Taste her.
Feel her.
. . . And that’s how I end up jerking off in the shower.
Twice.
CHAPTER 28
SAWYER
I lookup from making breakfast when I hear Brie’s loud yawn. She stretches, starfishing beneath the comforter. I like her here. I want to climb into bed and make her moan my name again. See what other sounds I can coax out of her. But I have to remind myself that’s not what she wants. She got what she needed, and I’m just happy I was a part of it.
It’s obvious the moment she realizes where she is. She freezes, then looks down at her body beneath the cover, presumably noticing the flannel shirt I helped her sleepy self into last night. When she finds me standing at the kitchen island, she gives me a shy finger wave. It’s so fucking adorable, I have to look back down at the eggs.
I ask, “Sleep well?”
“Like the dead.”
A fluttering sensation enters my chest, but I tamp it down. “How’s your hip?”
She looks down, like she’d forgotten until now. “Feels a little bruised, but it looks good.”
Nodding, I point to the door by the headboard. “Bathroom’s there. Laid a toothbrush out for you, towels in the closet. And some clothes that might fit are on the counter. Use anything you want. Holler if you can’t find what you need.”
She sits up and opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “You shaved.”
Does she not like it?
Instinctively, I rub my jaw. “Yeah.”
Her lips press together in an unreadable expression. But she doesn’t say anything else as she slips out of bed and heads to the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder before shutting the door.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting at the kitchen island when I hear the bathroom door open. I don’t look up as she pads over because I want to finish the last few stitches.
Her feet—clad in my gray wool socks, bunched at her ankles, come into view in my periphery. “Are you . . . mending my favorite pants?”
Shit.I couldn’t decide if this was a nice gesture, given I was the one who ripped them, or if this was the opposite of staying detached.
“No big deal,” I grunt. “Would’ve done it last night, but . . .” Finishing that sentence withI licked you until you came insteadfeels like a breach of her one-time only rule. Any reference to what happened last night probably is.
“I’ll throw your clothes in the wash after breakfast.” I tie off the thread, look up, and do a double take.
She shrugs. “The sweatpants were too big.” Her hair is damp and she’s wearing the flannel shirt I laid out. It comes down to mid-thigh. I can’t tell if she’s wearing the boxers I left for her, but if the pants were too big, those probably were, too. I wish she’d sit on my lap again so I could find out. The only other thing she’s wearing arethe socks.
Fuck.
I should have gone for a third round in the shower.
“Smells good,” she says.
That kickstarts my brain. “You must be starving.”
I stand up and put the pants on the counter, carefully placing the needle back in my sewing kit. When I look up, she’s squinting at me like I’m one of those Magic Eye pictures.
Don’t be curious. Don’t engage. Stay detached. She doesn’t want me.
“Coffee?” I ask, rounding the island.
