Chapter 22
SUTTON
Consciousness finds me before my eyelids lift.
The warmth pulls me from sleep—not from blankets or morning light streaming through windows, but from the solid weight draped across my middle.
His arm forms a barrier between me and the rest of the world, both anchor and sanctuary.
I lie perfectly still, lungs barely drawing breath.
One wrong move, one stray thought, and this moment might dissolve like morning mist, leaving me alone with just the memory of being held.
Behind me, Shepherd shifts slightly, his arm tightening instinctively around my waist like his body knows I’m awake before I do. “Don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
My heart stutters. “I wasn’t going to,” I whisper. It’s not entirely a lie. I hadn’t planned on moving. I just…hadn’t necessarily planned on staying either.
His thumb drags slowly across my stomach, just beneath the hem of the shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—and my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
A quiet inhale. A small shift closer. God, this is dangerous.
Not because of him but because of how easily I could get used to this.
Outside, raindrops cling to the branches, falling occasionally to tap against the window glass—quiet afterthoughts of the downpour that moved on while we slept.
Inside though, it feels like something has changed. Something I don’t know how to name.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he says softly.
I huff out the smallest laugh. “You can hear that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s concerning.”
“Nah. Just one of my superpowers,” he corrects.
I roll in his arms so I can face him, and the moment I do, I regret it immediately because holy fucking shit.
Morning Shepherd is unfair. His hair is a mess.
His eyes are still heavy with sleep. There’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow, and he looks so relaxed—so unguarded—it hits me right in the chest. This version of him?
This isn’t the big strong quarterback from the Portland Rush and this isn’t the calm fixer.
This is just…Shepherd. A beautiful man who is looking at me like I’m his favorite thing in the world.
“Mornin’,” he says.
My stomach flips. “Morning.”
For a few seconds we just stare at each other. Maybe it’s too long, or maybe it’s not long enough, I don’t know, but I do become acutely aware of many things.
The way his hand is still resting on my waist, his thumb tracing over my skin. The way my leg is tangled with his, and the fact that I am very much aware of his body…and just how awake he is.
My cheeks heat and of course, he notices.
“Sorry, not sorry.” His mouth twitches and he grins, slow and lazy and entirely too pleased with himself.
“You fed the beast and now he’ll be hungry every moment of every day whenever you’re around.
” He doesn’t push and he doesn’t tease further, nor does he shift the moment into something heavier.
Instead, his thumb just traces another quiet line across my side. Grounding and safe. Always safe.
I like when he touches me.
“You okay?” he asks.
The question seems simple, but it’s not, because what he’s really asking me is something more profound.
Are you still here?
Did last night scare you away?
Are you going to run?
For once I don’t want to run. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m okay.”
Something in his expression loosens just a little. “Good,” he says.
We stay like this for another quiet moment before I glance toward the window. “It stopped raining.”
“Mm.”
“You have practice today?”
“Yeah.”
“What time?”
“Later.” He doesn’t move and he doesn’t get up. He’s in no rush, almost like staying here with me is his plan for the day. And that thought fills my chest with something warm and fuzzy.
“I should probably go,” I say, testing him, even though my body doesn’t make a single move to follow through.
“Okay.”
Wait.
What?
He said okay?
Does he want me to go?
He just told me not to go anywhere.
There’s no argument, no pressure…and I don’t understand that.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The ‘I respect your decisions even when they’re dumb’ thing.”
His lips twitch and he chuckles softly. “When have I ever said your decisions were dumb?”
“You implied it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
He shifts closer, just enough that I feel the heat of him again, his voice dropping a fraction.
“If you want to go,” he says quietly, placing a tender kiss to my forehead, “it’s okay, because I do respect you and your boundaries. I feel like I won the lottery last night and if you need time to yourself to process it all, I can respect that.”
My chest tightens because I know he means it. There’s no guilt, no expectation, and no strings. Just…him. And suddenly I don’t want to leave. Not yet anyway. Not when it feels like this.
“But,” he adds casually, clearly noticing my lack of will, “you could allow me to kiss you good morning and then you could stay for coffee.”
I hesitate before saying yes too fast. “Is that your way of trapping me here?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he deadpans. “I lure women in with caffeine.”
“Bold strategy.”
“Works every time.”
I snort and just like that the heaviness eases, the tension softens and the moment becomes ours again. “Fine,” I say, pretending like I was really thinking about leaving in the first place. “Coffee sounds nice.”
His smile is quiet but victorious. “Good call.” He leans in and I hold my breath, watching the way his eyes darken as they focus on my lips.
When his mouth finally meets mine, it’s gentle at first, a warm press of his mouth against mine that has my heart racing.
I melt into him instantly, my body remembering everything from last night.
His touch.
His taste.
The way he made me feel so completely safe and wanted.
His hand slides up to cradle my face, thumb stroking my cheek with a tenderness that makes my chest flutter. “I like coffee too,” he whispers against my lips.
I smile into the kiss. “Yeah.” When he whispers like that so close to me it doesn’t matter what the man says. He could tell me he just pooped and I would think it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever said.
He smooths his hand down over my side, his fingers skimming beneath my shirt and suddenly coffee is the last thing on my mind. Heat blooms low in my belly as his palm finds my breast, thumb grazing my nipple with deliberate slowness.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice rough with desire.
“Yes,” I breathe, arching into his touch. “Definitely okay.”
His eyes darken as he watches my reaction, and there’s something intoxicating about the way he’s looking at me, like I’m precious and desirable all at once.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me gasp.
His body is warm and solid, all lean muscle and strength as my fingers explore his chest. The memory of last night floods back—how he touched me, how he made me feel, how he held me when I cried—and now I’m desperate for him again.
“Shepherd,” I whisper against his mouth, my voice needier than I intended.
He groans in response, his hand sliding down to my hip, squeezing gently before dipping lower to cup my ass. “God, Sutton,” he murmurs, his voice rough with want. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I press closer, my leg hooking over his hip, bringing our bodies flush together. The hard length of him presses against my core, and I gasp at the contact, heat flooding through me. His eyes hold mine, checking, always checking that I’m okay, that this is what I want.
“Please,” I breathe, not even sure what I’m asking for, just knowing I need more of him.
He rolls me onto my back, his weight settling partially over me as he kisses down my neck and along my collarbone. I shiver beneath him but arch into his touch. His fingers tease the hem of my shirt, slowly pushing it upward.
“I believe I promised you coffee,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Coffee can wait,” I breathe, tangling my fingers in his hair.
He chuckles, the vibration sending delicious ripples through my body. “Not for me.” He looks up at me with those warm hazel eyes, now dark with desire. “I’m ready for my coffee now.”
For a moment I feel a sense of loss that he’s gotten me all hot and bothered and now he wants to edge me for coffee, but then his mouth continues its journey down my body, trailing kisses across my stomach.
He settles between my thighs and the implication in his actions sends heat pooling between my legs.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants and slowly drags them down my legs. I lift my hips to help him, suddenly feeling vulnerable yet impossibly wanted as he takes in the sight of me.
“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers, pressing kisses to my inner thigh as he pushes them apart. “May I?”
Fuck me. The fact he’s even asking makes me want to give him whatever he wants. “Yes,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the word. “Please.”
The first touch of his tongue against me nearly undoes me completely.
I gasp, my back arching off the bed as he separates me with his soft fingers and then licks a slow, deliberate path through my heated flesh.
My fingers clutch at the sheets as he works me with his mouth, alternating between gentle licks and firmer pressure that has me squirming beneath him.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, my hips rising to meet his mouth. His strong hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he devours me like I’m his favorite dessert.
I can’t think straight. Every lick, every swirl of his tongue against my clit sends electric pulses through my body.
He moans against me, the vibration adding another layer of sensation that has me seeing stars.
His stubble scrapes gently against my inner thighs, the slight burn a delicious counterpoint to the wet heat of his mouth.