Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Lot
Now he’s grocery shopping?
Ican’t move—still catching my breath. My jaw is tender from sucking, but I don’t care.
I’ve had good sex before. Even great. But nothing like this.
I’ve never squirted or had a man come all over my breasts. Not even my B.O.B.s can keep up with Dice. Everything between us is just so intense. I’m savage with him, about him, for him.
I like going hard. I like having control. I need it. But unlike with other partners, I trust him enough to give it up when I want to. I don’t know if that makes him safe or dangerous.
He helps me up, not even looking winded, like he could go another round.
“You some kind of freak sex machine?” I ask, my whole body still tingling and pulsing.
He pulls up his shorts, his eyes scanning my naked body and his semen on my skin with a satisfied grin. “You’re the one ruining me for life.”
I roll my eyes, even as I dare to let myself hope it’s true.
He draws me in for a hug. Dice is surprisingly affectionate outside of sex. I’m not. Those after-sex cuddles are too intimate. They make me feel vulnerable and exposed.
“There you go.” He gently lifts my arms to wrap around his back. “You got it.”
“I know how to hug,” I grumble.
“’Course you do,” he murmurs into my hair, one hand stroking down my damp back to my hip.
I try not to tense up and just stay in the moment. It feels strange to hold someone like this for no real reason… but not in a bad way with Dice.
“Let’s shower,” he says, lifting my chin to press a kiss to my lips. “Then make coffee and breakfast. Unless you’d rather hit the café.”
“I don’t have the energy to walk.”
“Same.”
“You seem fine.”
“I feel incredible. Thanks for trusting me, Lot.”
There’s something deeper in his eyes—something that makes my heart beat a little too fast. And then, just like that, it’s gone, replaced with his playful smirk as he scoops up my panties and stuffs them in his pocket. “Keeping these.”
“You collect souvenirs?” I ask, following him toward the bathroom.
“That sounds like a loaded question.”
“Just don’t want my Love, Veras to end up in some trophy drawer.”
“Don’t have one of those. This is an exclusive collection.”
Humming, pleased with himself, he turns on the tap and adjusts the temperature. Soon the room is fogging up with steam. There’s something intimate about stepping under the hot spray with him. About lathering up his body and his soapy hands gliding over mine.
He draws my back to his chest, cups my breast with one hand, and as if remembering what I’d said earlier, brings the massage head between my legs. I break apart in his arms, another orgasm ripping through me, my cries echoing off the tiles.
I slump against him, spent once again. The sex I can handle. That part keeps things balanced. Keeps us level.
It’s the other stuff that’s starting to tip the scales.
A short while later, I step out of the bedroom in cargo pants and a long-sleeve black tee, my locs pulled back into a ponytail. The fact that I’m upright and functioning without caffeine is a testament to Dice’s potency.
I reach the kitchen and come to a stop. The box of pancake mix has been knocked over, its contents spilled like snow across the counter and floor. Floury paw prints trail under the kitchen table, where Queenie has dragged her treat bag. She’s torn through the plastic and is nose-deep in her heist.
Dice is crouched, trying to wrestle the bag away from her, but every time he gains ground, she snarls and swipes at him.
“Looks like a standoff,” I say, amused.
“Yeah, and I’m losing.”
No one would ever mistake Dice for cute. He’s too virile for that word. But watching this big, muscular man play a losing game of tug-of-war with a nine-pound cat is low-key adorable.
I kneel beside her. “Girl, you know this is all kinds of wrong.”
Queenie glances up at me, flicks her tail with zero remorse, and keeps eating. Rude. I lift her up. She hisses, but I’ve learned to ignore her drama. I dust off her paws and drop Her Highness unceremoniously on her bed with Spider-Man.
Dice picks up the ripped bag and starts wiping the counter.
“Sorry. She’s a complete menace. You don’t need this hassle.”
“It’s no big thing. She’s your cat.”
“She’s not my cat.”
He pauses and gives me that annoying yeah, right look. “Then why is she still with you?”
“You know why. The shelter is trying to find out who she belongs to. But with her attitude, who’s going to claim her?”
“There are some people who don’t mind attitude.”
I give him a sideways glance. “Are you talking about me?”
“Why would you think that?” he asks, all innocent.
“Whatever, Dice.”
“You know I adore you,” he says, sweeping me into an impulsive kiss. Then lets me go just as fast and grabs the vacuum.
“I can do that,” I say, reaching for it.
He shakes his head. “I got this, Web. Just relax.”
Why is he being so extra? Probably still riding that post-sex high.
On Play This Cooch—my favorite podcast hosted by two sisters who give hilarious, insightful commentary on sex—they said the high can last for hours, even days.
Something about dopamine and oxytocin flooding the system after orgasm, making some people crave closeness.
“Don’t get it twisted, my Cooches. With some men, it’s just sweet talk in physical form. ”
I heard that.
He finishes up and puts the vacuum away, whistling while he prepares the coffee. Dark roast, heavy on cream, just the way I like it. He hands it to me with a grin.
If he kisses me again, I’m going to smack him. Instead, he says, “How about breakfast? I could try out my eggs in the new pan.”
“Next time,” I say. “I should get going. I have to drop off Queenie, head downtown to the printer to pick up the shirts and finish the album cover. Client’s expecting it tomorrow.
Oh, and I’m having dinner with my mom, Rayne, and Uncle Mo, so I probably won’t make it to Docks. Just letting you know.”
He studies me, recognizing the tells. Rambling, fingers drumming on the mug. Signs I’m agitated.
“What’s got you running, Web?”
“I’m not running. I have things to do.”
“Why don’t you work on the cover here? I’ll pick up the shirts. And there’s no point in lugging Queenie’s things back and forth. Just leave it. Come back after your dinner… and stay.”
Stay? He can’t mean that. Dice isn’t used to having a woman and a cat sharing his house. How long before the high fades and his flight reflex kicks in?
“Thanks, but that’s okay. I’m sure you need your space.”
His expression tenses, temper flashing in his eyes. “If you need space, own it. But don’t put that on me when I just asked you to stay.”
“Why are you getting all salty?” I shoot back. “I was trying to be considerate of your situation.”
“And what situation is that?”
“Getting bored. Burnt-out on me. I just thought you might want a break and your house back.”
“I’m nowhere near burnt-out or getting bored. I like having you here. Even your demon cat. I want you to stay tonight. Every night. To spend as much time together as we can before you leave.”
He looks sincere. Sounds sincere. Like he means it. But shacking up for the next couple of weeks? That’s madness. So why am I considering it?
“It’s not a marriage proposal, Lot.”
“I know that.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“No problem. Just thinking.” My leg bounces. “If we do this, we need a few ground rules.”
“More rules?” His brows lift.
“Want to hear them or not?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“Not every night. I want time with Rayne at her place and I need time for myself. But I also want to be with you. I’ll stay a few nights a week here.”
“Sounds fair. Give me a grocery list and I’ll pick up some more stuff.”
Now he’s grocery shopping? “Yeah, okay, but one more thing. If at any point this starts to feel like too much—for either of us—we agree to be honest about it. Straight up.”
His eyes don’t waver. “Deal.” He extends his pinkie. “You said this is the only way it counts.”
Biting back a smile, I set down my mug and hook my pinkie around his. But unlike when we were kids, he tugs me forward and seals it with a kiss.
God, don’t let me fall in love with this man again.