“Morning,” he murmured against my neck.
“Morning.”
“What time is it?”
I craned my neck to see the clock. “Seven-thirty.”
“Too early.” He kissed my shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”
“I have to work.”
“Call in sick.”
“I own the place. I can’t call in sick to myself.”
“Sure you can. Tell yourself you have a very serious condition.”
“Like what?”
His hips rolled against mine, deliberate and dirty. “Like a man in your bed that isn’t finished worshiping you.”
Heat pooled low in my stomach. “That’s not a medical condition.”
“It should be.” He nipped my earlobe, his hand sliding down my stomach. “I prescribe at least two more orgasms before you’re allowed to leave this bed.”
“I want to so bad, but Eli and the rescue need me.”
“Okay. Five more minutes.” He kissed my forehead. “Please.”
I couldn’t say no to that. Didn’t want to.
We lay there, tangled together, while morning light painted patterns on the ceiling.
“Tell me something,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Something you’ve never told anyone.”
I thought about it. “I wanted to be a vet.”
“Yeah?”
“When I was a kid. I thought I’d go to vet school, open a practice, save all the animals.” I traced patterns on his chest, following the lines of muscle. “I got into vet school after three years of undergrad. I had a breakdown during a clinical rotation. I couldn’t handle it. The euthanasia. Watching animals suffer.”
“That’s not weakness.”
“Feels like it sometimes. Like I couldn’t hack the hard parts.”
“You save animals every day. You just found a different way to do it.” He tilted my chin up, making me look at him. “That’s not failing. It’s adapting.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’m not.” He kissed me, soft and sweet. “Your turn. Ask me something.”
“The tattoo on your ribs. What does it say?”
He shifted so I could see it better. The script read: “The song remains the same.”
