Dominated Hand [2/?]
Title: Dominated Hand
Chapter: 2/?
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: He doesn't expect Rachel to be good at poker, and there's no way he's going to let her beat him. Turns out that when the stakes are high, Puck comes to play. "Whoever loses has to be the other's slave."
Word Count: 4,150
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Puck wakes up to sunshine and fuckin' birds chirping and realizes that it's nearly noon and he's already thinking about what he can make Rachel do for him today. He wants to get the really obvious stuff out of the way before his mom comes back and asks him why he's making this poor girl do. And his mother would undoubtedly put a stop to the whole slave thing if she knew what was going on.
And his truck has been pretty disgusting lately. He and Finn went mudding (sorta...) a couple weeks ago and Puck thought it was way too badass to have mud caked onto his truck. But now that he doesn't have to clean it himself...
He jumps into the shower and thinks about how the night turned out, how it went from everyone having a good time, to everyone having a great time, to Rachel and Santana kissing, to strip poker, to he and Rachel going head to head in a serious poker battle.
And he remembers how she'd run her hands through her hair as he dealt and how good she looked in that low-cut tank top. How her fucking awesome ass was barely covered by her shorts. How she'd grin at him across the table if they were both out and everyone else was playing. How hot she sounded when she was talking about the game.
Groaning, he realizes how hard he is again, and he's pretty sure this, thinking about Rachel this way, is becoming a problem.
.....
Rachel is sitting at her kitchen table, eating a light lunch while her fathers work outside on the garden they keep up every summer, and her phone rings. It's an unknown number.
She knows who it is anyway. She's scared to answer, but she finds herself doing it anyway.
"Hello?"
"'Sup, girl?"
"Noah, I hardly think that's an appropriate way to address someone on the phone," she says as she sets her plate in the sink.
"How come? You are a girl aren't you?" he asks. She can hear him grinning, picture him in his house. "I mean, that shirt you were rocking last night certainly proved it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Boobs, Rach. You got 'em," he says, as though she didn't just understand every word he'd implied.
"Is there something you need from me?" she asks in frustration. "And please refrain from making a sexual comment."
Something about her saying the word 'sexual' gets him totally hot.
"Come over," he says. She lets out a huff. "My truck needs to be washed."
"That's it?" she asks. "You want me to wash your truck?"
"Yup."
"Your truck is disgusting."
"Which is why it needs washing. Try'n keep up, babe," he says, smirking to himself. She really is far too easy to tease. "And wear something hot, too. It's like, a million degrees out. I'm thinking bikini."
She's appalled. She did not agree to be his eye candy. Slave is one thing (not a good thing), but to prance around in a bikini and wash his truck?
"Look, Noah, I am not some kind of...of...fantasy girl who's merely around for your pleasure!"
"Too bad," he murmurs darkly.
"Stop that!"
"Relax, Rachel. Come on. It's hot out. You're going to be in the scorching sun, working to get all that mud off my truck. Just worried about you, babe," he says. She doesn't buy it for a second. "See you in an hour."
"Noah!" she cries, but he hangs up before she even gets the word out.
Puck glances around his spotless kitchen. He's pretty sure it hasn't been this clean in ages. His mom keeps the house pretty much immaculate, but this is a whole other level. He can't believe Rachel did this.
And he still can't believe he just went to bed - alone - and left her in his house. You know, without trying to get into her pants. Total crime.
And Rachel in a bikini cleaning his truck? Kick ass. He's pretty much a genius.
.....
When Rachel pulls up to Noah's house, she sees him playing basketball in the driveway in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.
And yes, she has a bathing suit on beneath her tank top and shorts. The way she sees it, she doesn't need him arguing about the rules of her 'slavery', and really, it is quite hot out. It's the end of May, and she's not willing to get heat stroke just to spite him.
And judging by the amount of sweat glistening on his back as he dribbles the ball, it really is hot enough to want to wear as little clothing as possible.
She gets out of her car, and he's holding the ball against his hip with one arm as the other wipes the sweat from his forehead. She thinks that might just be mildly attractive.
He notices immediately, the ties of her bikini under her black tank top. She's wearing a little (like seriously little) pair of red cotton shorts and black flip flops. Her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail and her sunglasses are perched on her nose. He wishes he could tell if she was checking him out.
Shit. Of course she is. Have you seen him? Girls can't help but check him out and he knows it.
"Hey," he calls. "Lookin' good."
She marches over to him and crosses her arms. (He's just thinking about how long it'll take for her to get out of her shirt.) "Let's get one thing straight, Noah." He arches his brow. She definitely does not find that attractive. (Yes, she does.) "I am not here for your enjoyment. I am here because I lost. Anything I do will be strictly PG. You will not make any sexual comments, and you won't exploit me in any way, or I'm out of here," she says seriously. "Do you understand?"
He grins. "You know, you're kinda hot when you're bossy."
"Noah!"
He laughs and nods his head. "I get it. Take your shirt off."
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. Clearly, he doesn't understand that she's not there for him to ogle. "You are making me regret ever coming here last night."
"Whatever," he says, rolling his eyes. "You had a good time and you know it. I'm just havin' fun with you."
She can't really argue that. And really, it's not a big deal if he sees her in her bathing suit. He has before, last summer at the couple smaller parties she went to. Brittany invited her to a pool party, and then another time, Finn organized (yes, she was shocked, too) a trip to a local water park. And she's not shy about her body at all. She works hard to keep herself in shape.
When he sets the ball between his feet and reaches for the bottom of her shirt, she's too shocked to do anything but let him pull the fabric upward.
"Arms up," he says softly. She's never heard him use that tone of voice before. It's almost...she doesn't know what it is. He pulls the shirt over her head and sees her black bikini top with the red heart printed on the fabric of the left side, nearly covering her entire breast. She just bought this a few weeks ago. His reaction lets her know it was a good choice. "Damn." She thinks he didn't mean to say that. She certainly doesn't mean to smile. "I mean...shit. Look at you."
Now is not the time to get caught up in him.
"Where is your bucket?" she asks, pulling away from him.
He's still holding her tank top in his hands as she walks into the garage in search of what she needs to clean his truck. He can't really do anything but watch her. He's never denied that she's pretty. Those little skirts are like welcome mats (no, they really aren't, but he's thought about it once or twice or ten times). She's got nice hair and eyes that kind of make him feel...
Whatever. She's hot. Seeing her like this is totally awesome.
"Noah!" she shouts. "Help, please?"
He tosses her shirt next to his on the grass and walks into the garage. "You wanna maybe make it not sound like this is the worst thing in the world?" he asks. He reaches for the brush she'll need (extended handle, since she's so tiny) and the soap and wax from a shelf. "It's not like it's torture."
"I just want to get this done and get out of here."
He smirks at her as she takes the soap from him. "Who says this is all I want you to do today?"
She lets out a huff and stomps away.
And yeah, he checks her out as she goes.
He goes back to playing ball and she grabs the hose from the side of the house, spraying his truck down, trying to get some of the mud loose with just water. He thinks it's funny that she's barely even tall enough to spray the top of the truck with the hose when she's on her tip toes. But that does make her legs look awesome, so he's not about to like, offer to help or whatever.
Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, but she actually does a totally awesome job. She uses the brush first to get the big clumps of mud off, then runs to her car and pulls this car washing mitt from the trunk of her car (he likes a woman who comes prepared) and does the wheels, the bottoms of the doors.
And he's just playing basketball and trying not to be too obvious when he checks her out.
"Missed a spot," he says, pointing towards the from of the truck.
"I'm not finished yet!" she snaps. He holds up his hands in surrender, and she rolls her eyes when she sees the smirk on his face. "This was actually almost enjoyable before you started critiquing me."
"I'm just sayin'. No point in you washing it if you aren't gonna do it right." He grabs his tee shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat off his face. She looks away too quickly for his liking. He walks over to where she's standing and grabs the brush as she wipes the stubborn mud from one of his rims. She's leaning over a little. Yeah, he checks out her rack. Who knew it was so awesome? "Here," he says, scrubbing the front grill. "See? I'm helping."
She laughs a little and looks at him doubtfully. "Yes. You've clearly done all the work here."
He laughs and flicks a little soapy water at her with his hand, and despite the fact that her legs and shorts are spattered with water, she squeals and turns away from him.
"C'mon, Rach. It's just a little water," he tells her.
"It's disgusting, muddy water!" she cries. He dips his hand into the bucket again and she screams. "Don't!"
He rolls his eyes, pulls the tee shirt from where it was tucked into the back of his shorts, and he wipes his hands. "Fine. You're no fun."
She kinks her brow and puts one hand on her hip and grabs the hose with the other. "That's not what you said last night."
Holy shit.
(And then he thinks about what he did while she was cleaning up and there's a split second where he worries that she like, heard him or something, but he knows he was quiet, as hard as that fucking was to do at the time.)
He suddenly wishes this agreement was for her to be his sex slave for a week. God, she's wound so tightly she'd probably be a total freak in bed. She'd be all uptight at first, then he'd make her come once and she'd be begging him for more. He's pretty sure a girl like Rachel just wants to feel like she doesn't need to be in control.
Or that could all just be some twisted fantasy he has that involves her sitting on his lap and his hand between her thighs.
Whatever.
Shit, it's hot out.
He looks over at her again, and she's spraying down the truck one last time, getting the last of the soap off it. He should not be so turned on right now.
"'S'fuckin' hot," he says absently as he tries not to stare at the way her boobs are pressed together because of how she's holding the hose.
"It is," she agrees. She reaches for a towel to dry the truck (there's no sense washing something if you're just going to let the water droplets dry and leave marks) and notices the way he watches her bend over. "Noah."
"What?"
"Are you..." She can't possibly ask him if he was just looking at her behind. He most definitely was, but she is not about to make mention of it. "Never mind."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Rachel," he says with a smirk, walking towards her. "You caught me looking. Big deal. You're practically naked in my driveway."
She feels her face flush and grabs the hose again. "I missed some soap!" she announces hurriedly.
He's laughing as she starts to spray the (non-existent) soap from the truck.
He does not expect her to spray him with the hose.
He's soaking wet (it's not so bad, since it's so damn hot out) and glaring at her, and she looks so guilty and actually shocked at what she's done. Her eyes are huge and she's got her lips pursed tight.
And hell no, she's not getting away with that shit.
"I can't believe you fucking sprayed me!" he says, walking towards her. He watches the way her hand holds the hose a little tighter.
"You looked hot! I mean, you looked like you needed cooling down!" she says, quickly correcting herself. (Although he does look quite attractive without his shirt on.) "Noah, you stay away from me!"
She's kind of giggling, and actually, this Rachel that isn't so serious all the fucking time is really fun. She tries to back away from him, but he lunges forward just after she's turned her back on him, and he hooks his arm around her waist, hauling her against him. He wrenches the hose from her hand as she squeals as he lifts her feet off the ground. She kicks them, but it's futile.
"Put me down!" she cries.
He laughs and ignores the way her hair smells (like honey or something). "You started it."
"Stop!" she laughs. "Noah, please. I'm begging."
"I do like to hear you beg," he says in her ear. She sends her elbow into his ribs in hopes of distracting him from the goosebumps that are inexplicably on her skin right now. "Ow!"
"I told you to let me down!" she says.
He sets her on her feet and she turns around to glare at him, but he gets her with the hose first, aiming for her chest. (What? If you're gonna do something, you gotta do it right.) The water sprays up into her face and hair and she sputters at him after the water has stopped again.
He's laughing so hard that he doesn't see the smile break out on her face. "Truce?" he offers.
When he glances at her, he notices how gorgeous she looks. Her hair is curling a little bit around her face, pieces falling from her ponytail. She licks drops of water from her lips, and her shorts are positively clinging to her legs. Her skin is glistening in the sun.
It's like he's seen the light.
And the light is super hot.
"I'm dripping," she says breathlessly, running a hand over her face.
Oh, god. He needs to get the fuck away from her.
"I'll grab you a towel," he mumbles, heading for the house.
As soon as he's inside, he adjusts his shorts and runs upstairs to the linen closet. He needs to get this under control. He can't be thinking with his dick right now. It's pretty fucking difficult, though, when she says things like she just said and jokes around and lets loose. What's he supposed to do? Not think about what it'd be like to bang her? That's like, an impossibility.
But he can't sleep with Rachel.
No.
Except that he totally could. You know, if she wanted it, which he hasn't seen any indication of. Shit. Technicality.
He's got a whole week to wear her down.
.....
After she's dried off and (unfortunately, if you ask him) pulled her shirt back on, he tells her there's something he needs her to do in the house.
(Shit, that sounds dirty, doesn't it? He wishes.)
(No, seriously. He really does.)
"What now?" she asks, watching as he hops up onto the counter. He's just grinning at her like he knows something she doesn't. "What?"
"You want me to starve?" he asks, acting like it seriously hurts him that she'd consider letting him go hungry.
"Are you serious?" She puts her hand on her hip after pulling her hair into a ponytail again. "You want me to cook for you."
He grins lasciviously and hops off the counter, taking two long strides toward her. She backs up against the counter until she can't move any more. "Unless you want to do something else for me," he says.
Her jaw drops and she puts a hand on his chest to push him away from her. "Noah," she says dangerously. She's walking towards him now, and it's kinda hot, this scary look in her eyes. And when he walks into the cupboards behind him, he really hopes she's about to just attack him or something. "Nothing about this ridiculous slavery agreement is sexual, and if you continue to insist on implying that it is, you can bet your ass I won't be keeping up my end of the bargain."
Did she just say ass?
"Gotcha, babe," he says, still smirking. This is the second time she's made one of these speeches. He thinks he might have to like, start listening.
"And don't call me that!" She moves away from him, crosses her arms, and her eyes meet his again. "So what would you like?"
And he's pretty sure she picks those words because they're so fucking easy to turn into a comment that would make her blush.
"Whatever you can make, ba..." He catches himself right before she starts glaring. "I'm gonna go shower. Call me when it's ready."
She gapes after him as he leaves the room, and she's left standing in his kitchen with no idea what to make, no idea what he'll like, and no idea what there is in the house anyway. She figures the refrigerator is as good a place as any to start. She looks inside and it's surprisingly neat, vegetables in the crisper, juices and milk on the top shelf, condiments neatly placed, labels facing outward in the door. She spots some chicken breast and figures that's at least something to work around.
When she hears the water start upstairs, she's completely distracted as she chops red peppers. Gosh, she should not be this...this...attracted to him. He's crass and loud and obnoxious and he has absolutely no tact or sense of personal space.
But then she thinks of being pressed against him, playful as they joked around in his driveway. She thinks of watching his back as he shot his basketball lazily. She thinks of him in the shower right now...
(He thinks of her when he's in the shower. It's not his fault. Now that he knows what she looks like soaking wet (fuck) it's just the first image that comes to mind. And he knows his bathroom is, oddly, pretty much soundproof. So maybe he grounds out her name when he comes.)
She nicks her finger with the blade, curses (she's sure he'd be proud of her or something), and raises her finger to her lips to suck the blood. It's actually rather disgusting if she thinks about it, but she's really trying not to. She knows the cut isn't that bad, but she rinses it under the tap to get a better look. She honestly doesn't care if Noah gets scalded because she turned on the water. She grabs a band-aid from her purse (you never know!) and covers the cut, mentally chastising herself for getting so distracted by him when he's not even in the same room as her.
She's just putting the finishing touches on her southwest chicken salad (it's quite delicious; she makes it at home sometimes for herself) when he walks into the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white tee shirt.
He looks at the plate between them (her presentation is fabulous, if she does say so herself).
"Salad?" he asks incredulously. "You made me salad?"
"With chicken!" she cries, offended. "And tortilla chips! And salsa!"
"It's a salad. I'm a dude, baby. I need man food."
"Don't call me that!" she says seriously. He smirks at her. He's infuriating! She reaches for a fork from the drawer and shoves it towards him. "Just eat it."
He sighs and takes the fork from her, stabbing a piece of chicken and some lettuce and whatever else is in there. He stuffs it into his mouth and...whoa. That's seriously fucking good. He chews slowly and swallows, because he does not need to let her know that he's like, really, really loving this. Shit. Knowing she's good in the kitchen doesn't help. He shouldn't care about that. He just wants to fuck her. That's it.
"'S'not bad," he admits with his mouth full of his second bite. He grabs the plate and walks over to sit at the table.
She sets a glass of water in front of him, trying not to look too smug. "Water helps with digestion."
He watches her sling her bag over her shoulder and furrows his brow. "You're leaving?"
"If there's nothing else?" she asks, and shit, the way she says it is kinda like, telling him that he doesn't want to ask her for anything more today. He can't really blame her, even if he does want her to stay until it's dark so he can seduce her. "I'll see you tomorrow at school, Noah."
"Later, Rach."
He doesn't even thank her. She turns on her heel and leaves and really hopes that this week isn't going to make her do anything she'll regret.
(She's already regretting betting so big in that poker game.)
But maybe spending time with Noah won't be so bad if he can keep his sexual innuendos to a minimum and try not to look at her with that grin on his lips. She'll be fine.
She can do this. Six more days.
Chapter: 2/?
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: He doesn't expect Rachel to be good at poker, and there's no way he's going to let her beat him. Turns out that when the stakes are high, Puck comes to play. "Whoever loses has to be the other's slave."
Word Count: 4,150
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Puck wakes up to sunshine and fuckin' birds chirping and realizes that it's nearly noon and he's already thinking about what he can make Rachel do for him today. He wants to get the really obvious stuff out of the way before his mom comes back and asks him why he's making this poor girl do. And his mother would undoubtedly put a stop to the whole slave thing if she knew what was going on.
And his truck has been pretty disgusting lately. He and Finn went mudding (sorta...) a couple weeks ago and Puck thought it was way too badass to have mud caked onto his truck. But now that he doesn't have to clean it himself...
He jumps into the shower and thinks about how the night turned out, how it went from everyone having a good time, to everyone having a great time, to Rachel and Santana kissing, to strip poker, to he and Rachel going head to head in a serious poker battle.
And he remembers how she'd run her hands through her hair as he dealt and how good she looked in that low-cut tank top. How her fucking awesome ass was barely covered by her shorts. How she'd grin at him across the table if they were both out and everyone else was playing. How hot she sounded when she was talking about the game.
Groaning, he realizes how hard he is again, and he's pretty sure this, thinking about Rachel this way, is becoming a problem.
.....
Rachel is sitting at her kitchen table, eating a light lunch while her fathers work outside on the garden they keep up every summer, and her phone rings. It's an unknown number.
She knows who it is anyway. She's scared to answer, but she finds herself doing it anyway.
"Hello?"
"'Sup, girl?"
"Noah, I hardly think that's an appropriate way to address someone on the phone," she says as she sets her plate in the sink.
"How come? You are a girl aren't you?" he asks. She can hear him grinning, picture him in his house. "I mean, that shirt you were rocking last night certainly proved it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Boobs, Rach. You got 'em," he says, as though she didn't just understand every word he'd implied.
"Is there something you need from me?" she asks in frustration. "And please refrain from making a sexual comment."
Something about her saying the word 'sexual' gets him totally hot.
"Come over," he says. She lets out a huff. "My truck needs to be washed."
"That's it?" she asks. "You want me to wash your truck?"
"Yup."
"Your truck is disgusting."
"Which is why it needs washing. Try'n keep up, babe," he says, smirking to himself. She really is far too easy to tease. "And wear something hot, too. It's like, a million degrees out. I'm thinking bikini."
She's appalled. She did not agree to be his eye candy. Slave is one thing (not a good thing), but to prance around in a bikini and wash his truck?
"Look, Noah, I am not some kind of...of...fantasy girl who's merely around for your pleasure!"
"Too bad," he murmurs darkly.
"Stop that!"
"Relax, Rachel. Come on. It's hot out. You're going to be in the scorching sun, working to get all that mud off my truck. Just worried about you, babe," he says. She doesn't buy it for a second. "See you in an hour."
"Noah!" she cries, but he hangs up before she even gets the word out.
Puck glances around his spotless kitchen. He's pretty sure it hasn't been this clean in ages. His mom keeps the house pretty much immaculate, but this is a whole other level. He can't believe Rachel did this.
And he still can't believe he just went to bed - alone - and left her in his house. You know, without trying to get into her pants. Total crime.
And Rachel in a bikini cleaning his truck? Kick ass. He's pretty much a genius.
.....
When Rachel pulls up to Noah's house, she sees him playing basketball in the driveway in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.
And yes, she has a bathing suit on beneath her tank top and shorts. The way she sees it, she doesn't need him arguing about the rules of her 'slavery', and really, it is quite hot out. It's the end of May, and she's not willing to get heat stroke just to spite him.
And judging by the amount of sweat glistening on his back as he dribbles the ball, it really is hot enough to want to wear as little clothing as possible.
She gets out of her car, and he's holding the ball against his hip with one arm as the other wipes the sweat from his forehead. She thinks that might just be mildly attractive.
He notices immediately, the ties of her bikini under her black tank top. She's wearing a little (like seriously little) pair of red cotton shorts and black flip flops. Her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail and her sunglasses are perched on her nose. He wishes he could tell if she was checking him out.
Shit. Of course she is. Have you seen him? Girls can't help but check him out and he knows it.
"Hey," he calls. "Lookin' good."
She marches over to him and crosses her arms. (He's just thinking about how long it'll take for her to get out of her shirt.) "Let's get one thing straight, Noah." He arches his brow. She definitely does not find that attractive. (Yes, she does.) "I am not here for your enjoyment. I am here because I lost. Anything I do will be strictly PG. You will not make any sexual comments, and you won't exploit me in any way, or I'm out of here," she says seriously. "Do you understand?"
He grins. "You know, you're kinda hot when you're bossy."
"Noah!"
He laughs and nods his head. "I get it. Take your shirt off."
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. Clearly, he doesn't understand that she's not there for him to ogle. "You are making me regret ever coming here last night."
"Whatever," he says, rolling his eyes. "You had a good time and you know it. I'm just havin' fun with you."
She can't really argue that. And really, it's not a big deal if he sees her in her bathing suit. He has before, last summer at the couple smaller parties she went to. Brittany invited her to a pool party, and then another time, Finn organized (yes, she was shocked, too) a trip to a local water park. And she's not shy about her body at all. She works hard to keep herself in shape.
When he sets the ball between his feet and reaches for the bottom of her shirt, she's too shocked to do anything but let him pull the fabric upward.
"Arms up," he says softly. She's never heard him use that tone of voice before. It's almost...she doesn't know what it is. He pulls the shirt over her head and sees her black bikini top with the red heart printed on the fabric of the left side, nearly covering her entire breast. She just bought this a few weeks ago. His reaction lets her know it was a good choice. "Damn." She thinks he didn't mean to say that. She certainly doesn't mean to smile. "I mean...shit. Look at you."
Now is not the time to get caught up in him.
"Where is your bucket?" she asks, pulling away from him.
He's still holding her tank top in his hands as she walks into the garage in search of what she needs to clean his truck. He can't really do anything but watch her. He's never denied that she's pretty. Those little skirts are like welcome mats (no, they really aren't, but he's thought about it once or twice or ten times). She's got nice hair and eyes that kind of make him feel...
Whatever. She's hot. Seeing her like this is totally awesome.
"Noah!" she shouts. "Help, please?"
He tosses her shirt next to his on the grass and walks into the garage. "You wanna maybe make it not sound like this is the worst thing in the world?" he asks. He reaches for the brush she'll need (extended handle, since she's so tiny) and the soap and wax from a shelf. "It's not like it's torture."
"I just want to get this done and get out of here."
He smirks at her as she takes the soap from him. "Who says this is all I want you to do today?"
She lets out a huff and stomps away.
And yeah, he checks her out as she goes.
He goes back to playing ball and she grabs the hose from the side of the house, spraying his truck down, trying to get some of the mud loose with just water. He thinks it's funny that she's barely even tall enough to spray the top of the truck with the hose when she's on her tip toes. But that does make her legs look awesome, so he's not about to like, offer to help or whatever.
Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, but she actually does a totally awesome job. She uses the brush first to get the big clumps of mud off, then runs to her car and pulls this car washing mitt from the trunk of her car (he likes a woman who comes prepared) and does the wheels, the bottoms of the doors.
And he's just playing basketball and trying not to be too obvious when he checks her out.
"Missed a spot," he says, pointing towards the from of the truck.
"I'm not finished yet!" she snaps. He holds up his hands in surrender, and she rolls her eyes when she sees the smirk on his face. "This was actually almost enjoyable before you started critiquing me."
"I'm just sayin'. No point in you washing it if you aren't gonna do it right." He grabs his tee shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat off his face. She looks away too quickly for his liking. He walks over to where she's standing and grabs the brush as she wipes the stubborn mud from one of his rims. She's leaning over a little. Yeah, he checks out her rack. Who knew it was so awesome? "Here," he says, scrubbing the front grill. "See? I'm helping."
She laughs a little and looks at him doubtfully. "Yes. You've clearly done all the work here."
He laughs and flicks a little soapy water at her with his hand, and despite the fact that her legs and shorts are spattered with water, she squeals and turns away from him.
"C'mon, Rach. It's just a little water," he tells her.
"It's disgusting, muddy water!" she cries. He dips his hand into the bucket again and she screams. "Don't!"
He rolls his eyes, pulls the tee shirt from where it was tucked into the back of his shorts, and he wipes his hands. "Fine. You're no fun."
She kinks her brow and puts one hand on her hip and grabs the hose with the other. "That's not what you said last night."
Holy shit.
(And then he thinks about what he did while she was cleaning up and there's a split second where he worries that she like, heard him or something, but he knows he was quiet, as hard as that fucking was to do at the time.)
He suddenly wishes this agreement was for her to be his sex slave for a week. God, she's wound so tightly she'd probably be a total freak in bed. She'd be all uptight at first, then he'd make her come once and she'd be begging him for more. He's pretty sure a girl like Rachel just wants to feel like she doesn't need to be in control.
Or that could all just be some twisted fantasy he has that involves her sitting on his lap and his hand between her thighs.
Whatever.
Shit, it's hot out.
He looks over at her again, and she's spraying down the truck one last time, getting the last of the soap off it. He should not be so turned on right now.
"'S'fuckin' hot," he says absently as he tries not to stare at the way her boobs are pressed together because of how she's holding the hose.
"It is," she agrees. She reaches for a towel to dry the truck (there's no sense washing something if you're just going to let the water droplets dry and leave marks) and notices the way he watches her bend over. "Noah."
"What?"
"Are you..." She can't possibly ask him if he was just looking at her behind. He most definitely was, but she is not about to make mention of it. "Never mind."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Rachel," he says with a smirk, walking towards her. "You caught me looking. Big deal. You're practically naked in my driveway."
She feels her face flush and grabs the hose again. "I missed some soap!" she announces hurriedly.
He's laughing as she starts to spray the (non-existent) soap from the truck.
He does not expect her to spray him with the hose.
He's soaking wet (it's not so bad, since it's so damn hot out) and glaring at her, and she looks so guilty and actually shocked at what she's done. Her eyes are huge and she's got her lips pursed tight.
And hell no, she's not getting away with that shit.
"I can't believe you fucking sprayed me!" he says, walking towards her. He watches the way her hand holds the hose a little tighter.
"You looked hot! I mean, you looked like you needed cooling down!" she says, quickly correcting herself. (Although he does look quite attractive without his shirt on.) "Noah, you stay away from me!"
She's kind of giggling, and actually, this Rachel that isn't so serious all the fucking time is really fun. She tries to back away from him, but he lunges forward just after she's turned her back on him, and he hooks his arm around her waist, hauling her against him. He wrenches the hose from her hand as she squeals as he lifts her feet off the ground. She kicks them, but it's futile.
"Put me down!" she cries.
He laughs and ignores the way her hair smells (like honey or something). "You started it."
"Stop!" she laughs. "Noah, please. I'm begging."
"I do like to hear you beg," he says in her ear. She sends her elbow into his ribs in hopes of distracting him from the goosebumps that are inexplicably on her skin right now. "Ow!"
"I told you to let me down!" she says.
He sets her on her feet and she turns around to glare at him, but he gets her with the hose first, aiming for her chest. (What? If you're gonna do something, you gotta do it right.) The water sprays up into her face and hair and she sputters at him after the water has stopped again.
He's laughing so hard that he doesn't see the smile break out on her face. "Truce?" he offers.
When he glances at her, he notices how gorgeous she looks. Her hair is curling a little bit around her face, pieces falling from her ponytail. She licks drops of water from her lips, and her shorts are positively clinging to her legs. Her skin is glistening in the sun.
It's like he's seen the light.
And the light is super hot.
"I'm dripping," she says breathlessly, running a hand over her face.
Oh, god. He needs to get the fuck away from her.
"I'll grab you a towel," he mumbles, heading for the house.
As soon as he's inside, he adjusts his shorts and runs upstairs to the linen closet. He needs to get this under control. He can't be thinking with his dick right now. It's pretty fucking difficult, though, when she says things like she just said and jokes around and lets loose. What's he supposed to do? Not think about what it'd be like to bang her? That's like, an impossibility.
But he can't sleep with Rachel.
No.
Except that he totally could. You know, if she wanted it, which he hasn't seen any indication of. Shit. Technicality.
He's got a whole week to wear her down.
.....
After she's dried off and (unfortunately, if you ask him) pulled her shirt back on, he tells her there's something he needs her to do in the house.
(Shit, that sounds dirty, doesn't it? He wishes.)
(No, seriously. He really does.)
"What now?" she asks, watching as he hops up onto the counter. He's just grinning at her like he knows something she doesn't. "What?"
"You want me to starve?" he asks, acting like it seriously hurts him that she'd consider letting him go hungry.
"Are you serious?" She puts her hand on her hip after pulling her hair into a ponytail again. "You want me to cook for you."
He grins lasciviously and hops off the counter, taking two long strides toward her. She backs up against the counter until she can't move any more. "Unless you want to do something else for me," he says.
Her jaw drops and she puts a hand on his chest to push him away from her. "Noah," she says dangerously. She's walking towards him now, and it's kinda hot, this scary look in her eyes. And when he walks into the cupboards behind him, he really hopes she's about to just attack him or something. "Nothing about this ridiculous slavery agreement is sexual, and if you continue to insist on implying that it is, you can bet your ass I won't be keeping up my end of the bargain."
Did she just say ass?
"Gotcha, babe," he says, still smirking. This is the second time she's made one of these speeches. He thinks he might have to like, start listening.
"And don't call me that!" She moves away from him, crosses her arms, and her eyes meet his again. "So what would you like?"
And he's pretty sure she picks those words because they're so fucking easy to turn into a comment that would make her blush.
"Whatever you can make, ba..." He catches himself right before she starts glaring. "I'm gonna go shower. Call me when it's ready."
She gapes after him as he leaves the room, and she's left standing in his kitchen with no idea what to make, no idea what he'll like, and no idea what there is in the house anyway. She figures the refrigerator is as good a place as any to start. She looks inside and it's surprisingly neat, vegetables in the crisper, juices and milk on the top shelf, condiments neatly placed, labels facing outward in the door. She spots some chicken breast and figures that's at least something to work around.
When she hears the water start upstairs, she's completely distracted as she chops red peppers. Gosh, she should not be this...this...attracted to him. He's crass and loud and obnoxious and he has absolutely no tact or sense of personal space.
But then she thinks of being pressed against him, playful as they joked around in his driveway. She thinks of watching his back as he shot his basketball lazily. She thinks of him in the shower right now...
(He thinks of her when he's in the shower. It's not his fault. Now that he knows what she looks like soaking wet (fuck) it's just the first image that comes to mind. And he knows his bathroom is, oddly, pretty much soundproof. So maybe he grounds out her name when he comes.)
She nicks her finger with the blade, curses (she's sure he'd be proud of her or something), and raises her finger to her lips to suck the blood. It's actually rather disgusting if she thinks about it, but she's really trying not to. She knows the cut isn't that bad, but she rinses it under the tap to get a better look. She honestly doesn't care if Noah gets scalded because she turned on the water. She grabs a band-aid from her purse (you never know!) and covers the cut, mentally chastising herself for getting so distracted by him when he's not even in the same room as her.
She's just putting the finishing touches on her southwest chicken salad (it's quite delicious; she makes it at home sometimes for herself) when he walks into the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white tee shirt.
He looks at the plate between them (her presentation is fabulous, if she does say so herself).
"Salad?" he asks incredulously. "You made me salad?"
"With chicken!" she cries, offended. "And tortilla chips! And salsa!"
"It's a salad. I'm a dude, baby. I need man food."
"Don't call me that!" she says seriously. He smirks at her. He's infuriating! She reaches for a fork from the drawer and shoves it towards him. "Just eat it."
He sighs and takes the fork from her, stabbing a piece of chicken and some lettuce and whatever else is in there. He stuffs it into his mouth and...whoa. That's seriously fucking good. He chews slowly and swallows, because he does not need to let her know that he's like, really, really loving this. Shit. Knowing she's good in the kitchen doesn't help. He shouldn't care about that. He just wants to fuck her. That's it.
"'S'not bad," he admits with his mouth full of his second bite. He grabs the plate and walks over to sit at the table.
She sets a glass of water in front of him, trying not to look too smug. "Water helps with digestion."
He watches her sling her bag over her shoulder and furrows his brow. "You're leaving?"
"If there's nothing else?" she asks, and shit, the way she says it is kinda like, telling him that he doesn't want to ask her for anything more today. He can't really blame her, even if he does want her to stay until it's dark so he can seduce her. "I'll see you tomorrow at school, Noah."
"Later, Rach."
He doesn't even thank her. She turns on her heel and leaves and really hopes that this week isn't going to make her do anything she'll regret.
(She's already regretting betting so big in that poker game.)
But maybe spending time with Noah won't be so bad if he can keep his sexual innuendos to a minimum and try not to look at her with that grin on his lips. She'll be fine.
She can do this. Six more days.