Eve: Drink Of Me (F&L Story #2)

Eve: Part 14

Part 14

Monday, May 23, 2010  4:45 a.m.

Hours later, Eve stretched languidly next to a snoring Clint.  She felt wonderful.  Her body was exhausted and liquidy and so very relaxed.  Clint had been diligent in his attention to her, taking her up against the shower stall after she’d cleaned him scrupulously with shower gel, and then again in bed, both of them not bothering to dry off with towels.  He licked off every drop of water from her body, and the little extra wetness that her body produced, and she returned the favor with gusto.  She smiled at how he warned her to either stop or get a Clint-imbued surprise.

She opted to continue.

When he finally slipped from her mouth, sated and sensitive, he flipped her over to her back and started all over again.  Now, the night was drawing to an end, and morning was fast approaching, and Eve hadn’t slept a wink.  She couldn’t.  Her mind was reeling, and her muscles and bones had long ago melted into the sheets of his king size bed.

Clint’s hand snaked up her stomach and cupped around her bare breast.  She looked over at him.  Still asleep.  His wavy hair, drying in thick clumps over his forehead, and his satisfied smile pulled at her heartstrings.  She resisted the urge to brush that thick hair back from his face, but she didn’t want to wake him yet.  He needed his sleep.  He’d worked hard last night, and he will need his energy for later.

His eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks.  Why is it that men have the thickest lashes? she wondered, itching to touch them.  It's just not fair.  Actually, a lot of things weren't fair.  Starting with how she didn't have the guts to ask him about his alcoholism.  It wasn't fair that Clint knew how much she suffered watching Carey go through his treatments while she didn't understand anything about Clint's suffering. 

She saw the fear and anxiety in his face when he asked about her job as a bartender.  And she just didn't have the cajones to ask him about it.  If he didn't bring it up, then neither would she.  Clint had probably talked the subject to death with so many people.  Eve didn't want to be one of them.  She didn't want to get that involved with him.  Already, he was making her feel things she'd sealed her heart off from.  If – no, when they finally decide to part ways, Eve desired a clean break.  No guilt because he was an alcoholic.  No shame that she didn't do anything to help him. 

After all, how could she help him if he didn't ever tell her he needed help?  Right?  She'd be blameless.

She sighed heavily, flicking her gaze over his sleeping face.  If only he was...

No.  No If Only's.  Sex, that's all we have.

Eve lifted his arm and slithered out of his grasp.  She detoured to the bathroom before going into the kitchen to make coffee.  Realizing she still wore nothing but her birthday suit, she looked into the laundry room for a shirt to pull over her head.  A glance at the clock on the microwave told her that it was barely five-thirty, and her stomach told her she needed nourishment. 

Food.  When was the last time she craved real food?

Eve remembered a time when she could lay around on her couch all day with a bag of chips or a box of Chex Mix, and not worry about gaining a pound.  She had the genetics for it, but lately it seemed the less she ate, the more she gained.  Stress, she mused.  Stress could screw up your body and metabolism.  She was fairly sure Clint was a cure for that.

A hasty search revealed a carton of eggs and some bacon, and Eve set about fixing breakfast for herself and the gorgeous man still in bed.  She sipped her coffee and whistled a tune, and she laughed at herself trying to flip the cheese omelet, and giggled when it broke apart in the pan.