Sugar Sundays: Part Five

Hello NAtural readers!

Catch up here:

Find Part One here: http://thenaturalauthors.blogspot.com/2013/06/sugar-sunday-inaugural-post.html

And Two here: http://thenaturalauthors.blogspot.com/2013/07/sugar-sundays-part-2.html

And Three: http://thenaturalauthors.blogspot.com/2013/07/sugar-sundays-part-three.html
Also Four: http://thenaturalauthors.blogspot.com/2013/08/sugar-sunday-part-four.html

And then enjoy some fresh Sugar.

As always, I hope you had an extra-sweet weekend!

xoxo,
Lucy

An hour gave her more than enough time to get some work done for a new client, shower, and change into something sexy. Wait- what would Sugar think was sexy? Her closet stared back at her, unknowing. Business casual? Jeans? The bridesmaid’s dress from her cousin’s wedding last fall? She settled on a sundress over leggings. Easy on, easy off.

            Crawling through her neighbors window was the first problem. Her dress snagged on the lever and left her half undressed in an unfamiliar basement. Should have worn a bra. Standing on her tiptoes and praying a Hail Mary got it free, but then she felt guilty about invoking the Mother’s help on such a foolish and rather irreverent situation and had to whisper a second as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She took a step forward and heard a yowl.

            It wasn’t until she’d leapt halfway back out the window that she realized she’d stepped on a cat. Theresa knelt and apologized softly. It was soft, and could almost be cute, if it hadn’t been a four-legged creature. She would never understand the point of having a roommate that wouldn’t eventually learn how to use a can opener. It was in this kneeling position, bent over a soulless animal, that she heard floorboards creaking above her. Floorboards and high heels. That was not Sugar. She hoped fervently, anyway.

Clearly her prayers were losing favor Upstairs.  

The footsteps wandered for a moment and stopped. Just as her heartbeat began to slow, Theresa heard the unmistakable ding of a microwave, followed by more steps and a chair scraping against the floor. Carolina was clearly not asleep.

            Wtf. Someone is awake and I am fairly certain it is not you. She typed into her phone before silencing it. She stared at the device, willing Sugar to write back. Nothing. She eased back towards the window. Wait- the setup of this townhouse was identical to hers. That meant the kitchen window looked out over the basement window. Theresa was trapped.

The cat meowed and she dropped again to silence it with petting. The chair scraped again. Okay, so Carolina was done eating. A moment later, a second ding from the microwave. Seconds? Good grief! Where did she put three helpings in that body? The metabolism envy was cut short by the sound of a door opening above her.

            “Kitty? You down here?” her neighbor’s voice softly called down the basement stairs. Theresa would have sworn her heart stopped altogether. There would be no explaining this. Oh dear God, Carolina would assume she was the thief, breaking and entering and all. The horror! The unjust horror! Hand over her mouth, she eased behind a bookshelf as high-heels clattered down in her direction. She jammed her phone into her cleavage and began to pray that Sugar would not text back. Silenced or not, the phone would light up and give away her hiding spot.

            “Kittyyyyyy. Where’d you go?” It yowled again. Traitor. If the little shit DID have a soul, Theresa hoped for its damnation in the Ninth Circle. She shrank even further into the shadows and tried not to breathe. That only made her breathe harder. Her only hope was that the pattern of footsteps appeared to belong to a rather intoxicated Carolina.  

            Despite the danger, Theresa eased the phone halfway out of its hidey-hole and cupped a hand around it to muffle the light. No new texts. She was dangerously close to hyperventilating. The click-clacks staggered closer to the bookshelf. Lungs aching from unreleased air, Theresa squeezed her eyes shut and prayed again. Mary was the wrong choice here. This was a case for the patron saint of lost causes- only Jude could help her now.

            “…bring visible and speedy help where help was almost despaired of…” she mouthed, eyes squinched tight. The footsteps wavered and began to move off.

            “Fucking kitty. Starve then, eh?” Yes, her voice was definitely retreating.

            “I promise thee, O blessed Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor…” The stairs creaked for a moment and then the door slammed. Theresa sank to the floor, gasping for breath. Shit. She got her miracle, but now she’d have to follow through on all her desperate promises to God, Mary, Jude, and a few randos she’d called on to hedge her bets. Well, there went booze, tea, her Sunday mornings for a year, and rock-n-roll for a week. Good thing she hadn’t added sex to the list- that was a sin she was a bit too pleased with at the moment to offer up.

            Her boobs lit up like Christmas just as she began to consider crawling back out the window.

            Are you still here? What just happened?

            Yes. And I would rather not discuss it. Kindly fetch me from your basement.

If they were going down, they were going down together. At least if Theresa got busted with Sugar, she wouldn’t be thought a thief. Just a slut. Meh, most people made assumptions when they found out she was a Catholic school alumni anyway.

The steps clomping her direction now were steady and heavy. She was sure it was Sugar, but waited until she heard him talking to the Judas-Cat anyways. Squaring her shoulders, she gathered all of her dignity to stalk out from the bookcase as though the past… dear God, half hour… hadn’t happened.

“I am less than pleased,” she hissed between gritted teeth. He had the gall to laugh out loud.

“How long were you down here, anyway? I bet you were totally freaking out! Can you imagine the look on my sister’s face?”

“I said I would rather not discuss it.”

“Aw, don’t be fussy. I’ll kiss you all better,” as he leaned into her neck. Theresa supposed she’d rather earned it at this point, and allowed herself to be led upstairs and onto his bed. His mouth hovered above hers as he traced her lips with his thumb. He moved both hands up and back, smoothing her hair away from her face and then tangling his fingers in it as he pressed his lips against hers. He waited for hers to part before gently moving his tongue against hers. She relaxed gradually into him as he continued his talented assault on her grumpiness.

“I like your dress,” he murmured as he began to tug it over her head. Going braless had been a good decision. Her nipples hardened first at the chill air, then at the wetness of his mouth. Sucking and nibbling, his hands worked her leggings down her legs. Going commando had also been a good idea.

The kisses trailed further down. Theresa raised up onto her elbows and watched him part her legs and move between them. She had never been certain of protocol during a close encounter of the southern kind. Eye contact or no? Then his tongue began to move over a particularly sensitive spot, her eyes closed involuntarily as her back arched, and all questions of etiquette were forgotten.