Page 64 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Four

Mellie

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

Wait, strike that. I do know what I’m doing. I just don’t know why . My neck is burning from that flying little demon bug, and my cock is hard, and my insides are all warm and soft and wanting. I should have given him a sandwich and sent him on his way.

Instead, I closed the damn truck, and now, I’m making him a fried portabella burger in hopes that the way to his dick is through his stomach.

I can feel his gaze on me. I know he knows this is a significant moment, and I play into it. I ensure he’s got the perfect view of my ass as I move around, and it’s obvious he’s into it when I flex my arms and my pecs. He seems to be really into my body, which is kind of nice to feel after this impossibly long dry spell.

But there’s something else hovering between us.

Something more than the promise of a quickie in the back of my truck before we go our separate ways.

I had been dripping with sarcasm when I called him my hero, but the truth was, the way he’d come in here to save me did something to my insides. There’s something in my chest, almost like a second heartbeat. I have never felt like this before.

This man is both everything I want and everything I don’t. I have no idea what to do with that juxtaposition except lean in.

But I can only drag this on for so long. The food is finished—two burgers and two portions of fries now done and nestled in the little paper to-go boxes. I glance around, then jerk my head toward the back of the truck near the open door. It’s the largest empty space and where I usually take my lunches.

And sometimes my stress naps.

He follows me and sits with his back to the supply shelf, his extended thigh almost touching mine. He takes the little container from my grasp and keeps my gaze as he lifts the burger to his mouth and takes a huge bite.

My breath catches in my chest. I don’t know why it matters to me that he likes it. Cooking is pretty much the only thing in my life important to me apart from my family and friends, and some stranger on campus has no power over my self-worth as a chef.

Except it does matter what he thinks.

I want him to love it.

I want him to crave it.

I want him to crave me .

‘Wow.’ His hand shakes loose in front of his chest, his eyes wide. He’s not faking it. There are very few people in the world talented enough to lie to me with their expression. Everyone has tells, but none of his are going off. ‘This is the best thing I have ever eaten.’

Okay, that’s probably a lie, but in the moment, I think he believes it. My head swells a little, and I bite my lip. I can see his half-hard dick twitch in his pants again. He probably thinks it’s not obvious, but it is.

I will have to make sure it’s taken care of before I send him back to work. The last thing he or Robbie needs is a fired terp because of lewd behavior. Though I’m not sure fucking in my food truck in the school parking lot is the best idea. Honestly, it could be a health code violation.

‘Thank you,’ he adds.

I realize all I’ve done is stare, and I brush my hands off on my shirt before answering him. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

‘Does this make us even?’

Fuuuuuck. ‘You did save my life. I’m not sure a burger can make up for that.’

His cheeks pinken, and he glances away for a beat before he looks back, half-panicked. It’s the same thing all hearing people who sign do. They were taught once that not keeping eye contact with a Deaf person is considered the rudest thing you can do in conversation, and they always take it to the most literal extreme.

He’s not staring into my eyes like a crazed serial killer like some do though, which is a plus. But I do wish he’d relax. I wish we were somewhere I could make him relax. Fucking him would definitely get the truck rocking, and I can’t afford that on my record, but maybe a little foreplay…

‘What did you have in mind?’

I almost choke on my tongue. That was forward, and I want more of it. I set aside my untouched food, and he mirrors me. With one hand, I close the truck door, and with the other, I brace myself on the floor beside his ass. His legs are under me now, and mine are stretched far enough to make my over-worked thighs ache.

But I barely feel it. Not with the way he’s looking at me. His hunger goes deep, and his hands are trembling in his lap.

I glance down, and he’s fully hard now. By the size of his tent, I think I’m going to like what’s behind his zipper. Looking back into his eyes, I lift one hand. ‘Yes?’

He nods.

I don’t know if I should kiss him. That seems very intimate, and I have no idea what this is—or what it could become. He’s breaking all my rules, but they suddenly seem so damn arbitrary and pointless. Have I been missing out on something good all because I had this idea of what love was meant to be like for me?

Whoa, wait. No. Hold on. This is not love. This isn’t even close. This is some guy—some hearing, nerdy academic who, granted, is fluent in my language with only a little bit of an accent, but still—in my food truck after saving me from the big, bad wasp.

I am panicking.

Rhett seems to notice, thank God, because he doesn’t hesitate the way I did. His trembling fingers lift and curl around my jaw. He holds my gaze for another second more, and then his eyes close and he guides me into a kiss.

It’s…not good. It’s not bad, but it’s awkward as fuck. Neither one of us can seem to find each other’s rhythm. We’re out of sync. I open my mouth when he closes his. I try to give him my tongue when he tries to give me his. We fumble like we’re fighting, but amidst that chaos, something shifts.

It changes.

It’s like the world takes a sighing pause, and then suddenly, everything makes sense. I slot my chest against his, lowering my ass to his thighs. His hands move from my face to my hips, and he drags me closer, encouraging me to rock against him. His lips part, and he offers me his tongue to taste.

And God, he tastes like my food. My spices. My spit.

Mine, mine, mine.

The word chants like a pulse under my skin, and I deepen the kiss, grabbing his hair and shoving his head back so I can devour him. I feel him groan against me, and I catch the sound in my mouth, swallowing it down.

This is dangerous. We’re out of our minds with want, and I can’t hear if I’m being too loud—and I know I am. I’m not the most experienced, but I’ve done enough to warrant complaints from people who can hear.

The campus isn’t busy, but there are still people around, and fuck.

I pull back with a gasp, and he stares at me, half-betrayed, half-dazed. ‘What’s wrong?’ His hand misses his chin before he corrects himself.

‘Students.’

He looks around, panicked, then shakes his head. ‘No one’s here.’

Rolling my eyes, I lean in and take a mean, biting kiss. ‘I know,’ I tell him when I pull back. ‘But I’m loud when I fuck.’

His eyes widen in understanding. ‘Are we going to fuck in your food truck?’

I drop my face against his neck and laugh so hard we both shake. ‘No,’ I sign when I pull back. ‘But I want to thank you.’

Hurt blooms all over his face before he can school it away, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. God, I always say the wrong damn thing. Every ounce of my desire to stay away from this man is gone, replaced by a soul-deep want to keep him around, and I don’t even know him.

My hand trails down his chest, toward his cock. He gasps when I press the heel of my hand against it, then trace a touch all the way back up until I can tip his chin up to look at me. ‘Go out with me.’ I use the sign for date, and he repeats it. I nod. ‘Please,’ I add because I can be polite when I want to be.

His brow furrows in confusion. ‘You don’t like me.’

That was true twenty minutes ago. ‘Go out with me,’ I sign again. He lifts his hands to protest, and I shove them back down. ‘I think I like you now.’

He laughs in surprise. I think he might say no. That’s not the best way to woo a guy, so I probably deserve the rejection. But he seems almost into it. ‘Okay. Where?’

I’m too hard to pull back, so I shrug. ‘We’ll figure it out. Give me your number before you go.’ I don’t give him time to answer. Instead, I rock gently against him. We’re not leaving here without an orgasm. It just won’t be the enthusiastic one I want right now.

Picking up his hand, I press his palm to my lips and hold it there before signing, ‘Keep me quiet.’

His groan is so hard I can feel it. ‘Okay.’

‘Listen for students,’ I instruct, then immediately get to work on his zipper. His cock springs out from the folds of his boxers almost immediately, and it’s even better than I imagined. It’s fat and long, but not in way I know is going to hurt. I’ll still be able to get my mouth around him once we have a bed.

He smells good too—freshly washed with something lightly fragranced and his own musky scent mixed with that tang of precome. My mouth waters. I want to taste him, but I can’t let him drop his hand.

‘You next,’ he signs with his unoccupied hand.

I pull my cock out. It’s fatter than his, and shorter, and pinker. His is a flushed almost purple, and I love the contrast we make when I rub up against him. The sensation sends my head into a spin, and he bites his lip, probably holding back a moan.

I suppose there is some benefit to fucking a guy who can hear. He can keep watch with his ears, and I’ll do my best to get us off without making it look too obvious what we’re up to by any passers-by.

I curl one hand around us. I can’t close my fist, but I have enough grip to keep our cocks pressed together, and then I rock forward just enough for friction. His eyes widen, and his head lolls back as I do it again. I match the rhythm with my hand, up and down, up and down.

I’m so fucking close it’s embarrassing. And though it’s been so long since I’ve done this, I can safely say that it’s not the dry spell that’s making me want him this much. He is so goddamn beautiful. His flush stretches from his cheeks to his ears, and his full lips are half-parted. I can see his pink tongue between his white teeth, and his pupils are so huge they consume almost all of his irises.

I press my fingers to his throat to feel his groan, and they rumble against my skin, barely there as he tries to keep quiet. My hand speeds up again, and my elbow starts to ache, but I keep going because I can tell from the way his dick is pulsing with his rapid heartbeat he’s close too.

‘Come on,’ I mouth against his palm.

He tenses, and my body follows him as we both crash over the edge. I don’t know how loud I am, I just know that he catches all my sounds in his hand. My back bows, and I press hard against the hand he’s got against my mouth, and I come and come and come.

When I get a little sense back into me, there’s a pooling mess between us, and I look up to find his grimace matching mine. His hand’s still against my lips, so I lift my dry hand and curl it around his wrist. His fingers relax, but I don’t let him go right away. Instead, I kiss his palm, then each finger.

I don’t remember if this is the one that crushed the wasp to save me, but it doesn’t matter. He did. I was a dick to him, and he rushed in here in spite of the fact that I was a grown man who should have been able to handle it myself.

‘Hi,’ he mouths.

I lean in and kiss the word off his lips. I feel him moan before he lets me taste him again, and we gentle into soft pecks before pulling apart. ‘Let me clean us up,’ I offer.

It does something to me to stand up and see him sitting there looking well fucked with his limp dick out there, against his dark trousers. Most of the mess hit his shirt, thank God, and I can probably fix the rest.

He doesn’t move. He just waits patiently as I wet a cleaning cloth and have a go at myself before finally kneeling back down beside him. I wipe him up as best I can, then tuck him back into his pants. Our eyes meet again, and I don’t let his gaze go as I zip him back up.

‘A date,’ he signs when I finally sit back on my heels.

Do I still want that now that I’m somewhat satisfied?

I almost laugh because, in reality, that’s not even a question anymore. It’s nothing more than an inevitability.