I set my keys on the counter, the sound startling her as she spun to face me from where she stood in the living room. She wore the T-shirt I’d given her last night, showcasing far too much bare skin, and I couldn’t deny what the sight did to me. Or how much I liked seeing her in my clothes and in my space.
She held a picture frame in her hand as she scanned me from head to toe, her brows lifting when her gaze zeroed in on the cup I held. “Morning, Sheriff. That for me?”
I grunted and set it on the kitchen counter. “I’m sure as hell not going to drink it.”
She placed the photo down and strolled toward me, all long legs and tight nipples that winked at me through the plain white shirt. Why the hell had I given herthatand not, say, a parka?
I inhaled when she stepped close, biting back a groan when I realized she still smelled like me… And ignoring just how much I loved it.
She lifted the cup and sniffed, her eyes locked on mine, one brow raised.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
“Making sure you didn’t poison it.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbed the smoothie, and took a deep pull from the straw, preparing myself for the onslaught of trash. But I was pleasantly surprised when the liquid hit my tongue. It might not have had all the disgusting ingredients she preferred, but it was infinitely better than the shit Beck was slinging. “Poison doesn’t smell. It’d sort of defeat the purpose, don’t you think? Maybe you could try that on me instead of irritating me to death.”
“Where would the fun be in that? And I knew it wasn’t poisoned.” She grinned as she lifted herself up onto the counter, and I tried to ignore the long expanse of her legs and the fact that she still wasn’t wearing any fucking panties. “I just figured you could use some fruits and veggies in your diet. Done with your shift already?”
I fisted my hands, ignoring the incessant itch to slide them up her thighs, tug her to the edge of the counter, and lick up all her sweetness, just like I’d done in this spot the night before. “Not for a while.”
She cocked her head to the side, lips pulling steadily from the straw, and I steadfastly ignored what the sight did to my cock. “Then why are you here?”
That was a damn good question and one I didn’t have an answer for. One I didn’t want to dig too deeply into, either.
“Figured you’d burn down my house in retaliation if I didn’t feed you. I know what kind of irrational things you do when you’re hangry.”
“Way to save that, Sheriff.” She reached out, running a soft hand down my chest. “For a second there, I thought you were being nice.”
I grunted, glancing over to the bookcase she’d been standing in front of when I arrived home. “Have fun snooping?”
Her grin widened around the straw, her eyes dancing, but she didn’t respond.
“Find anything good?”
“No, actually.” She brushed against my uniform pants with every swing of her legs, her blue-painted toes sweeping against my thighs, and since fucking when didtoesmake me hard? “I was kind of hoping I’d find a sex dungeon or a box of kinky toys.”
I cleared my throat, forcing myself away from thoughts of dragging Luna into a sex dungeon or using a box of kinky toys on her. “Sorry to disappoint,” I said, my throat full of gravel, cock hard as steel.
“You didn’t.” Her eyes sparkled. “Ihadwondered if you’d been spawned from a demon, so it was good to confirm you came from actual humans and weren’t hatched somewhere.” She tipped her head in the direction of the photo she’d been holding when I’d walked in. The one of my mom and us kids taken more than twenty years ago.
“How do you know I still wasn’t?”
“You look too much like your mom.” She reached up, brushing her fingers down my temple, and I had to force myself not to lean into her touch. “The eyes are undeniable.”
I knew that fact all too well. I saw a poor facsimile of her every time I looked in the mirror, and I hated it. “My dad used to tell me that.”
She rested her hand on my shoulder, cocking her head to the side. “Used to?”
The last thing I wanted to do was talk about the shitty, fucked-up relationship I had with my father. Not when she was in front of me, her legs parted just enough for my hips to fit between them. “We don’t speak anymore.”
She made a gruff sound of commiseration in her throat. “And your mom?”
“She’s dead.”
In the almost ten years that she’d been gone, the words had gotten easier to say. They were just words after all. They didn’t encompass the pain and grief my siblings and I had gone through in the days and months following her death. Didn’t encapsulate what it was like to have to shove everything aside—emotions included—just to make sure things stayed on track. Didn’t even begin to cover how difficult it was to keep moving through life when your guiding force was suddenly gone.
“Oh, Brady,” she said, her voice soft and fingers softer as she trailed them down my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
