"You don't have to—"
"I take care of what's mine, Toby." I tip his chin up so he meets my eyes. "That means making sure you get to work safe and on time. Let me do this."
Something soft moves through his expression. "Okay."
"Okay," I echo. "Now go get coffee. There's a pot in the kitchen. I need to shower."
"You need to shower," he agrees, wrinkling his nose. "You smell like sex."
"Good."
He laughs, shoves at my chest without any real force behind it, and turns toward the door. I watch him go—moving gingerly, wearing my shirt like a brand, covered in marks that won't fade for days.
My lion settles, content for the first time in longer than I can remember.
Mine.
I head for the shower, already counting down the hours until I can have him again.
Chapter 11
Toby
The stairs are a special kind of torture.
Every step pulls at sore muscles I didn't even know I had. My thighs ache. My back twinges. There's a deep, satisfying soreness in places I'm not going to think about too hard while navigating a staircase. Each movement is a reminder of exactly what Knox and I did last night—multiple times, in multiple positions, until I literally couldn't move anymore.
Worth it. So incredibly worth it.
I'm smiling like an idiot. I can feel it on my face and I can't stop. Knox ran me a bath. Fed me strawberries. Called me sunshine and said he'd catch me if I fell. I'm wearing his shirt and covered in his marks and my whole body feels like one giant, well-used, thoroughly claimed mess.
Best night of my life. Possibly best morning too.
The bar is quiet this early, morning light slanting through the windows and catching dust motes in the air. Just Ezra behind the bar doing inventory, counting bottles and marking things on a clipboard, and Silas at a corner table with a paperback and a cup of tea. They both look up when I enter, and I know they can see everything—the marks blooming purple across my neck, Knox's shirt hanging off my shoulders, the careful way I'm walking.
"Morning," I say, trying for casual and probably landing somewhere around "walked into a door repeatedly but in a fun way."
"Coffee's fresh," Ezra says, pointing to the pot behind the bar. "Mugs are in the cabinet above."
"Thanks." I make my way over, very aware of them watching. Not in a hostile way—more curious. Assessing. "Knox said Jason could maybe drive me to work?"
"He'll be here soon," Silas says without looking up from his book. "Vaughn left some clothes by the stairs too. Should fit better than Knox's stuff."
"Oh, thanks. That's really nice of—"
"Bottom drawer on the left," Ezra interrupts, pointing to a cabinet near the end of the bar. "That's where the spare clothes are. Everything's clean."
Spare clothes. That makes sense—shifters probably tear through outfits pretty regularly with the whole transformation thing. I open the drawer while reaching for a mug with my other hand.
It's full of clothes. Not a few spare items—a full drawer stuffed with different sizes, different styles. Jeans in various cuts. Sweats. T-shirts and henleys and even a few button-downs. Everything neatly folded, organized by what looks like size.
"That's... a lot of spare clothes," I observe.
"Yeah, well." Ezra shrugs, not looking up from his clipboard. "We keep extras around. For situations like this."
"Situations like...?"
"You know." He marks something on his inventory list. "When someone stays over and needs something clean to wear home. Happens pretty regularly."
