His features are softened into something I’ve never seen on him before. It’s as if the weight that’s constantly pulling at him has lifted, and he’s no longer working to hold everything in place. His walls are down, and it’s just him… quiet, and unguarded.
My gaze lingers on his neck, on the red skin where my belt marked him last night, and I take a deep breath in.
He’s fucking beautiful.
I fight the urge to wake him up and drag him under me, and instead slip from the bed, pulling on my pants as I make my way out of his room. I collect the rest of my clothes on the way downstairs, but my thoughts stay fixed on Cade. The version of him that’s upstairs right now, unburdened, free of the heaviness he carries with him that causes him to shut the world out.
I really want to see more of that…
But as I step into the kitchen, that illusion breaks.
My man is a messy fucker.
And if I want to spend more mornings in that bed, I need to deal with this chaos.
Dishes are stacked on the counter, books are crammed on every surface, jackets and sweaters are tossed over chairs, and notebooks are scattered across the table with equations and diagrams scribbled on the pages.
As I glance over the papers, I have to reach down and give my half-hard cock a squeeze. His mind turns me on just as much as his body, and fuck if I’m not going to get fully hard at the thought of how all that brilliance is mine to watch unravel.
Turning back to the counters, I shrug it off for now as I tie my hair back and start working through the dishes. And with every plate I wash, a little bit of order sinks into the mess. I destroy plenty of things in my life, and I love every second of it… But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to put some things back together.
“What are you doing?”
I turn just as I lift another plate, but drop it back onto the stack when I see him. Cade stands in the doorway with eyes still heavy from sleep, messy hair, and a bare chest above sweatpants slung low on his hips.
Well, fuck me sideways.
I cross my arms over my chest as I lean back against the counter. “What does it look like? Tried to make coffee but couldn’t find the counter.”
He shoots me a scathing look as he steps into the kitchen, scanning the now mostly cleared surfaces. “Looks like you found it.”
“Looks like I did,” I reply, watching him as he closes the distance between us.
He looks into my eyes for a moment before he reaches around me and grabs the coffee from a cupboard.
I smirk at him as he steps aside and starts the coffee machine. Once it’s set to brew, he turns to face me, and I try not to let my smile fall as I see his guard firmly back in place.
Not that I can’t take it down again.
My eyes drop to the mark on his neck, which is raw and red from where my belt held him last night, and I nod towards it. “Should probably cover that up if you’re going into work today.”
Cade just shrugs and quickly drops his gaze from mine.
Oh, fuck no.
I step into him and grab his chin, tilting his face up until he’s forced to meet my eyes. I stare into him, searching for even a flicker of regret, or any sign that he’s questioning what he let me do, and what he gave me.
But it’s not there.
He just holds my stare with the same defiance he always carries. Then he steps forward and presses his mouth to mine.
My hand falls from his chin to his hips, pulling him tight against me as his tongue pushes past my lips like he’s staking a claim on me.
And maybe he is.
Maybe this is how he shows that he wants something, in that messy, aching, silent way of his.
He may not care about the marks on his neck right now, but he certainly fucking cared last night when he begged me to put them there. The way he gripped me, without saying a word, like he needed the pain just to be able to stay… and to be able to feel anything.
