#God forgive me I never show the right reverence to the beautiful window He’s given me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phobiadeficient · 4 years

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combined for obvious reasons. scout’s ma will like never stop being a badass as far as i’m concerned. the woman raised so many kids, guys. it’s buckwild.

He clearly thought he was being clever.

”My God, the luck I must have to end up getting such a beautiful waitress at my table,” he said in French, flashing a disarming smile at her as she handed him a menu.

“What was that?” she asked, pretending not to understand.

“Ah, my apologies, miss. I asked how you were doing tonight—it seems you do not have a particularly busy Tuesday evening here,” he observed coolly, still smiling.

He chatted with her idly over the wine selection, his flirting in English exactly light enough that it could easily be brushed off as him merely being at the very charming intersection of both sweet and funny. But each time she approached the table again from that point forward, his greeting in French was always overt.

”I’m afraid I must have died, for what other reason would an angel presently be approaching me?”

”Finally, salvation approaches—and also, of course, the food.”

”God, never have I considered getting a permanent visa to stay in America until this very moment, and only so that I might stay here at this table.”

In English, he was very polite and respectful. And his comments weren’t lewd, weren’t rude, were simply so overtly flirtatious and reverent that she was glad she wasn’t the type to blush easily.

And yet, in English, he was merely friendly.

“I understand that in America, your work shifts are less forgiving?” he asked, frowning a little.

“I work until the doors are locked most nights, then the dishwashers and hosts do the closing,” she replied, topping off his water with such practice that she barely needed to look. “That’s only about seven or eight hours a day, six days a week, and that’s better than the chefs.”

“My god, how do you manage to stay standing?” he marveled.

“Well, half a dozen sons to support all on my own these days, makes a hell of an incentive,” she divulged, looking away briefly to start sweeping up plates from the table over.

When she looked back up, his eyes were somewhere between soft and filled with wonder. “You’re incredible,” he said, in English, each syllable pronounced deliberately, and she felt her chest swell, a smile pulling insistently at her lips even as she tried to force it down.

“I knew that,” she scoffed anyways, and he laughed, and said a line in French that just had her grinning a little bit more.

Of course he ended up lingering over his meal until closing started to draw near. Of course she slipped him her phone number alongside the check when he finally asked for it, idly wondering what hotel he must be staying at. And he hesitated for a moment, prefaced his question by saying to stop him if he was presuming too much, but would she like to come see when she was off her shift?

And she said yes, and got a few winks and enthusiastic waves from her fellow waitresses when she clocked out about five minutes early and left arm in arm with the handsome suited man from the table near the window.

She flagged down a taxi, and promptly took hold of his arm again when she followed him into it, threading their fingers together as he told the driver which hotel he was staying in. He asked, polite, tone neutral for the company they had, when she was expected back home. She replied that her oldest son was babysitting the others and she wasn’t expected back at any time in particular, almost always back after they were all in bed anyways. Polite conversation about her many sons—seven in total, her being a fairly recent widow—until they got to the hotel, into the elevator, and finally into the room.

He tasted like the wine he’d been sipping patiently on all night, and was sweet enough to bend forward and wrap his arms around her waist to gather her up closer so neither of them would hurt themselves craning their necks. He sat her at the end of the bed, worked her heels off of her feet even as he kissed a line up her leg starting just below her knee. He kneaded away the soreness there and in her calves as he pulled tension from the rest of her body with kisses and little licks, her pantyhose probably a terrible texture to his mouth but he didn’t complain.

He was an absolute gentleman. He gently murmured for her permission before he pulled off her tights, her dress, kissed at her bared neck and shoulders for long minutes before his lips found her ear and he asked if he could strip her fully.

”You had better before I lose my patience,” she replied, purred back at him in just the same tone, and he pulled back, looking down at her with astonishment.

Finally he laughed, leaning in for another brief kiss before pinching at her side teasingly. “You minx,” he accused. “You understood me the whole time?”

“Of course I did. Why else would I have given you my number, sweetheart?” she teased right back, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that got him to sink down against her just a bit further for a moment, making a soft noise of approval.

“Well, I admit it’s convenient,” he seemed to decide. “Often I find myself losing track of my English when I’m being driven wild, and my dear, I have a feeling that you will have an easy time of that,” he said, eyes lingering on her, hungry but contained.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, and pulled him into another kiss, starting to work his shirt off of him.

She was just starting to think, hey, maybe she could hold it together for this guy. Sure, he was handsome, and foreign, and mysterious, and smelled nice and dressed nice and his hair was gorgeous and he spoke like a poet and he was funny in a real way and clearly respectful and polite, but there had to be something he was bad at.

Then he promptly lifted her thighs over his shoulders and put his mouth to work, and no, god damn it, he was perfect.

Maybe a touch impolite. She tried to tell him to let up after shaking through her second orgasm on his tongue, but all he did was add fingers into the mix, and suddenly she was onto a third, something her husband had only managed once, on their anniversary, before seven kids passed them by.

He stroked across her skin with soft, well-taken-care-of hands, gentling her all over as she shook and trembled in the wake of it. He left exactly long enough to get her water, and coaxed her into drinking it, nosing her hair aside to kiss at her neck some more as she did. And once she got some water into her system she found herself revitalized, and wound up pushing him back and straddling him, plucking the condom from the bedside table and rolling it on then wasting no time in sinking down onto him where he’d clearly started moving past turned on and into desperate, maybe painfully so. And she showed him well what kind of strength it gave her to walk around a restaurant all day carrying heavy trays in a pair of heels. A stream of filth was leaving his mouth as she unwound him, and it seemed to take a moment before he remembered that she could understand French, because he instantly moved to press his hands to his own mouth to muffle himself. She took both of those hands, guiding one around to her thigh and the other to her chest, and he took up the silent direction without any question at all, only enthusiasm, stroking at and playing with her with no hesitation at all.

His stamina was something to behold, especially after such a lengthy wait and self-tease. She was close by the time he was finished, much to her own surprise, and he didn’t stall for more than a second or two after he was finished to pull her off and roll her beneath him again, his mouth and one hand working her breasts and the other moving back between her legs, working her clit with enough mastery that he managed to finish her off, sending her shivering through what she figured was probably the last she had to give.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight, not at all, but the fact that he got her more water and gently, so gently, so gingerly, took to washing her and wiping her down with several cool, wet towels as she lay there, reduced to a pile of practically-gelatinous limbs by him, well. She thought maybe love at first meeting wasn’t entirely out of the question.

Somewhere in the long, slow minutes, he’d apparently found some amount of vigor again, and she managed to coax him onto his back again, deigning to show him exactly how skilled her mouth was as well, and she felt an amount of pride in the fact that she managed to get him off in a flat ten minutes, even on round two. And they kissed for some unknown, lengthy, wonderful amount of time after that, her straddling him and him running his hands across as much of her skin as he could reach.

He lit a cigarette, and she accepted one when he offered, and they fell into conversation. She talked about her hobbies, how she tended to jump between them wildly, sticking to something for two weeks before she got passably good at it and moved on to something else. He talked about how his own hobbies generally tended to be things like learning new languages and cooking, sometimes reading for fun, mostly fiction. How his job had him traveling a lot.

She found herself starting to nod off a little, listening to his soothing voice, the way he occasionally stumbled over an English word and murmured in French for a few moments before he found it. Listening to him talk about all the places he’d been, stories about interesting locals in those places.

She felt his hand lingering at her inner thigh, and reached over him to stub the crumbly remains of her cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, leaving it there. It was a fancy one, nicer than what she usually smoked, which were basically just excuses to take a short break outside during her shift to let her rest her feet or something to occupy her hands with when she waited at the bus stop in the morning. The hand on her thigh stayed there, thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“Sweetheart, I dunno if I can manage staying awake long enough to let you fuck me again,” she admitted, blinking up at him.

“Not my goal,” he said. “I just like the feel of you. You are... when you’re falling apart, it’s... there are no words, my dear.”

“Mm. Next time you’re in town, you should call. Visit again. We can work something out,” she said, kissing just below his jaw.

“But of course.”

She forced herself to get up for long enough to use the bathroom, brush her teeth, and returned back into his arms when she came back.

“Dolly,” he mused quietly, and she looked up at him. “Very American name.”

“Well, Jose sounds more Spanish than French,” she replied, toying idly with his chest hair.

“Fitting, since my father was from Spain,” he replied, sounding amused.

“That why your accent’s weird?”

“Yes. Most don’t notice. Most also don’t speak French.”

“Learned it from my neighbors, and patrons, stuff like that. I always liked the language.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s sexy,” she replied, tone cheeky, and leaned up to kiss him right on the tip of his nose. It made him chuckle.

“Well, big-city women several years older than me was never much of a particular appeal, but I might just need to start changing my mind,” he said, kissing her on the cheek, and she giggled, returning to where she’d been cuddling into him earlier.

“You just might,” she agreed.

#and then they like. are in love a lot and its very sweet #//spyma #//tenderness

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