Uncivilized
Page 44
Randall’s smile fades a little. “I understand. I won’t pressure him.”
“That would be good. He can be a very stubborn man,” I say with a smile.
“Tonight will be very casual. I’m having my niece and nephew over. They’re close to Zach’s age, and I figured it would be nice for him to have some friends he can pal around with.”
“Sounds lovely,” I tell him. “Now, I think I’m going to take a shower, if you don’t mind, and then we’ll just see you for dinner at seven.”
“Thank you, Dr. Reed,” Randall says, his voice thick with emotion. “For bringing my boy home.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell him, but honestly, he’s wrong to think that Zach has come home.
Chapter 13
Zach
A knock sounds softly on a side door in my room that I had noticed earlier but didn’t pay any mind. I open it hesitantly and see Moira standing there. We’re due to go down to dinner in about fifteen minutes. I’m not surprised to see her, but I am surprised she’s at this side door, not understanding where she came from.
“Looks like our rooms connect,” Moira says by way of explanation and points back into the bedroom I can now see over her shoulder.
“Interesting,” I say out loud, even as my thoughts turn toward the possibility of sneaking into her room tonight.
Fuck, I’m going crazy with wanting this woman, and not exactly even sure if I’d be welcomed into her body again. I was so confused and angry over her denial of me that I wanted nothing to do with her.
That lasted all of about five minutes.
Then it was back to this insane, unmitigated craving I have for her, and I had to argue with myself for another three days that it was foolish to even pursue anything further. We are too different. I can’t afford to lose control. She wants things of me I can’t give.
I still have no more clarity on the issue.
Moira walks past me into my room. I see she’s put on a white skirt that hugs her h*ps and stops just above her knees. She paired it with a light blue, sleeveless top so I can see the hint of freckles on her shoulders. As is normally her custom, her hair is brilliantly long and loose and I’m dying to run my fingers through it.
Preferably with her bent over before me and f**king her from behind.
But no, that’s not quite true. Not preferably. The minute Moira told me the other day she wanted to take me in her mouth, I’ve been obsessing about that. I immediately shut that notion down because I didn’t think I would be able to handle it and not lose control with her. But the prospect of sinking my fingers into her hair, holding her face still while I pumped in and out of her mouth… yeah, okay. Getting an erection and need to think of something else.
“How old are you, Moira?” I ask her, as it’s something I’ve been curious about.
She walks over to my bed and sits down on the edge. Laughing lightly, she says, “Cultural lesson number one when it comes to women… never ask them their age.”
I can’t help the smile that pops back at her. “Oh, yeah. Why is that?”
“Because modern women are sensitive to aging. A direct question is apparently interpreted to mean, ‘You look old and haggard. Maybe you should consider Botox.’”
“What’s Botox?” I ask in confusion.
Moira giggles and shakes her head with laughing eyes. “It’s something a woman does to make herself look young and pretty. But to answer your question, I’m twenty-eight.”
“Older than me by three years,” I muse out loud.
“You missed a prime opportunity,” she teases as she stands from the bed. “You should have said, ‘Moira, you don’t look a day over twenty-one. You are so youthful and beautiful, you’ll never need Botox.’”
I can’t help but smirk at her. “You don’t need me to tell you that. You know that already.”
Coming to stand before me, Moira pats my forearm. “See, that’s just it, Zach. Women are insecure creatures at times. We absolutely need to hear that.”
“Not you,” I scoff. “You are the most confident woman I’ve ever known.”
“Your experience is with Caraican women,” she points out. “Of course, I’m the most confident woman you’ve ever known.”
“I’ve met plenty of other women over the last few weeks. Observed even more. Trust me; no one holds a candle to you in that respect.”
“But yet it’s a turn off for you,” she says quietly, and her eyes cast downward.
I blink at her in surprise, not just by her words, but by the way she drops her gaze. So not the confident Moira I know. “It’s not a turn off.”
“No?” she asks dubiously but with a hint of challenge as she raises her face upward. “You haven’t spoken to me in several days. You don’t want me unless you can put me on bended knee. I’m not Tukaba, and I never will be.”
Reaching out, I take a lock of her silky hair in my hand, absently rubbing the softness between my fingers. I study it carefully, watching the way the light dances on it. When I raise my eyes to her, I say, “Don’t ever think I don’t want you, Moira. I’m just not sure I can have you and not lose myself along the way.”
“Zach… I don’t want you to lose yourself. And I don’t ever want you to be anyone other than your true self. Please don’t think that.”
“That would be good. He can be a very stubborn man,” I say with a smile.
“Tonight will be very casual. I’m having my niece and nephew over. They’re close to Zach’s age, and I figured it would be nice for him to have some friends he can pal around with.”
“Sounds lovely,” I tell him. “Now, I think I’m going to take a shower, if you don’t mind, and then we’ll just see you for dinner at seven.”
“Thank you, Dr. Reed,” Randall says, his voice thick with emotion. “For bringing my boy home.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell him, but honestly, he’s wrong to think that Zach has come home.
Chapter 13
Zach
A knock sounds softly on a side door in my room that I had noticed earlier but didn’t pay any mind. I open it hesitantly and see Moira standing there. We’re due to go down to dinner in about fifteen minutes. I’m not surprised to see her, but I am surprised she’s at this side door, not understanding where she came from.
“Looks like our rooms connect,” Moira says by way of explanation and points back into the bedroom I can now see over her shoulder.
“Interesting,” I say out loud, even as my thoughts turn toward the possibility of sneaking into her room tonight.
Fuck, I’m going crazy with wanting this woman, and not exactly even sure if I’d be welcomed into her body again. I was so confused and angry over her denial of me that I wanted nothing to do with her.
That lasted all of about five minutes.
Then it was back to this insane, unmitigated craving I have for her, and I had to argue with myself for another three days that it was foolish to even pursue anything further. We are too different. I can’t afford to lose control. She wants things of me I can’t give.
I still have no more clarity on the issue.
Moira walks past me into my room. I see she’s put on a white skirt that hugs her h*ps and stops just above her knees. She paired it with a light blue, sleeveless top so I can see the hint of freckles on her shoulders. As is normally her custom, her hair is brilliantly long and loose and I’m dying to run my fingers through it.
Preferably with her bent over before me and f**king her from behind.
But no, that’s not quite true. Not preferably. The minute Moira told me the other day she wanted to take me in her mouth, I’ve been obsessing about that. I immediately shut that notion down because I didn’t think I would be able to handle it and not lose control with her. But the prospect of sinking my fingers into her hair, holding her face still while I pumped in and out of her mouth… yeah, okay. Getting an erection and need to think of something else.
“How old are you, Moira?” I ask her, as it’s something I’ve been curious about.
She walks over to my bed and sits down on the edge. Laughing lightly, she says, “Cultural lesson number one when it comes to women… never ask them their age.”
I can’t help the smile that pops back at her. “Oh, yeah. Why is that?”
“Because modern women are sensitive to aging. A direct question is apparently interpreted to mean, ‘You look old and haggard. Maybe you should consider Botox.’”
“What’s Botox?” I ask in confusion.
Moira giggles and shakes her head with laughing eyes. “It’s something a woman does to make herself look young and pretty. But to answer your question, I’m twenty-eight.”
“Older than me by three years,” I muse out loud.
“You missed a prime opportunity,” she teases as she stands from the bed. “You should have said, ‘Moira, you don’t look a day over twenty-one. You are so youthful and beautiful, you’ll never need Botox.’”
I can’t help but smirk at her. “You don’t need me to tell you that. You know that already.”
Coming to stand before me, Moira pats my forearm. “See, that’s just it, Zach. Women are insecure creatures at times. We absolutely need to hear that.”
“Not you,” I scoff. “You are the most confident woman I’ve ever known.”
“Your experience is with Caraican women,” she points out. “Of course, I’m the most confident woman you’ve ever known.”
“I’ve met plenty of other women over the last few weeks. Observed even more. Trust me; no one holds a candle to you in that respect.”
“But yet it’s a turn off for you,” she says quietly, and her eyes cast downward.
I blink at her in surprise, not just by her words, but by the way she drops her gaze. So not the confident Moira I know. “It’s not a turn off.”
“No?” she asks dubiously but with a hint of challenge as she raises her face upward. “You haven’t spoken to me in several days. You don’t want me unless you can put me on bended knee. I’m not Tukaba, and I never will be.”
Reaching out, I take a lock of her silky hair in my hand, absently rubbing the softness between my fingers. I study it carefully, watching the way the light dances on it. When I raise my eyes to her, I say, “Don’t ever think I don’t want you, Moira. I’m just not sure I can have you and not lose myself along the way.”
“Zach… I don’t want you to lose yourself. And I don’t ever want you to be anyone other than your true self. Please don’t think that.”
