Chapter 20
GOOD MORNING TO ME
Trina
In the morning, I don’t want to get out of bed. I’m having the most fantastic dream.
Like my body’s made of liquid and desire as some dream guy kisses me. Here, there, everywhere.
Then, I moan, and huh.
That doesn’t sound like a dream moan.
And it doesn’t sound like it came from me either. It’s a man’s moan, and that man has a thick beard that’s grazing the back of my neck.
My eyes flutter open. Chase’s side of the bed is empty. He came in late but I don’t know when. At some point in the middle of the night, I just realized he was here, a hand on my dog and me.
Maybe that was all Chase needed after his walk.
I’m guessing my dog’s in the living room, licking his food bowl hopefully. Because here in bed, it’s just Ryker and me. He’s holding me and dusting a soft kiss to my shoulder.
But his breathing is even, regular.
Is he kissing my neck in his sleep? I think he is. That’s somehow sexier than his waking neck kisses. His strong arm is roped around my waist, but his fingers are a little busy, gently stroking my stomach.
It feels so good.
And maybe it was dream me who got turned on but wide awake me is aroused too. I stretch against him, hoping he wakes soon.
Then, his steady breathing halts, his body jerks, and he must reorient since he quickly wraps his arms tighter around me. “You smell good in the morning,” he rumbles sleepily in my ear.
“So do you,” I say, since Ryker’s yummy when he’s got that forest scent working, and when he smells like dirty dreams, like he does right now.
“But I bet you taste even better,” he adds.
I snuggle closer. “Want to find out?”
He rubs his beard against me in a clear yes. “I’m starving. You better sit on my face now, and hold onto the headboard.”
Yes, please!
A minute later, I’m wearing just my sleep cami, and I’m rocking against his warm, hungry mouth, his bristly beard scratching my thighs in the most delicious way.
I’m moaning and gasping, and he’s growling and groaning as he grips my hips. He tugs me down against his face, devouring me. I don’t know how he can breathe, but I don’t think he cares. He’s eating me out like he’d happily die this way.
I don’t know who’s louder—him or me. But I know this—his sounds send me over the edge as I hold on tight to the headboard.
When I finally come down from my morning high and flop to my stomach beside him, he drags a hand across his mouth, then strokes his cock a couple times.
I shake my head. “Nope, that’s mine. I want it right on my chest.”
“Get on your back and take it.”
I comply, lifting up my tank, then pushing my breasts together for him. A minute later, he’s straddling my chest, fucking the tunnel of my tits, then painting me with his come.
He collapses onto his back too, then hands me a tissue. We’re both still panting and groaning when the door creaks open, and a few seconds later, Chase says, “Good girl. I see you took care of Ryker’s dick this morning like I told you to.”
Ryker flips him the bird. “I took care of her pussy, you jackass. Also, she didn’t have to do any hard work just now. I was pretty much all about her today.”
“Aren’t you just a perfect book boyfriend then,” Chase teases, and his mood seems the same as always—upbeat, outgoing. He must have stopped beating himself up about the loss.
“How do you know about book boyfriends?” I ask as I get out of bed, grabbing my glasses.
Chase lifts a playful brow. “There’s this woman—let’s call her our temporary roomie—who likes books. Big, spicy, dirty books. So, maybe I did a little research.”
Then, he demonstrates just how well he did his research when I reach the doorframe and he leans against the door. He rakes his eyes over me from head to toe, and nails—just fucking nails—the doorframe move.
I bite the corner of my lip.
Chase lets a rumble escape his throat, then says, “I fucking need you.”
Need.
That word lights me up all over again. He does need to fuck it out.
But first, he heads into the en suite bathroom, runs the tap, then returns with a washcloth.
He hands it to Ryker, and my morning lover cleans up my chest as I take my glasses off.
Then, like they planned this, Chase says to his friend, “Kiss her while I put that butterfly vibe on her.”
What? There’s a butterfly coming my way? Mondays just might not suck after all. “Nobody told me this was a vibrator party,” I say, my voice full of glee.
“You mentioned you liked Maverick. Let’s see how much you like the one we got for you yesterday,” he says, then pulls a pretty pink contraption out of the nightstand.
“You little sneaks,” I tease, but then the teasing fades when Chase straps the toy around my waist, positioning the butterfly right over my clit.
He hands Ryker the controls and tugs me to the end of the bed.
After he covers himself, he fucks me good and hard while Ryker kneels behind me, working the controls as he bites my neck and kisses my ear.
It’s official. All my circuits have overloaded, and I am bursting, buzzing, and blissed out everywhere. This was not on my list. Not at all. This is just a pure book boyfriend move.
Or really, a double one.
* * *
The next morning, I have just enough time to take my boy around a block or two before work, so I grab Nacho’s leash and get my tripod ready. Ryker’s at the gym for a workout, but Chase is lounging on the couch, listening to something on his phone, so I wave and motion to see if he wants to join me.
“Always,” he says, tucking his earbuds away. “Scary birds circling the apocalyptic sky can wait.”
“Elaborate,” I say as we leave. “On the scary birds.”
“Oh, just this horror story I’m listening to,” he says as we reach the street.
“You meant it?” I ask, intrigued. “The night we met when you said you read horror stories.”
He shrugs, downplaying it. “Well, I listen rather than read.”
“Chase, it’s the same. You’re earhole reading instead of eyeball reading,” I say.
“Sure. We’ll call it that,” he says evasively, and I bet he had a teacher somewhere along the line who said listening to a book was cheating. “Did someone tell you that listening doesn’t count?”
“Probably, like it’s TV, but whatever. School was never my thing. Not like it is for you and Ryker, obviously,” he says, a little resigned. Like maybe he thinks I was a genius student? Or that I want that in a man?
“I was a good student,” I admit as Nacho stops to sniff a tree. “But a little aimless once I graduated.”
“You?” he asks, like he doesn’t quite believe that.
“One hundred percent. I didn’t know what I wanted to do after college.
I flitted around from job to job. I did random things, like event planning, then social media for a winery.
But nothing was very…interesting. Honestly, I mostly just wanted to get paid to read.
I still haven’t quite found that gig yet, but the bookstore comes close enough. ”
“Doesn’t sound aimless to me,” he says as the dog resumes his pace, trotting by my side.
“Tell that to my sister. And my parents.”
“They don’t like your job?”
“I think they just expect me to do something they understand. Be a teacher, or a nurse, or a librarian. Even own a bookstore. But running it? They don’t know if it’s my endgame or just a way station. And honestly, I don’t know either.”
“And I don’t think you have to know. You’re happy doing it, right?”
“It’s fun. It works for me. That’s sort of all I’ve figured out.”
“Sometimes I think we try too hard to have all the answers,” he says, sounding a little faraway for a few seconds, even distant as we round the block.
“But you have it figured out, don’t you? Because, hello. Pro sports is not an easy job to get.”
“It’s not like I have any clue what I’d do if hockey didn’t pan out. I mean, I have zero idea, Trina. So basically, I really need hockey to work out,” he says in a playful whisper, but it masks a certain amount of desperation. I think.
I bump my shoulder to his. “News flash. It is.”
He smiles but then looks to the sky, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite find. Maybe looking for his father there? My heart lurches for him. I’m not sure he’ll answer, but impulsively, I ask, “Is he part of what drives you? Your dad?”
Chase sighs, sort of contemplatively. “Yeah. He did such a great job taking care of us when I was a kid. My mom didn’t work outside of the home.
She raised us and helped him out, and when he was sick, he was worried about how she’d handle it all.
My brothers were still young. He was so torn apart knowing he’d leave that task to her.
All the responsibility,” he says, with obvious emotion in his voice.
He swallows roughly. “I promised him I’d look out for them too though.
I try to do that. Every day. And I really hope I can. ”
That explains so much about him—his hockey-or-bust drive, but also his charm. It’s like he needs both to deliver on this promise. “You are,” I say, emphatically.
We’re quiet for a stretch, just walking the dog as I absorb what Chase shared. But there’s one piece of the Chase puzzle I don’t quite get yet. Maybe his reading tastes are just a predilection, but I’m curious if there’s more to it. “You don’t strike me as a horror guy.”
He laughs skeptically. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Blood and gore and fear? It doesn’t quite align.”
“Course it does. I play hockey. We’re all about blood and fear,” he says, then flashes me his cocky grin—a grin that I’m beginning to recognize as his trademark.
Then he sighs, like he’s letting down his guard.
“So,” he says, scratching his jaw. “I was kind of…flat after my dad died. I felt…nothing. Which in theory sounds good for an athlete, but in reality is pretty bad. I was a little unmotivated. And that wasn’t going to cut it.
I couldn’t afford to be unmotivated. Fortunately, I picked up a horror novel at the time, and the fear and the adrenaline in the story sort of jolted me. Made me…feel again.”
That actually tracks surprisingly well now that he says it. “I get that.”
“And I got hooked. The stories kind of get my blood pumping. Keep me keyed up.”
“I could send you some horror recs. Some new novels that are good in audio. Horror isn’t my specialty, but I have to know the whole store.”
His smile is magnetic. “That’d be cool.”
Briefly, I wonder if it was the dog he craved when he asked me to move in for the week, or if it was the chance to talk about life and stuff while walking a dog.