Easy Little Lick (Copperline #3)

by Sibylla Matilde

  The problem was, I could still see her. It was like my eyes were drawn to her. It took conscious effort not to just sit and stare because I couldn’t seem to ignore her.

  And then concern began to bud inside me when she had started limping.

  About halfway through the night, she began lifting one foot when she was waiting by the bar for drinks, taking the weight off it and flexing her ankle. As she walked away, I saw her favoring that side with every step. Her brows drew together and I could see traces of pain on her face.

  Before she’d get to a table, she’d wipe her expression blank and plaster on a muted smile to hide her discomfort.

  Something was hurting her, but what? Of course, me being me, I wanted to help her. I felt the incredible urge to go pick her up and carry her off to a chair. Yeah, a bit of an overreaction, but I didn’t want to see her in pain. I wanted to figure out the issue and make it go away, even if it was minor. This did look fairly minor.

  But still…

  After a while, she said something to Doug, and he gave her a quick nod, gesturing towards the back door. She replied with a pained smile, and limped outside.

  I needed break time. Like right the fuck now.

  I caught Denny’s eye and nodded towards the stairs as we wrapped up the song. He gave me a total WTF look, but still went with it, letting the crowd know we’d be back in fifteen.

  I was down the stairs and out the door before he was done talking.

  She sat on the bench out behind the Copperline where employees went for their smoke breaks. There was a large tin can about halfway full of sand and scattered with stale cigarette butts.

  She wasn’t smoking, but had one of her shoes off and was rubbing the foot she’d been favoring.

  “Hey, Ils,” I said as I stepped outside.

  When I spoke, she glanced up at me. “Hi, Cody.”

  Looking back down at her foot, she pressed her thumb along the arch. She sorta groaned without much sound, more that her body tensed and released. I sat on the other end of the bench and grabbed her running shoe from its spot between us. They weren’t bad quality, but they appeared very worn. On the verge of falling apart. They couldn’t have been comfortable at that point. As much as she was on her feet during a shift, she really needed something better.

  “These shoes look like they've seen better days. You should have something a little better for your line of work.”

  “They’ll do for now,” she murmured, and her eyes closed as she pressed again.

  “Here,” I said, pushing my beanie hat back off my forehead, “give me your foot.”

  She jolted back into awareness, staring at me wide-eyed. “What?”

  “I’ll rub it for you.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s fine.”

  “Really,” I argued. “I've been told that I've got magic hands.”

  She smiled and choked back a little laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Seriously,” I grinned, watching as her subtle amusement with my antics seemed to grow. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “You don’t want to rub my foot,” she said, narrowing her brows in skepticism. “It’s all sweaty and stinky and gross.”

  “Sweaty isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Some of my favorite pastimes involve getting quite sweaty.”

  I saw a flash of heat cross over her expression, and she looked away, back down at her foot. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said in a low voice.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I seem to recall Doug warning you guys off me. I understand he goes through a lot of waitresses because you Mofos are always bangin’ them.”

  I shrugged. “Justin, maybe. Denny and Drew are all committed and shit, but Justin’s always on the prowl and seriously seems to be lacking in scruples. I’m not near as bad as he is, though.”

  “You’re not?” she asked, cocking a beautifully shaped eyebrow.

  “Well, I’m not a fuckin’ saint, but I’m nothing like Justin. He uses sex as entertainment, always looking for some way to top the last experience he’d had. Me…?” I shrugged, “Not so much.”

  “All the same, I’ll pass.” She lowered her foot to the ground and reached for her shoe, but I pulled it back.

  Tipping her head to the side, she gave me a look of disapproval. The slight upturn of her lips, though, spoke volumes.

  “Give me my shoe, Cody,” she said with mock seriousness.

  “C’mon, when’s the last time someone gave you a good foot rub?”

  “Well, never,” she answered, “because it’s gross.”

  “I won’t take your sock off.”

  “Jeez, I’d hope not,” she laughed. “That would be even more nasty.”

  “Come on,” I said, patting my thigh. “Put it right here.”

  “Cody,” she began.

  “Ilsa,” I interrupted.

  She pursed her lips at me, and I grinned back at her in response. She fought the returning smile, but her eyes sparkled with our little back and forth.

  “Cody,” she repeated.

  “Ilsa,” I repeated back.

  “Cody, give me my shoe.”

  “Ilsa, give me your foot.”

  She was beyond adorable when she got all stubborn.

  I defined stubborn, though. I tried another tactic.

  “I owe you. You got me out of the clutches of a very persistent barstool bunny this afternoon, and you’re always running for us, making sure we’ve got cold drinks. I really think it’s the least I can do.”

  “You’re not going to give me my shoe back, are you?”

  I shook my head with a wide smile. “Nope.”

  I could feel her wanting to give in, and it simply elated me when, with a heavy sigh, she lifted her foot and set it on my leg.

  I realized all too quickly that I hadn’t really thought this through when my hands took hold of her dainty little foot. I wrapped my fingers across the top and pressed along the arch with my thumbs. Ilsa let out the most delightful little moan.

  A moan that went straight to my dick.

  I looked sharply over at her and, even in the pale shadows behind the bar, I could see a flush rise in her cheeks. That had totally caught her off guard, too, and for a second we both froze. I dropped my attention back to her foot and started to rub again. She didn’t make any more sounds other than a slight catch in her breathing from time to time. She couldn’t seem to help the blissful expressions from crossing her face, though.

  Not that she didn’t try. That much was obvious. She managed to keep it pretty well in check if she knew I was looking at her, as though my attention made it harder for her to relax.

  But as I looked back to her foot, watching her covertly out of the corner of my eye, a look that bordered on orgasmic took over her face. Her eyes drifted closed and her lips parted. A long, slow breath rose in her chest, and her head fell back ever so slightly. Goosebumps rose on her forearms.

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  I kept my face angled down, directed at my hands as they circled the ball and squeezed her heel. A little more pressure, and her eyebrows drew together. Her hips squirmed a little.

  My mouth went dry.

  She was totally pulling sex faces.

  God, they were fucking beautiful.

  My mind took it and ran, racing ahead with images of her writhing beneath me. Naked in my bed. Her smooth skin under my touch as I made her gasp and moan.

  Like I’d told her… magic fucking hands.

  Suddenly, the back door opened. Ilsa lurched off the bench, standing back against the wall with only one shoe on, as Doug poked his head out. She’d retreated into the shadows a bit, yet I could still see the flush staining her cheeks.

  “You okay, Ilsa?” he asked, giving me a hard look. “How’s the foot?”

  “Um, it’ll be fine,” she said nervously. “My shoe was kinda rubbing weird. Cody, um… he was seeing if he could fix it.”

  Doug’s mou
th tightened.

  “Here you go, Ils,” I said, playing into her little charade, even though I knew there was no fucking way Doug was buying it. “Try this.”

  I handed her the sneaker, and she slipped it on quickly.

  She gave me a tense smile. “That’s much better, Cody, thanks.” She looked back up at Doug. “I’ll just, uh… get back to work now.”

  She darted around him, back into the bar. The whole time, Doug’s suspicious gaze was locked on me. He started to turn, but pointed to me menacingly.

  “Don’t fuck her.”

  I was bigger, but Doug had experience and badass biker vibes on his side, making me instinctively shake my head.

  “I’m not,” I promised.

  But, holy fuck, I wanted to.

  Bad.

  Over the next few days, I started getting a little more overt in my attempts to draw her in. To put myself in front of her. Her quiet nature and sad hazel eyes intrigued me. Her overall persona seemed so lonely, and I could almost feel the desire to belong. To join in. Yet, as time went on, she still made no efforts to become part of the crowd. She actually did the opposite, distancing herself from everyone around her. She’d been here for months, but nobody really knew her.

  Almost as though she wanted to be invisible and, thus, out of mind.

  She was anything but invisible to me, though. Since the other night when I’d made her moan on the bench out back, I could barely think of anything else. I even fucking dreamed about her, waking up stiff and swollen with my hand clutching my aching dick. Stroking until I came with her name on my lips.

  My fascination was quickly becoming obsession. God, I was turning into a creep.

  My conscience rebelled, but my physical reaction to just the thought of her overpowered it.

  At the Copperline, every time I caught sight of her, it took considerable effort to not lose focus on everything else around me. Every. Fucking. Time. My tempo was off during songs, garnering some odd looks from the other Mofos. I’d force myself to sync up, to get back in the zone, yet my thoughts would wander.

  And, God forbid, she sent one of her rare smiles my way. One sweet shy lift to her lips, and any concentration I had been clinging to was just gone.

  Just as Denny announced we were taking a break one night, I caught sight of her heading towards the back storage room. A golden opportunity to try to get her to talk. To make her smile. I honestly had no clue what I wanted from her, but I really wanted something.

  I walked back into the store room to see Ilsa balancing on her tiptoes while reaching for a bottle of wine just out of her reach.

  “Here,” I said, “let me help you get that.”

  She started and began to twist away, but froze as I stepped close to her, reaching over her head towards the shelf. While I didn’t really mean to, my body brushed against hers, lightly pressing against her curvy little ass in a way that shot a flash of wanting through me. Her breath caught a little in her throat, and, as I brought the bottle down, her warm, sunshine smell tickled my senses.

  I realized just how close we were. In all those times I’d tried to draw her out, I’d never been able to get quite this close, and I was going to make the most of it. I set the bottle on top of a few cases of beer next to me, then lifted my hands up to the shelf just at the level of her shoulders, caging her in, her back to my front.

  “What is it about you?” I asked quietly, feeling a slight tremble radiate from her body to mine. “You don’t let anyone get too close. Why?”

  “You’re too close right now,” she breathed back, turning her head slightly to the side towards me. Not looking at me, but not trying to move away either.

  “But you don’t want me to be.”

  She dipped her head down, her ponytail brushing faintly against my face, and the warm, fresh scent seemed to emanate from her hair. Without conscious thought, I breathed in deeply, allowing her to fill my senses.

  Her hands curled into the shelf in front of her, her knuckles tight. At first, I wondered if she was afraid, uncomfortable, but then her body arched ever so slightly towards me, almost as if it was against her will. A signal of her own craving, and it was me that brought it out of her.

  I lowered my head, grazing my lips along her neck, bared but for a few stray wisps.

  Even as she tilted her head to ease my access—barely, but she did it all the same—she fought the attraction.

  “Remember what Doug said.” Her voice was ragged, her breathing choppy. “You’re not supposed to fuck me.”

  “Ils, I remind myself of that all the time… but God…”

  “All the time?” she whispered.

  “There’s something about you… something irresistible. Enthralling. I just want a little taste,” I murmured, flicking the tip of my tongue out to graze the skin of her neck just below her ear. Knowing with every fiber of my being that this could scare her back into her little shell, I simply needed to share this with her. I needed her to know that she wasn’t just any other girl.

  She gasped at the touch, then moaned as my lips gently kissed the damp skin. One of her hands left the shelf before us to wrap around my forearm, clutching the tense muscles beneath my skin. She turned her head more towards me, and I met her eyes over her shoulder.

  My blood felt like it was vibrating in my veins. Everything in the world was wrapped up in the narrow distance between us, in the hyper-alert hazel of her gaze locked onto mine.

  I could have kissed her.

  Fuck, I wanted to kiss her.

  Her eyes, soft and hazy in appearance, focused on my lips, silently begging me to, and I started to go in. Fuck caution. I didn’t care about anything but the intense need to taste her lips.

  At the last second, though, she turned her head, causing my lips to graze her smooth cheek.

  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck… No!

  So close.

  “Wait,” she said in a ragged whisper, panting with labored breaths. “Don’t. I… Cody, I can’t.”

  I immediately pulled back, but not completely. I kept her locked in the circle of my arms, but tried to tone down the creeper vibe I had going.

  My heart was pounding in my chest, rampant and desperate. So fucking close. I wanted to press my lips against the nape of her neck. Her head had fallen forward, and her ponytail slipped off to the side. The smooth, white skin beckoned to me.

  Instead, I did what she asked. I fought the fierce craving that pulsed through my veins and gave her space. I lowered my arms and took a step back, instantly missing the warmth that emanated from her body.

  She turned to face me, looking up at me with hot anguish in her eyes. “I can’t.” Her voice shook.

  “You want to, though,” I murmured in a low tone.

  She dropped her eyes, focusing on the Bangin’ Mofos logo on my T-shirt. “It doesn’t matter what I want… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  And before I could stop her, she slipped out of my reach and fled from the room.

  I sat there for a moment, staring at the bottle of wine she’d forgotten. Totally turned on just to be turned down. A whirlwind of rejection that left me wanting. Confusion, aroused by her abrupt refusal, tugged at my consciousness.

  She felt this attraction between us. I knew she did. She had to. This was way too powerful to be one-sided.

  She just felt she couldn’t act on it, but why? Something was stopping her, something painful that I wanted to fix. I was aching to touch her, but aching to soothe her, too. I wanted to take that lonely sadness from her eyes.

  And then I’d gone and freaked her out by going all alpha creep on her. I fucking licked her, for Christ’s sake.

  Who does that?

  No wonder she ran away from me. I’d have run away from me, too.

  With a nagging heaviness in my chest, I grabbed the wine bottle to take out to her.

  “You forgot this,” I told her, setting it beside her on the bar.

  Ilsa flicked her gaze up to me for a second, still hungry and sad, before she
took it and turned to grab a couple glasses. Her expression gave me another kick in the gut.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, dismissing me quietly with a shaking voice.

  There we were, doing our weird little dance again. Another step forward, three or four steps back. I had been so close I had actually tasted her, if only just a bit. The way she pulled back and the cryptic things she said, though…

  It doesn’t matter what I want… I can’t.

  There was something seriously fucked up about this whole situation, but I was starting to realize that it wasn't just me she was afraid of.

  I wanted to believe I affected her so powerfully that she was simply fighting her attraction to me. Doug had introduced us as manwhores, and I wanted to think it was that perception that made her hold back.

  But there was something darker scaring her away from everyone, not just me. In fact, her attraction to me was fighting that fear. Losing, but the battle was real. The fear was real, and it kept her away.

  I wanted to know what it was.

  It was another Saturday night, and we were about halfway through the set.

  It had taken me a good week or so to get Ilsa back to where we’d been before I hit on her in the storeroom. A good week of patient gestures, being attentive to her and what she was doing. Lifting heavy shit whenever I saw the opportunity, even if I had to damn near run across the barroom to do it.

  A good week before I started seeing those shy smiles from her in response.

  But I did start to see them again. After a few more days, they became a little more free and easy. A little more frequent.

  They also came with suspicious glances from Doug. I quickly learned not to be too overt in my attention when he was around.

  As us guys wound down the song, getting ready to take a break, I scoped out the room wondering where she was. Trying to work out in my mind how I could casually ‘run into’ her. Accidentally… but with full intent. A paradox of will.

  I didn’t see her, which, in all actuality, was probably for the best.

  There was a special kind of energy in the air. The dry summer heat hadn’t yet begun to cool for the night. The crowd, many of whom had spent their day out in the sun, seemed full on ready to party, and their vibe fed our showmanship. The guys and I always played well together, but sometimes we were kind of amazing.