Chapter 12 Lee
LEE
Iwake up to the soft, unfamiliar rhythm of someone else’s breathing. For a second, I forget where I am—the bed beneath me isn’t mine, the room smells like vanilla and something I can’t place. Then I feel the weight against my chest, the warmth pressed along my side.
Kya.
Her hair is a mess of blonde waves across my shirt, one hand splayed over my ribs, the other still tangled with mine under the covers. Fuck, she feels good snuggled in beside me. I’ve had women in my bed before, but this is different.
She’s different. Or maybe I am because she’s mine.
The possessiveness that thought brings should scare me. Instead, it settles a restlessness I’ve carried for years. Her lashes flutter against my chest, and I watch her surface slowly from sleep. I tighten my arm around her waist, selfish enough to want to keep her here just a little longer.
“Morning, sunshine,” I murmur against her hair.
She makes a sound that’s part groan, part death rattle. “Do not sunshine me before coffee, Armstrong. I will end you.”
I chuckle, the vibration making her grumble and burrow deeper into my chest. “Noted. You’re not a morning person.”
“I’m not a people person before ten a.m. and two cups of coffee,” she mutters into my shirt. “Consider yourself warned.”
“What if I’m very, very charming?” I ask, cupping her ass.
She lifts her head just enough to glare at me with one squinted eye. Her hair is sticking up in about seventeen different directions, there’s a crease from the sheet pressed into her cheek, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Charming is not going to save you from my morning wrath,” she says, but she’s fighting a smile.
“What about devastatingly handsome?”
“Strike two.”
“Irresistibly sexy?”
She snorts. “You’re pushing your luck, biker boy.”
I lean down to kiss her, but she plants a hand on my chest and pushes me back with surprising strength.
“Absolutely not,” she says firmly. “I have heinous morning breath. Like, could-kill-a-small-animal levels of bad.”
“I don’t care—”
“I care. For both our sakes.” She covers her mouth with her hand, glaring at me over her fingers. “No kissing these lips until I’ve brushed my teeth. That’s the rule.”
I study her face, taking in the self-consciousness hiding behind the humor. Then I grin, slow and wicked.
“Fine,” I say, sliding down in the bed.
Before she can ask what I’m up to, I push up her oversized sleep shirt and press my mouth to the soft skin just below her ribs. She gasps, her hand flying to my hair.
“Lee—”
“You said no mouth kissing,” I murmur against her skin, trailing kisses across her stomach. “You didn’t say anything about kissing other places.”
Her laugh turns breathless as I work my way up, pressing soft kisses to the curve of her breast through her thin camisole. “That’s… that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Sue me,” I say, grinning up at her. “I’m a problem solver.”
She’s trying to look stern, but her fingers are already threading through my hair, holding me closer instead of pushing me away. “You’re trouble.”
“The best kind,” I agree, pressing one more kiss to her collarbone before flopping back down beside her. “But I’ll behave. For now.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now, the self-consciousness replaced by something warmer. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re beautiful,” I say simply.
Pink floods her cheeks. “I look like I got hit by a truck.”
“You look like you spent the night being thoroughly kissed by someone who’s crazy about you,” I correct. “Which you did.”
She buries her face in her hands. “God, we’re disgustingly cute, aren’t we?”
“Disgustingly,” I agree, tugging her hands away from her face. “I’m thinking about making you pancakes. That’s how far gone I am.”
Her eyes light up. “You know how to make pancakes?”
“Woman, I was raised by a single dad with two kids. Of course I know how to make pancakes.” I roll out of bed, already missing her warmth. “The question is, do you have actual food in your kitchen, or just coffee and whatever sad desk lunch you’ve been surviving on?”
“I have food,” she protests, then pauses. “Okay, I have eggs. And milk and… is peanut butter food?”
I shake my head in mock disappointment. “City girl. Good thing I stopped at the store yesterday.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You went grocery shopping? When? Where is this food?”
“Before I came here.” I shrug. “It’s in the pack on my bike. Wanted to make sure we had something for breakfast. Just in case.”
The look she gives me could power the entire town. Soft and amazed and tender in a way that makes my chest tight.
“Lee Armstrong,” she says quietly. “You bought me groceries.”
“It’s just premix pancake batter.”
“You bought me groceries because you were hoping I’d let you spend the night.” She sits up, the sheet pooling around her waist. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“It’s just food, Kya.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling.
I roll my eyes, ruffle her hair and roll out of bed. “Coffee first or shower?”
“Shower,” she says immediately. “Followed immediately by coffee. I’m not human until I’ve had coffee.”
“Noted. One cup of humanity, coming up.”
I dress and head outside to retrieve the pancake mix and syrup from my saddlebags before coming back in to start her ancient coffee maker. The thing gurgles and protests but eventually produces something that smells like coffee.
I hear the shower start, and despite my best intentions, my mind immediately goes to places it shouldn’t. Kya naked, water running down those curves I’ve been trying not to think about, soap slicking over skin I’m dying to touch.
“Lee?” Her voice drifts from the bathroom, and I nearly drop the coffee pot.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come here for minute?”
My mouth goes dry.
Fuck. She’s going to kill me.
I find myself walking toward the bathroom before I can think better of it. The door is cracked open, steam curling out, and through the frosted glass I can see her silhouette.
“What do you need?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended.
“Come in, please.”
I step inside, and sweet hell, the sight nearly brings me to my knees.
The shower door is clear enough that I can see everything—the water cascading down her body, her hands moving over her skin as she washes.
She’s a goddess, all soft curves and golden skin, and she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Think I’m clean enough?” she asks, running her hands through her hair, arching her back in a way that makes me bite back a groan.
“Not at all, filthy girl.”
She chuckles and turns to face me fully, water running in rivulets down her breasts, and I grip the doorframe to keep myself upright. When her hands move lower, soaping her stomach, her thighs, I stop breathing entirely.
“Kya…”
“What?” she asks innocently, though her eyes are dark with heat.
When her hand slips between her legs, her head falls back against the tile with a soft moan, and I lose the last thread of my control. My own hand moves to my jeans, working the zipper down, because if she’s going to torture me, I’m sure as hell not going through it alone.
We watch each other through the steam. The sound of water mingles with our ragged breathing.
Her fingers are slow, teasing. She’s not desperate enough for my liking.
“You’re a tease, aren’t you, Kya?” I rasp, hand wrapped tight around my cock. “Let me see how pretty you look when you touch yourself.”
Her breath stutters. Her eyes flick to mine, wide and wanting.
“You enjoy teasing me, sweetheart?” I murmur. “Right there, with your fingers buried in that sweet little pussy?”
She moans, hips rocking into her hand.
“Good girl,” I groan, fisting my cock. “Fuck, look at you. So fucking wet for me. So greedy. You want me to watch you fall apart, don’t you?”
She nods, eyes half-lidded, lips parting with another shaky gasp. Her free hand braces against the tile, her movements turning frantic.
“You’re perfect, Kya. So fucking beautiful. You don’t even know what you do to me,” I grit out, stroking harder. “You were made to be worshipped. You hear me?”
“Lee…” she gasps, fingers trembling. “I’m—”
“Let go, baby. That’s it. Let me hear you say my name when you come. Let me hear what mine sounds like from that pretty little mouth.”
She cries out, loud and unrestrained, my name ripped from her throat. And that’s all it takes. My vision blurs, my body tenses, and I come hard, thick stripes of release spilling over my hand, hips jerking as I grunt her name.
The steam clings to the air, heavy and silent.
Her chest heaves. So does mine.
She leans her forehead against the glass, eyes glazed, lips swollen. And I swear to god, if she lets me in there, I’ll spend the next hour on my knees showing her what real fucking devotion feels like.
She reaches behind her and flicks the tap off.
“Best shower ever,” she says breathlessly as she steps out, wrapping herself in a towel.
“We’re going to be the death of each other,” I mutter, adjusting my jeans.
“Probably. But what a way to go.”
By the time we’ve both recovered, the coffee maker has finished gurgling, and the pancake batter is waiting.
Kya shuffles in just as I’m flipping the first batch of pancakes, now wearing an oversized sweater that hits mid-thigh and fuzzy socks. Her hair is damp, but she’s brushed her teeth. I can tell because she’s not covering her mouth anymore.
“You’re actually making pancakes,” she says, cupping the coffee I hand her.
“I’m a man of my word.” I slide a perfect golden pancake onto a plate and hand it to her. “Syrup?”
“Yes please.” She takes a long, reverent sip of the coffee, and I watch her shoulders relax, her eyes flutter closed, and what can only be described as a moan of pure satisfaction escape her lips.
“Better?” I ask, trying not to think about how that sound affects me.
“Marginally human now,” she admits, taking another sip. “Give me five more minutes and I might even be pleasant company.”