Chapter 4 #2
“Paisley.” His eyes were a dark, thrilling warning.
“You said you wanted to enjoy me. Turnabout is fair play. And you did claim that magnificent patience.”
“Maybe I was wrong.” Gripping her hips, he bowed up to take one nipple into his mouth. The motion slid the first couple of inches of him inside her.
Swearing, she speared her hands into his hair, rolling her hips to the suckling of his mouth, taking a little more of him each time. When he reached up to knead her other breast, she groaned and gave in, taking the rest of him in one long, slow slide.
They both moaned. Nothing had ever felt more perfect than the way he stretched her, filled her. She’d spent years trying to find this again and failing. No one had ever fit her like him.
His fingers curled into her hips, encouraging her to move. She bowed back to take him even deeper and gave herself over to the long, slow climb.
“You look like a fucking goddess.”
She felt like one as she watched his face—the pleasure, the fierceness.
When he gritted his teeth, obviously trying to hold on, she dipped forward, capturing his mouth and squeezing her inner muscles to push him past the edge of control.
She loved him just the other side of civilized.
Loved him desperate. On a growl, his control snapped, and he thrust into her hard and fast, until the kick and jerk of his release pulled her right over behind him.
Ty had conducted all kinds of covert, stealthy operations in his career.
He’d been taught to move in silence, in and out without detection.
If push came to shove, he could probably plan a successful heist. But he wasn’t at all sure he could crack an egg without waking the woman he’d left sleeping in his bed.
Gently tapping it on the edge of the counter, he glanced up. No sound. No movement. They’d worn each other out since Friday. Maybe he could pull off this breakfast in bed thing after all.
Pulling his attention back to the egg, he looked for the crack. Nothing. How did they make it look so damned easy on those cooking shows? They’d probably say something obnoxious like, “It’s all in the wrist.” Which it probably was.
With plenty of furtive glances up, he managed to break the eggs and fish the shells out.
As he added some milk and a splash of vanilla, he knew he was crossing some kind of a line.
Breakfast in bed wasn’t part of the Casual, No Strings Sex Handbook.
But then, he’d been operating off-book all weekend.
He couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to Paisley.
All those years ago, he’d cut her out of his life, knowing he couldn’t keep her light and still function in the dark and shadows as the job demanded.
Knowing, too, that to try would have wiped out the internal sunshine he’d so loved basking in.
No matter how much he’d loved her, how much he’d wanted her, he couldn’t make himself hurt her like that.
She’d changed in the last two decades. They both had.
But that light was still the same, and being around her was an intoxicating reminder that there was more to the world than darkness.
She couldn’t know how much he needed and appreciated that.
So, he was paying her back in orgasms and—God willing—French toast. He didn’t want to think about what it meant or where it might lead.
He just wanted to enjoy her, as he’d said.
Duke watched with great interest from the dog bed Ty had dragged to the edge of the kitchen.
He wanted to be included so badly, and this had seemed the best way to keep him chilled out and quiet.
Ty tipped a hefty dose of cinnamon into the egg mixture and carefully whisked it.
Still no movement from the loft. Pouring the mixture into a baking dish, he reached for the bread.
At the crinkle of the wrapper, Duke sat up, tags jingling, ears perked.
Ty held a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
The dog rose to his feet, tail swishing like a metronome.
Keeping his voice low, he pointed. “No.”
Instead of coming after the bread, Duke pranced to the door, bouncing on his front paws, his claws clicking on the hardwood floors.
Ty glanced at the loft again.
Duke bounced and chuffed.
“We already took a walk.” Why was he arguing with a dog? This was ridiculous.
“You did?”
Damn it.
Paisley peered down over the railing, her hair a riot of tumbled curls around her shoulders. She didn’t look altogether conscious yet, judging from the vaguely confused, half-mast state of her eyes.
“I was trying to let you sleep. We haven’t done a helluva lot of that this weekend.”
Her lips curved in a feline smile that, as always, heated his blood. “I don’t believe you’ve heard me complain.”
No. Screaming. Begging. Laughing. Never complaining.
“I had planned on a lazy morning with breakfast in bed.” He hadn’t had a lazy morning of any variety in longer than he could remember, but she made him want to indulge.
Her gaze strayed to the kitchen. “Is that French toast?”
Shifting from foot to foot, Ty resisted the urge to rub at the heat in the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
“Is there bacon?’’
That had a smile tugging at his own lips. “There can be.”
“Coffee?”
“I didn’t dare start it while you were sleeping. But yeah.”
She shimmied down the stairs faster than he expected—but maybe he was distracted by the tantalizing flash of bare legs.
“You, Sir Tyson The Thoughtful, are a god among men.” She braced her hands at his shoulders and planted a smacking kiss on his lips. “I’m starving.”
When she would have dropped to her feet and stepped away, he looped his arms around her, holding her in place.
“You’re wearing my shirt.” It hit her high on the thigh and afforded him a magnificent view of her cleavage where she’d left it unbuttoned.
Without an ounce of shame, she nodded. “I am. And I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m probably not giving it back.”
That idea was way too appealing. “Like my football jersey in high school?”
Her expression went comically blank. “I’ll plead the fifth.” Spinning away, she sashayed into the kitchen to the coffee pot.
He liked seeing the ease with which she moved around his kitchen, making herself at home, pulling out filters, grabbing the bag of beans from the freezer. She was always so at ease wherever she was. It was an enviable skill. He still felt out of place almost everywhere in the civilian world.
But not with her.
The coffeemaker began to burble, and Paisley opened the fridge, bending over to peer inside, presumably looking for bacon. Prowling over on silent feet, Ty wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her shriek of surprise turned to laughter as he nibbled at her neck.
“Grab the bacon. I’ll start the French toast.”
The easy domesticity of it struck him as he slid the first piece of bread into the hot skillet. He hadn’t imagined he could do this. But they moved in sync, hip-to-hip, Paisley manning the bacon, pouring coffee for them both.
He found himself staring at her as she offered him a mug.
She arched a brow. “What?”
Before Ty could open his mouth and probably make a huge mistake, his phone began to ring. “Watch the toast?”
“I’m on it.”
He snagged the phone off the charger, frowning when he saw the sheriff’s name on the display. “Brooks.”
“Sorry to interrupt your weekend off, but I’m calling everybody in. There’s been an explosion in the south end of the county.”
The switch into work mode was instant. Ty moved toward the stairs. “What do we know?”
By the time Xander had finished briefing him, Ty was dressed and shrugging into his duty belt. “I’m on my way.”
In the kitchen, Paisley was flipping the last of the French toast onto a plate. She offered up a rueful smile. “You have to go to work.”
He heaved a sigh. “Yeah.”
“I’ll get packed up and out of your way.”
Plucking up a slice of French toast, he tossed it from hand to hand, as if that would help it cool faster. “You don’t have to rush off. Take your time.”
She shrugged. “I would’ve needed to get on the road in two or three hours anyway. It’s fine.”
Their time together had been counting down all weekend. Ending a few hours early shouldn’t have been a big deal, but he found he didn’t want the weekend to end.
“What if you stayed?” So much for not being stupid.
“What?”
He should have just stuffed his face with the toast and waved goodbye, but he was in it now. “I mean, you can theoretically work anywhere, right? Is there something you need to be getting back for?”
“No.” She dragged the word out several syllables.
“Then you could stay a few more days. Get in over at the spa for some pampering.” Maybe if it wasn’t just for him, she wouldn’t think it was weird.
Paisley studied him for a long time, dark eyes serious. “What is this, Ty?”
He didn’t have a good answer. “I don’t know. I just... don’t want you to go yet.” The admission left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He kind of hated it and wished he could rewind the last few minutes and take it back.
But at last, she gave a slow nod. “Okay, I’ll stay. If you’re sure you’re okay with it.”
Cupping his free hand behind her nape, her brushed her lips with his, resisting the urge to linger. “I’ll see you when I get home.”
Snatching another slice of toast and some bacon, he headed for the door.
“Ty?”
At the threshold he paused, looking back. “Yeah?”
“Be safe.”
“Always.”
Still feeling the warmth of her lips, he headed out to do his job.