On Sunday, Mom made several dozen Christmas cookies while we were watching Christmas movies. Afterward, I went into the garage to work out with my old free weights. I heard the truck start up and hurried to set my weights down and get my ass through the door. By the time I ran outside, Mom was halfway down the block. Annoyed that she hadn’t mentioned she was leaving, or even asked me to come along, I returned to the house. One of Mom’s cookies would make me feel better, so I marched into the kitchen to sneak some, but they were all gone.
What the fuck? I’d only had a few.
Mom returned about an hour later, and I was waiting for her on the couch. She startled when she saw me. “I thought you were working out.”
“I was. But I finished a while ago.”
She hung up her coat and kicked off her shoes, placing them in their spot on the shoe rack by the door.
“You took the cookies.” I hadn’t meant for the words to come out as an accusation, but they did.
“I donated them.”
“You donated them?”
If Dad were alive, he would have smacked me upside the head and told me to keep my tone respectful, but Mom knew her homemade cookies were my favorite. She could have at least saved me a few.
Mom settled her shoulders and met my gaze. “Not everyone gets homemade cookies for Christmas. My cookies are a blessing.”
I gaped at her. What the hell could I say to that?
Thankfully, I didn’t have to respond because Mom said, “Now, I have a date with Epsom Salt.”
Then she swept out of the room and went to take a bath.
Over the weekend, I recognized my fight with Mercy for exactly what it was: a goddamn blessing. I didn’t need her kind of drama in my life. Especially since I’d be shipping out soon and wasn’t sure when I’d come back. Regardless, I marched over to her apartment building on Monday morning to pick her ass up.
She opened the security door, saw me, and froze. “What are you doing here?”
It wasn’t exactly the reception I’d been hoping for, but it was exactly the reminder I needed to keep my hands and attraction to myself. “Walking you to work. Just like I told you I would.”
She stared at me. “Why?”
This goddamn woman. Speaking slowly, I enunciated each word when I replied, “Because I told you I would. You hard of hearing or something?”
Her posture went rigid. “Annnnd you’re still a dick. Got it.”
“You complained about my dick exactly zero times.” I should have kept my mouth shut, but the way she’d left herself wide open practically begged for a reminder of how great the sex had been. As much as I hated to admit it, I was jonesing for more, and I’d bet good money she was, too.
Her face went scarlet, and her eyes widened with outrage.
Yep. Thought so.
I closed the distance between us and whispered in her ear. “In fact, my dick brought you all kinds of pleasure, didn’t it?”
Her sweet, feminine pheromones invaded my senses, awakening parts of my body I needed to keep asleep around her. But judging by the slight flaring of her nostrils, at least I wasn’t the only one affected.
“I. Hate. You.” She pushed out of the building and shoved past me.
Changing tactics, I jogged a step to catch up. “I see you got the bloodstains out of your coat. Glad I could help with that.”
She ignored me and lengthened her stride. I easily kept up, and we walked in silence until Mom joined us. Then we both acted as if nothing had ever happened.
Like I hadn’t spent the last two nights craving her taste.
Like her pussy hadn’t tried to strangle my cock only a couple of days ago.
Mercy walked behind me and Mom. I caught her looking at my ass again, and when she saw me watching, I smirked.
