Finding You, Looking for Me: A Henry Cavill FanFic

Part 5: Dessert Before Dinner

He asked me question after question on the short ride to my place. How old am I? Where am I from originally? What ethnicity was I? How long have I been bartending? What do I do outside of the bar?

"I've bartended on and off for twenty years. I'm only here once or twice a week. I'm trying to open up my own practice," I told him.

He shook his head, surprised. "Practice?" he asked.

I laughed, "Yes, I'm a practicing psychologist," I said to him. "I have a doctorate, you know," I added.

"Really?" he asked, truly sounding surprised.

"Why are you surprised by this?" I asked him, laughing.

"I don't know, honestly. I suppose you don't really drink like a doctor?"  he said, raising an eyebrow and making a face.

We both laughed. He reached over and placed his large hand on my thigh. I covered his hand with my own, immediately feeling warmth spread in my chest.

"Fun fact!" I told him, excitedly. "If you tell me things in confidence, I can be bound by doctor-patient confidentiality—and cannot legally disclose anything we've talked about."

He looked at me and lost his smile for a moment. His eyes were wide and his lips were pursed in thought.

"Really?" he asked me.

"Really," I reassured him, stealing a glance at his perplexed face.

His eyes shined and he smiled. "So, can I count tonight as psychotherapy?"

"If that makes you feel better about tonight, than sure," I responded. I pulled my car into my garage, and threw the gear in park.

He squeezed my thigh. I swear I felt it in every single part of my vagina. I breathed in sharply.

I led him into my home. The nervousness had disappeared when he rested his hands on my hips, as I unlocked my security door.

"Welcome," I said as I tossed my keys in their designated glass dish. "Can I pour you a glass of wine?"

He put his hands together and smiled like a child, "Yes!"

"Red or white?" I asked him as I opened the bar cabinet's doors.

"Oh, I'll drink whatever you're drinking," he responded, making his way into my home.

Pulling a bottle of Vouvray out of the wine cooler, I popped the cork out in one swift move, and poured two glasses.

"Impressive," he said, referring to my wine bottle opening skills.

"Twenty years," I reminded him.

I handed him his glass, and raised my glass up high.

"A toast," I began, "to a new friendship. To psychotherapy..."

"To making out and dinner dates," he cut in.

I giggled and we clinked glasses. I took a long drink of my wine.

"That's delicious," he said, taking  my glass from my hand and placing both glasses on my dining table.

He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close to him. I looked up at him, eyes big.

"What do you want, Henry?" I asked him, my voice low, heated. I ran my hands across his chest.

"Take me to bed," he said slowly.

"But we haven't even had dinner yet," I said to him, not breaking eye contact. He smirked

Sarah. Use your head...