No.
I’ll show her.
The whole way back to my condo I think about actually returning home for the first time in far too many years.
Opening the door to my place with my arms full of my favorite person is a fun new experience I wish she was conscious for, but I’ll keep this memory just for me. As we cross the threshold, my eyes dart around the space that screams lonely, boring bachelor, and cringe at what she’ll think when she wakes.
Like she’s aware of my worries, she turns slightly, snuggling into my chest, my shirt balled in her fist. The right side of my lips lift in a content smile as I carry her down the hall to my room.
I lay her gently on the bed, but I can’t imagine it would be comfortable to sleep in combat boots, jeans, or a bra. Those things look like death trap, torture devices. I heave a sigh of relief that her bra has a back clasp where I can avoid teasing myself with her luscious breasts. Shaking the lustful thoughts away, I slide her arms out of the sleeves of her clean jersey—we talked her into wearing it to match us when we went out—and unhook her bra. I carefully slide the straps down her arms and slide them back into her jersey.
With the main bomb diffused, I slide off her socks and boots before sliding her pants off. When I deem her comfortable enough to sleep, I pull her to the center of my bed, pulling the blankets over her, and tucking her in.
She releases a sleepy sigh, pulling a pillow into her grasp, and smiles in her sleep. The swell of emotion consuming me tightens my chest, choking me up.
She’s here. In my bed. Not in the way I’m waiting for, but this is a big moment, and she doesn’t even know.
First-things-first, I need to check the kitchen to see if I have enough food to make her a nice breakfast. With one last look at my fierce mate, I rush to the other end of my condo and swing my fridge door open.
Finding basically scraps, I pull my phone out and place a grocery order to be delivered in an hour. Having no idea what she likes, I order everything: pancake mix, eggs, sausage, ham, bacon, biscuits, gravy, bread for toast, bagels, three different fruit juices, actual fruit, coffee, and every flavor of creamer available.
Still feeling the need to impress her, I run around straightening and tidying the condo.
All while Istillhave an unreasonably enthusiastic body part that never went down after that kiss. Maybe I need a cold shower.
Somewhat satisfied with the state of my home, I make my way back to the bathroom which is connected to my bedroom. I carefully shut the door, so I don’t disturb her, though I doubt the alcohol has any plans of releasing her from its grasp anytime soon.
I turn the shower on without an ounce of hot water and strip out of my clothes, her orange cinnamon roll scent still clinging tothem is not helping my physical state. I hiss, removing my boxer briefs still encasing my length and move under the icy rivulets.
Unfortunately for me, ice cold temperatures aren’t a turn off though. The cold seeping into my skin only makes me harder. Wrapping my hand around the tip, I grip myself tightly, hoping to relieve some pressure, but I know it won’t work.
Closing my eyes and leaning my back against the frigid tile wall of the shower, I envision her as I stroke myself. The way she smiles when I earn a real one, the way she owned the ice today, her eyes the first time I saw them, the way she kissed me tonight like she was shedding her defenses.
I clench my teeth to keep from roaring my release, my knot sensitive and tingling with my mate so near. I turn and rest my forehead against the tile as I turn the water off, collecting a few calming breaths before I go back out there.
Once I’m dry and wearing clean boxers and shorts, I stare between my bed and the doorway leading to the living room where my plush, sectional couch lays. Sure, I could go out there and sleep and let her have the bed to herself . . . but I don’t want to, and shereallyshouldn’t have to wake up alone in a strange place.
14
Anya
Foggy awareness lifts me from my deep sleep. I’ve always slept well after a good game but not usually that well. I don’t even remember—
I still.
My body is heavy. I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, but I can’t move my arms. And is that . . . is someone breathing in my ear?
Shit. Shit. Shit. Please be Kodi.
The moment I think his name, flashes from the night strobe through my mind like an ancient projector popping between old images with fuzzy edges.
Kodi.
I love Kodi.
Releasing a sleepy sigh of relief, I slowly open my eyes but there’s not much to see. A medium-sized window with blinds, no curtains, and nothing else hanging on the beige wall. My eyes venture to scan the rest of the space coming up pretty empty. Everything is clean and . . . empty.
He makes a sleepy noise behind me, and I want to see his face. I wriggle in his hold, turning my body slowly until I’m finally facing him. My breath catches, completely unprepared for the calmness of his features in sleep. His smile lines and animated eyebrows are nowhere to be seen, and while I love them, seeing him like this, adds another stitch, healing the fissures in my heart further.
