So that’s how this morning will go.
I smile to myself at the simple pleasure of waking with her in my arms. I want a thousand more mornings just like this, but at the same time, I also don’t ever want her in fear like she was last night again.
“Morning, kitten,” I murmur.
She groans and buries her face deeper into the curve of my neck as if she can hide there from the day. Not that I’d make her move, even if my bladder is currently battling my balls for control of my dick. Lust wins, my cock hard and throbbing from her nearness. That’s way more urgent than any other need.
“Nope,” she mumbles. “Not happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening,” I tell her, laughing at her grumbling.
My hand slides along her arm, slow, deliberate. Not enough to startle her—just enough that she knows I’m very awake. In case the solid bar of cock digging into her thigh isn’t enough of an indicator.
Her eyes crack open. The moment she realizes where she is, a flicker of embarrassment crosses her face. Then she notices how tangled together we are. Her leg over my mine, her centerrocking back and forth on my thigh as if she’s riding me. My arm around her waist. Her fingers clenching into my pec. Her eyes dart up to mine, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Good morning to you too.”
She tries to pull away. Tries. My arm tightens around her waist before she gets very far. That’s not happening.
“Uh-uh,” I chide.
She looks at me, half suspicious, half flustered. I don’t know if she thought I was joking last night or expects my mind to change with the new day, but I’m as determined today to make her mine as I was last night. However long that takes.
“What are you doing?”
“Waking you up.”
“You’re doing a terrible job,” she mutters.
I lean closer, voice dropping. “Am I? I don’t think I am.”
She freezes. For a second, neither of us moves. The air between us changes, becoming quiet and heavy and charged in a way that definitely wasn’t there when she showed up scared in the middle of the night. Her eyes search my face as if she’s trying to decide something.
“I should probably—” She clears her throat, probably thinking about checking on her dog. I already messaged Hyram before I went to sleep to ask him to check on the dog a couple times and to take him out if he woke and needed to go outside.
“Nope.” My thumb traces the side of her waist where my hand rests. She inhales sharply.
“You came to me because you were scared,” I remind her softly. “Remember?”
“That was last night,” she rationalizes.
“So?”
She hesitates, and I see the questions rolling through her, even as her little body squirms and shudders against me.
“I’m not scared now.”
“Good.” I tilt my head slightly. My fingers slide lazily along her hip. “But you’re still in my bed.”
“And you’re still holding me hostage,” she shoots back, her cheeks pink.
“Not hostage.” I grin at her sass.I pull her a little closer until she’s flush against me again. “Protective custody.”
She stares at me as if she’s deciding whether to argue or laugh. Then she sighs, dramatically.
“Your bed is very comfortable, and protective doctor-biker custody is a lot better than rude cop custody,” she admits and settles back against the pillow, her leg still tangled with mine as if it belongs there.
And I realize something. Last night, she came here because she was afraid. But the way she’s looking at me now? Yeah.
