Damaged

Twelve

Arnold doesn't answer my question right away, getting out of the car and circling to my side, opening the door and leaning over me to unbuckle my seatbelt for me before lingering over me, his face only inches from mine, "What I want... is to spoil you rotten, Pereskia. Until you can't fucking stand it, and then I'll wrap you up in something pretty and make you beg for it." He punctuates his bold statement by ensnaring my lips with his own, a moan rising to the surface from me to meet the predatory growl that leaks from his chest as his mouth assaults mine in the most deliciously rough fashion before he slows down... he has me so completely overwhelmed by his proximity and the toe-curling sensation of his lips working against mine.

All too soon his mouth is gone and he's licking his lips as he straightens out, a wolfish grin plastered on his handsome face as he offers his hand out to me to use as leverage as I pull myself out of his car, cane in tow. 

"I swear I'm trying to be on my best behavior... you just taste so good..." He murmurs before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting it before checking my face as he ushers me towards the front entrance of the restaurant.  

...

Arnold

....

Peri scrunches his face at me before shaking his head, "I do not. My mouth tastes like a microwaved spoon." 

His mouth hadn't had any metallic edge to it when I had last sampled it, nor any of the other times. As a painter, my cutie must have a knack for reading faces because he seems to decipher the confusion written all over my face as he leans heavily on his cane for a moment in between steps looking like he wants to explain himself, but hesitating over choosing the right words. In the end, he says nothing and tries to focus on navigating the uneven concrete that is ever so prevalent in New York City.

I hadn't thought about parking as far away from the entrance as I had other than giving us a moment of privacy and make a mental note to start making a habit of looking for spots near the front from here on out as I watch his breathing get a little harder the closer we get to the entrance. 

I offer him my arm to lean on and he takes it, shooting me a grateful look as he hooks his cane over his wrist and clings in a way that lets me support most of his weight without making a big deal of it. I already know that he's normally self-conscious about his mobility issues... I had seen him scowling at his cane often enough to figure it out a while ago. In all honesty, I would prefer to carry him, but after finally letting my self-control cave a little bit helping him out of the car I don't trust my fingers not to find their way to that sweet ass of his. 

I hadn't been lying about trying to be on my best behavior though I know he probably doesn't believe me anyhow... not with how hard it's been to keep my hands off of him.  Finally being able to touch him after waiting for so long is addictive and dangerous. When he's in my arms it's all too easy to forget that I need to be gentle. Especially right now.

I can make up for that though and have every plan to do so if he's willing to let me after lunch. 

Part of the hospital visit sticks out in my mind and for once I thank the Gods for having the kinky bastard known as Phillip Miller in my life.  I might not be able to trust myself not to grope him in the parking lot in broad daylight doesn't mean I can't distract him and help keep his mind off the pain. 

"Do you like Italian food, Princess?"

I can feel the light shudder roll through him as he tries not to smile at the nickname, hiding his blush as he nuzzles his face into my bicep before a quiet "Yes.." leaks its way up to my ears. He is so adorably cute.