Saturday, were grumbling for us to get a room, take it inside.
But it didn’t matter. Because when that man kissed me, it was magic. And I was 100 percent under his spell. When he finally pulled his mouth away from mine, I could see how hungry he was.
“How far is your place?”
“If we drive your truck, we’ll spend an hour looking for a parking space.”
“If we do it your way?”
“We’ll be home in ten minutes.”
He bent down and nipped my neck. “Ten minutes, then.”
I got him there in eight.
As soon as I closed the front door he pressed me up against it, holding me there with the strength of his body as he kissed me fast and furious. He bared my breasts quickly, ripping my shirt and scattering buttons. With his mouth closing around one nipple and his left hand teasing the other, his right hand unsnapped my jeans, tugged down the zipper, and shoved inside.
I was so close I nearly let him get me off in front of a hundred hoagies.
And as the day wound down, I noticed that every time Oscar walked past me or reached around me to grab something, he made sure to grab something else. His hands rubbed my bottom every chance he got. I loved it. I may have even stuck my butt out on purpose to make sure it was in his way.
Finally the last customer paid for his cheese, the market was officially closed, and the stalls started coming down. Thank God, because the sexual tension that was pinging back and forth could have lit up an entire city block. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by his team, which could have been why they had the booth broken down and loaded onto the trucks in record time.
As we said good-bye to everyone, he took my hand, which was also lost on no one, and steered me in the direction of his truck.
“Today was fun,” I said, leaning into his arm. His hand was warm in mine, his fingers laced solidly through mine, his thumb tracing the inside of my palm. I knew these tracings. They were the same ones he drew on my back, or on my front, or on my thighs, or on my bum, before and after he loved on me. For someone who didn’t let a lot of people in, he seemed to love to touch and to be touched. I sighed contentedly, tucking my other hand into his arm, nuzzling his flannel shirt. He smelled clean and sweet, with a touch of barn and clover.
“Fun?” he asked. “You’ve been to the market before—every week, like clockwork.” He looked down, his eyes teasing.
“Damn straight. I had to get my Brie.”
He grinned, not buying it for a second. “Only the Brie, huh?”
“Certainly not for the conversation,” I replied, earning a swat on the butt.
“Thank God you did. Watching you walk away, and getting to see that sweet ass every week—mmm, woman, the thoughts you gave me.”
“Tell me,” I said, looking up at him.
“Tell you what?”
“What you thought about me, before we met.”
“You mean before you scared my cows and then attacked me in Leo’s barn?”
“Yes. Before the luckiest day of your life, what did you think of me when you saw me, stumbling and stammering each Saturday?” I stopped in the street, turning into him as throngs of people pushed past us like water breaking over a boulder.
“Well, you know I loved your ass,” he began.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a great ass, a sweet ass, a beautifully perfect, great, big ass—this we know.” I slapped at his chest. “But did you think anything else?”
“I wondered what made you so nervous.”
“Maybe I was just the nervous type. Ever think of that?” I teased.
“No way. I watched you sail through the market each week like you fucking owned the place. You only got nervous when you got to my line.”
“Wait, what?”
“You don’t think I noticed you before you got in my line, Pinup?” he asked, sweeping a piece of hair back from my face. “Each week you’d come in from the east, buy your coffee, stop at a few other booths, and then you’d come see me. And you’d strut through the place like a peacock, tits up and out, secret smile on your face, knowing exactly what you looked like and enjoying the shit out of the attention.”
My mouth was hanging open.
“And then you’d come see me, and the swagger was gone, and you’d roll on those gorgeous ankles a little, and it was like you’d disappear. And I always wondered why.”
“Because you’re so beautiful,” I answered, slipping under that spell I always felt with him. I wasn’t tongue-tied anymore, but there was still something kind of magical about him that would never go away.
“You’re beautiful,” he countered—and just like that, his lips were on mine. Slow and sweet, he kissed me like we were in a meadow all alone, not a care in the world. When in truth, we were surrounded by hundreds of people on a crowded city street in Manhattan. People with shopping bags banging into my shins, tourists with camera phones pointed up crashed into us as they tried to capture their New York City experience. And people from the neighborhood, just out to enjoy their Saturday, were grumbling for us to get a room, take it inside.
But it didn’t matter. Because when that man kissed me, it was magic. And I was 100 percent under his spell. When he finally pulled his mouth away from mine, I could see how hungry he was.
“How far is your place?”
“If we drive your truck, we’ll spend an hour looking for a parking space.”
“If we do it your way?”
“We’ll be home in ten minutes.”
He bent down and nipped my neck. “Ten minutes, then.”
I got him there in eight.
As soon as I closed the front door he pressed me up against it, holding me there with the strength of his body as he kissed me fast and furious. He bared my breasts quickly, ripping my shirt and scattering buttons. With his mouth closing around one nipple and his left hand teasing the other, his right hand unsnapped my jeans, tugged down the zipper, and shoved inside.
