had turned out to be her. The ugly blonde with the awful pink uniform. She was wearing a black t-shirt and navy shorts now and they looked better on her. He froze seeing her staring at a piece of paper. Despite realizing the wrong impression she was taking from that drawing, he couldn’t look away from the remarkable changes of expression in her face. Surprise, with her eyebrows shooting to her forehead and aquamarine eyes getting big. Followed by the grim realization that she was staring at herself, and her nose reddened as if burned by the sun. When she looked up and saw him, the betrayal and hurt were in the blush getting more vivid with each passing second and the violent wobbling of her chin.
Still ugly. Uglier in the daylight but he couldn’t tear his eyes off her. Those eyes.
Lucy looked hurt and Desmond stepped forward to reach for her. But she refused comfort, refused to hear any of his explanations-not that he tried hard enough. He was too caught up by changes in her face, the emotions flitting through her eyes. Then when her broken voice uttered that she knew what she looked like but he had no right, it was like breaking through the surface. Desmond didn’t realize just how hurt she was until that moment. “What do you think you look like?” He had asked. But Lucy’s partner showed up and there was nothing more to do. Even when he chased after them and asked again, Lucy refused to answer. Instead she gave him her eyes again, breathtaking aquamarines shining with her distress.
Right now she was standing in front of him, her big hand grasping the doorknob like it was a lifeline. The sight of her was an attack to his senses, his thoughts. Seeing her so close was doing things to him that shouldn’t happen-knees weakening, cock thrusting stubbornly against the limits of his underwear, his pants. I’ve been without a woman too long.
But he couldn’t stop drinking her in and there was so much of her. The mess of her hair that he realized now was more straw than pale blonde. The freckles splashed from her forehead down to her legs-Desmond had never seen anyone covered in so many freckles. Her shoulders were broad, wider than his. As he had guessed, she had small breasts-more breasts than breasts, really. He was confused about his reaction to such an ugly creature but his mouth watered at her nipples pressing against the white fabric. It wasn’t cold in her apartment. Desmond had to take a deep breath upon wondering if her nipples were so prominent, if they were often hard. Her drawstring shorts revealed thick but firm-looking thighs. And the legs. How was it possible to have such long legs?
He looked back at her face, focusing on her eyes. Finding his voice, he held up a box of pizza. “I come in peace.” He held the leather portfolio under his other arm.
She frowned. “What do you want? How did you know I live here?”
“You said Arabella’s your neighbor. That didn’t need a lot of math.”
“Oh.” Her eyes dropped to her feet and a blush swept from her face down to her chest. Desmond shuddered, not from revulsion, but the overwhelming urge to press his tongue on each spot. I need to fuck a woman soon.
“Lucy,” and he liked saying her name. “I ask again, can I come in?”
She worried her thick lip until it was red and wet. Desmond clutched the portfolio, glad his hands were full. He wouldn't be able to resist touching the slick, swollen flesh. Then she nodded, stepping aside.
As he walked past her, he caught the scent of oranges-clean and fresh, vital. It was so much better than the dog stink she carried with her the first time although, he amended to himself, if she was wearing the tank top then he wouldn’t mind so much. Lucy closed the door.
Her apartment was a humble studio. He saw everything at once: the half-pen curtain that served as a partition between her bed and the rest of the space, the loveseat by the window, with a pretty, blue cello resting against it. A dining table for two against the wall and the kitchen, with a sink and about a quarter of the size of a regular counter. Desmond’s closet was bigger but there was a cozy, intimate feel to the space, rather than pristine and elegant.
“You can put the pizza there,” Lucy pointed at the dining table. She walked toward the fridge then paused, blushing. Staring at him then back at her feet, she mumbled, “Um, I don’t have anything to drink. I have water. But no beer. I have one can of soda and it’s yours, if you want.”
Desmond gave her a pleased smile. “Water is fine.”
She looked at him questioningly.
Flushing, he put the box on the table, the portfolio on a spot on the floor near his seat. “I haven’t touched alcohol in years, Lucy. I’d rather keep at it.”
She’s going to think that I’m an alcoholic pervert.
She reddened again-does she ever stop blushing-before stammering, “You can have the soda.” Yet she also sounded stubborn, defiant. Contrasts, Desmond thought.
“Only if you don’t want it.”
“It’s yours.” She growled.
“We should share.”
She blinked at him, clearly startled.
She could be obstinate but sweet, he realized. “I would like for us to share, Lucy.”
“Okay.”
Desmond flipped open the box while Lucy got glasses. It was sweet that she poured a perfect half of the soda into each glass. He tucked the cover of the pizza box at the bottom so there was space for their glasses. Her fingers brushed his when handing him the glass. Desmond nearly groaned out loud at finding her skin there to be soft and smooth. I should go find myself a woman after this.
She sat down and he followed suit. Warily, she asked, “What are you doing here, Desmond?”
She shifted, bumping her knee on his. Desmond stiffened but Lucy, unaware, continued, “It’s been a long, emotionally exhausting day. As much as I appreciate the pizza, I need you to be straight with me. What’s your angle?”
“I wish to make you understand.”
“You wish to make me understand?”
Well, he had to be a bit of an asshole to get what he wanted from her. That was the plan. It got him what he wanted, always. This wouldn’t be the case with Lucy. As skittish as she was, even when she spent more time talking to her feet than to people, she saw things. Read him clearly. She did sound tired, her voice thick with gravel. Her aquamarines were not as bright. But she stared at him with sharp scrutiny, indicating that she refused to be fooled and despite all his good intentions and the pizza, if he stepped off, she would kick him out.
Desmond wasn’t scared. In fact, his blood was singing. He wanted to dare her.
He changed tactics. “You play the cello?”
Startled at the sudden turn of the conversation, Lucy took a quick swallow of her soda. “Yes.”
“Professionally?” She was young but he thought she must be close to graduating.
She flushed and shook her head. “N-No. Actually, I’m working to get back to school. Um. . .my studies were interrupted due to certain events.”
“Music school?”
“The Camden, yes.”
Desmond had heard of the Camden. Serious students of music practically killed themselves
