Chapter 24
I yawn and stretch my hand across the mattress, reaching for the man beside me. But all I find are cold sheets and empty space.
Bleary eyes cracked open, I search for him amongst the mounds of pillows, the fluffy peaks of his duvet still swallowing me, but there’s no warm, muscled body. No Decker.
After one more big stretch, I push up. His room is dark, but light filters in from the edges of his blackout blinds, and the smell of coffee is doing a good job convincing me I should get out of bed.
Waking up here is weird. Mostly because people who are just fucking don’t do this. They don’t cuddle. And they don’t talk about committing murder or bad dreams or dead girlfriends.
Not like I haven’t wanted to stay before last night, I just wouldn’t ever dare ask.
I can just picture it. That cocky little grin sliding up his face, the understanding that he’s got me, that he won.
Beg, Gracie. It’s all fun and games when I’m naked and begging for him to let me come, but I can only guess it’d be far less enjoyable to beg him to let me stay.
Last night, he was so close to begging. But I couldn’t stomach the idea of letting him.
After the initial shock of him throwing me back and waking from that nightmare, after his anger started to ease and my wariness leaked away, I saw it.
I saw him . The pain and vulnerability written on his face.
Heard that little crack in his voice when he said please, Grace .
Don’t go . He’d have begged. But the win wouldn’t have felt all that good.
I’m not sure when we started keeping score. Somewhere between when I got my face smashed against a cruiser door and the moment I stood in his kitchen, threatening to ruin his life. I just know that I’m tired of it.
Except for the sex part.
I will happily sit on Decker’s dick like I did last night, staving off my own orgasm for the sole purpose of torturing him.
We’ve made a sport out of it. As competitive as I am, it’s a game I don’t mind losing.
Decker between my thighs, his body tight to mine, those gorgeous eyes staring down at me.
Yeah, I could get lost in that for hours. I do get lost in that for hours.
But I’ve caught myself getting lost in other things too.
The warmth of his arms, that easy laugh, the way he growls out my name.
In those moments, when I’m lying on his chest, tracing over that scar, the tattoo, listening to the beat of his heart slow, stretching out our time together, I feel completely at ease. Safe.
I roll out of bed, pull on my underwear, and rifle through Decker’s closet. When I find a tattered burgundy McMaster U crewneck, I pull it on. Then I pad into the kitchen. It’s empty, as are the bathroom and living room.
“Linc?” I call out as I peek out the front window. His truck is in the driveway.
I’m about to grab my phone to text him when I see the note sitting on the counter.
Had to step out.
Made the coffee extra strong. Sugar is beside the stove.
— L
A smile spreads across my face as I pick it up and read it again. I rummage in his cupboards for a mug, and once I find one I like—a Toronto Blue Jays mug that looks like it’s been through the dishwasher a few too many times—I pour myself a big steaming cup of coffee and load it with sugar.
I have no idea what time we got to bed last night, but it was late.
Or, early, I guess. After all the talking, there was kissing.
Decker’s face somehow wound up between my legs.
Then there was more fucking. No games this time.
Just his arms wrapped tight around me, lips on mine, cock pounding into me, another leg-shaking, mind-melting orgasm.
Then finally, after my pulse evened out, sleep.
My body has been running solely off sex and coffee all week.
It’s not the worst way to live.
A rumble sounds from somewhere down the street. A sound that’s as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. Bone-shaking vibrations rattle the windows, quaking in my chest, sending tremors up my spine.
The deep thrum of a motorcycle.
It gets louder and louder, before the sound cuts off. A few moments later, Decker walks into the house, black leather jacket zipped up tight, helmet under his arm, looking a little tired, a little… something.
He stops dead when he sees me, his eyes widening a little.
I set down my mug. “Hey.”
He tilts his head, assessing me, giving me this strange look I can’t quite read. “Hey,” he says carefully. “Been snooping in my closet?”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t ready to put on pants yet and needed something cozy.
Don’t worry. I didn’t break anything.” I give him a small smile.
When he doesn’t respond, I motion to the McMaster University stamped across the front of his sweater.
“Did you end up going away for school? For some reason I thought you stuck close to home.”
He rubs the back of his neck and steps into the kitchen. Then he drops his helmet onto the countertop. “That was, uh, Em’s, actually. She did her nursing degree there.”
My stomach drops. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’ll take this off.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I sidestep him, heading for his bedroom to change, but he grabs me by the arm and tugs me back.
“You’re good, Gracie. All right? You can relax. You’re not triggering me into some spiral of depression. I can see her clothes without having a meltdown. I honestly forgot I had that thing.”
I let out a breath, my shoulders lowering. “Right. I think I’ll take it off anyway. It’s a little… I don’t know. Weird.”
With a nod, he backs me against the fridge and tugs up the hem of the sweater. In one quick move, he peels it off and tosses it onto the counter. When he’s met with my bare tits, he grins.
“Better?” He grabs my ass and pulls me up against him.
I circle my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. “Much.”
“Bottom drawer of my dresser. Where all my cozy shit is. For next time.”
I grin. Next time.
The smile he gives me feels a little… hollow. I study his face, his tired eyes, the scruff climbing up his cheeks, the exhaustion etched into his features.
“Where did you go?” I ask, grasping his hair at his nape. “Did you… even sleep?”
His eyes dart to one side, and then, with another one of those empty smiles, says, “Had to take care of something for work.”
I arch a brow. “In the middle of the night?”
Shrugging, he buries his face in the crook of my shoulder, pulling in a deep inhale, like he’s breathing me in.
As his breath hits that sensitive little spot behind my ear, goose bumps rush over me and my nipples peak against the cold leather of his jacket.
The grip he has on my ass tightens, and he runs his teeth over my shoulder, his tongue over the column of my throat.
“I need to fuck you,” he growls, his fingers a bruising grip against my flesh, his breath more ragged. His mouth quickly finds mine, and he pulls me into a hard kiss. It’s dominating, all-consuming. Our tongues in perfect synchronicity as his lips envelop mine.
His kiss is a little harsher than usual, a little more punishing. Teeth biting a little too hard. Fingers digging in too deep. I don’t mind the hurt. It’s one of my favourite things about how Decker fucks. He isn’t gentle. He doesn’t hold back. He fucks like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
This morning, though, it’s a different kind of rough. One that for some reason doesn’t seem to be about me.
“Decker.” I break our kiss, trying to slow him. I barely have a reprieve before he’s on me again, not letting me pull back, barely even letting me breathe.
Lips on mine, he carries me across the kitchen and rests me on the countertop.
When I’m steady, he unzips his jacket and tears it off, a dark look in his eyes—a mix of hunger and anger and something else.
Something dangerous. Something violent. And the blood.
The darkish brown splatter marked across his light grey henley. The red speckle on his neck.
Before he can kiss me again, I rear back and slam my palm into his chest.
“That’s blood,” I say.
He drops his chin and inspects his shirt. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to explain, but I speak before he can.
“You lied to me. I asked where you were, and you lied.”
He stares at me until I start feeling a little too naked sitting on his counter with my tits out. Finally, he says, “So?”
I grit my teeth. “ So , I don’t like being lied to. And I’m certain you didn’t end up covered in blood doing actual police work. Last time I checked, cops don’t do that.”
He snorts. “First of all, cops in South Bay definitely do that. You know that firsthand. And so do your brothers. Second, everyone likes being lied to, Grace. When the truth is ugly, it’s the last thing anyone wants to hear.
Don’t ask, don’t tell. And trust me when I say my lie is much prettier than any truth you’ll get out of me. So don’t ask.”
I hop off the counter and fold my arms across my naked chest, concealing my breasts as I tilt up my chin. “What is this to you, Linc? What do you want from me?”
He blinks, the hardness set across his features softening slightly. “I?—”
“If this is more to you than what we agreed, more than just sex, then I need you to say it.”
He crosses his arms, matching my stance, readying to fight, to win the game this is about to become.
But I’m not playing anymore.
“And if it is?”
“I told you last night,” I huff. “I can handle fucked-up. I don’t need pretty. I need the truth, regardless of how scary it might be. If this is more to you, then be honest, if it isn’t, then hang on to that little lie and do what you’re good at and fuck me. Then I’ll leave.”
More of that silence, the studying, thinking. Then he lets out a quick breath. “I had some business for Axe.”
My attention drops to the blood staining his shirt. “And Axe… made you do that?”