Page 13 of Romanced By the Rat
Chapter nine
Ramsay
God, do I miss opposable thumbs. Surprisingly, it’s the first rat-loathing thought I’ve had all day—a new record. I’m writing my third letter to Charlotte, not signed by me, of course, but I don’t mind pretending to be someone I’m not. If anything, it makes being a rat more bearable. Except for the time it takes me to complete these love letters, due to the previously mentioned lack of appendages. But really, I should be thankful . It’s not like I have a busy schedule as a rat.
Jeremy is closing tonight, and although it’s a risk to let him operate on the dining floor on his own, I’ve got more pressing work to do. Charlotte’s been here for two hours, sitting by herself at her usual table, making goo-goo eyes at Jeremy as he slips her notes in between his runs. I can’t talk to her, only through Jeremy, who usually butchers my intended delivery, but these letters are a way to show Charlotte how I truly feel.
Being part of their coupling two days before was nothing like I’ve ever experienced. Well, duh. Who can say they controlled a man having sex with the woman he thinks he’s starting to fall in love with, but still I never expected it to be so good for me.Maybe it’s selfish and taking things too far, but I want more out of this. I can’t please her with my own cock, but I can make her panties wet with my words.
The first letter was sweet and short, letting her know how beautiful she looks tonight and that I can’t stop thinking about her. The second was almost a ballad—comparing her beauty to that of a starlit night, her smile to the first blink of the morning sun—shit like that. This last one, though, I’m getting a little riskier. I know she’ll love it. I thought I had her pinned—that she was a quiet, introspective woman—and those things may be true, but the way she rode my cock—I mean, Jeremy’s cock—she is a sex goddess either from the pits of hell or the gates of heaven, maybe both.
That dress. Charlotte, did you wear it to torture me?I scurry down the hall, note in my mouth, landing on Jeremy’s shoulder. He doesn’t even turn to me, filling up drinks as he grabs it and places it in his pocket. I watch as he nonchalantly places the letter on her table as he passes by.
I hide in the rafters, my rat dick throbbing as I watch her read my words. Her cheeks blush, and she hides her smile behind her hand. She grabs her pen off the table and writes something under my writing, folding it and pushing it toward the edge of the table. Jeremy picks it up as he walks by, and I’m running back to the server station, my heart pounding as I retrieve my letter. I’m surprised he doesn’t care to read what we’re writing back and forth. Maybe he’s letting me have this one thing by myself.
Is it so hideous?
I grin. She’s clever. It’s obvious she knows what she’s doing.
You could wear a potato sack and make it look designer. Although I’d much rather you wear nothing at all.
Our notes are exchanged, and I can nearly feel the heat radiating off her.
I could make that happen. Tomorrow night?
Somehow, this is all more thrilling than texting or talking—the anticipation, a delicious torture.
I pass Jeremy the next note.Dinner at my place? We could make something together.It’s not what either of us have in mind, but if I want her to keep us around, we must do more than fucking, as much as I don’t want to.
It’s nine o’clock. The restaurant is closed, and Jeremy and another server are the only people on the floor. Instead of returning my note with a response, Charlotte stands just as Jeremy walks past. She whispers something to him, pulling him close. He grins and nods, mouthing something I can’t make out. I have to look away. It hurts too much.
The clock strikes eleven. Jeremy’s the last one here, wiping down surfaces as his penance for being new. I meet him on the table.
“So now we’re making dinner tomorrow, huh?” He shakes his head, staring down at his rag.
“What, are you disappointed?”
He meets my gaze. “No. It’s just I wish I knew whatIwas planning with Charlotte before she approaches me with the details.” He rubs at an imaginary spot with increased vigor. Someone is salty.
“Well, now you know.” I lie on my side, propping up my head with my hand. “I was thinking, tomorrow night, we need to work on making sure she comes more than once.”
He chokes on his saliva. He hits his chest and chuckles. “Yeah, okay,” he shakes his head and returns to wiping down the already clean table.
“I’m serious.”
He slams the rag down, leaning against the table and glaring at me. “Jesus Christ, were you ever really a human? That’s only possible in pornos.”
I laugh, sitting up straight. “You’re joking, right? You’ve never made a woman come more than once?”
“I mean, yes, but not during the same… you know,session.”
“No, I don’t know. I bet you’ve slept with way more women than me, but even I made a woman come from foreplay and then around my cock.”
He scoffs. “Why would you assume I’ve slept with more women than you?”
“Have you seen yourself?” The room tightens as Jeremy’s pupils grow. It’s not a secret that Jeremy is attractive—anyone with eyes can see it, but saying it out loud, our faces nearly touching, and after everything we’ve done together, it makes things much heavier than they should be.
I watch him, study every minuscule movement, waiting for his next move. I nearly forget I’m a rat. Instead, I’m a human soul, outside of my body, waiting for the other part of the tether I just threw out to the roaring sea.
