Page 12 of Dating the DILF
I want to run. Maybe perform an Olympic-worthy sprint out of this room, that suddenly feels far too small to contain the both of us. With the adrenaline running through me right now, I’m pretty sure I could be at my car before he even realizes what is happening. I mean, there is always the chance I might fall flat on my face like when I agreed to go running with Adelaide but, really, what are the odds of that happeningthreetimes?
A soft meow distracts me from my escape plans and my fingers slide through the kitten’s soft fur while my eyes dart around the impersonal examination room, looking everywhere except at the man in front of me. Until his amused voice gives me no choice.
“Charlotte Chicago. You are a hard lady to find.”
Well, fuck me.
It’s been about a month since our encounter at the grocery store. And by “abouta month” I mean four weeks, four days, and roughly two hours.
I gave up on my random internet searches after a week because, let’s face it, the odds of me ever finding her were pretty much zilch. I guess the universe had other ideas and I make a mental note to pay this amazing karma forward as soon as possible.
I step back and take a moment to observe her. Just as I did at the supermarket, I search her face for any hint of recognition but once again, I see none. Her face is flushed, and she refuses to meet my eye. Her fingertips, which are painted a pale pink color—when the hell did I start noticing women’s nail polish?—are furiously sliding through the coat of the kitten on the chair beside her. All in all, she looks thoroughly embarrassed and altogether perfect.
When my dick starts to take a little too much notice of the way her mouth is shaped into a perfect O, I clear my throat and attempt to act like the professional I’m supposed to be.
“You found a stray cat?” I do my very best to keep my voice level and ignore the charged atmosphere in the room. It seems to do the trick because her head snaps up and she looks at me with eyes full of worry.
“I did, he was on my porch and he has a cut on his ear.” She pulls the tiny kitten onto her lap and gently points to the matted fur on its ear. “It looks pretty nasty.”
I take a couple of steps forward and ignoring my baser instincts, the ones that have me wanting to touch every inch of exposed skin I can find, I kneel down and examine the cat closely.
Our foreheads are so close as we both lean over the tiny furball and, for a moment, I imagine lifting my head up and letting my mouth taste her. I wonder how her lips would feel. If they would be soft and yielding or would they fight me? Taunting and eager to take what they can from me.
Then her pussy mewls pitifully, and I realize that I am undeniably an asshole.
I clear my throat once again and, lifting my arms slightly, I quirk a questioning brow at her. “May I?”
She understands and passes the cat over to me. I ignore the jolt of electricity that seems to follow her touch and move over to the examination table.
“Yeah, that definitely doesn’t look good.” She has followed me to the table and her eyes are closely watching every move I make, which I’m finding pretty damn distracting. “I’ll clean the wound and it will need a couple of stitches. Normally, I’d scan her for a microchip, but she can’t be more than a few weeks old, so she’s too young to have had the procedure.”
Charlotte is nodding along, listening closely.
“I can call the local animal shelter if you want me to? They’ll come out and pick her up within the hour.”
“Oh.” She appears startled by my suggestion and when her small hand finds its way to the even tinier paw and begins to rub it comfortingly, I know she has already lost her heart to the pocket-sized kitten.
“I’m happy to keep him. I don’t want him to go to a shelter.”
Her hands are once again smoothing through the cat’s gray coat. “Her,” I murmur distractedly.
“What?” Charlotte responds, looking confused.
“Uh, her.” I shake my head, making a concerted effort to pull my head out of my ass. “The cat’s a girl.”
“Oh.Her. I’m happy to keep her.”
“Okay, I don’t see why you shouldn’t. She has no collar, so there’s no way of locating an owner.” I step away and wash my hands at the small sink in the corner of the office. “Perhaps you could give me your phone number?” Her surprised expression clashes with my own, which is a picture of calm. I am not going to fuck this up.
“Just in case anyone comes in looking for a lost pet,” I reassure her. “I doubt it will happen, but I’d hate for you to get caught up in convoluted catnapping charges. I mean, you get thrown in the slammer and you’d have to give up life’s little luxuries like bad romantic comedies, strawberry milkshakes and—” I pause for a moment, making sure I have her attention before I continue. “Mint choc chip ice cream.”
I offer her a small smile and watch with a certain amount of enjoyment as her face turns beet red and her shoulders slump slightly.
She seems to be so put together, the type of woman who is always in control and this small display of emotion feels like it’s completely out of character for her. I like that I affect her this way and I have to tamp down the desire to tease her a little more, just to see how she would react.
“Oh God.” She groans, sending a jolt straight to my dick. “Can we please forget that ever happened? I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life.”
“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” I say this over my shoulder as I start preparing the instruments I’ll need for the sutures.
