He looked up at me. His eyes were wet. “You almost died, and you still stopped to buy me lingerie.”
“Didn't almost die until after the purchase.” I moved back toward him. “And yeah. I wanted to get you that. Wanted to have something between us that felt normal.”
Troy set the bag down. He crossed the space between us and kissed me with enough force to make my split lip sting and my bruised ribs ache.
I kissed him back anyway.
NINETEEN
HOUSE RULES
DECLAN
Five days since the crash and my body still hadn't forgiven me. Every bruise had layered on top of older bruises. My ribs were a mess of purple and yellow that hurt with every breath. The cut on my forehead itched under the butterfly bandages. My hands were stiff and sore from gripping the steering wheel during impact.
I rolled over slowly. The bed beside me was empty with sheets still warm, but Troy was gone.
The absence bothered me more than it should have. I'd gotten used to waking up with him there, to feeling his weight in the bed, to watching him sleep with his guard finally down.
Now the empty space felt too noticeable and too quiet.
I sat up carefully, and my ribs protested.
Today was training day, the first real session since the crash. Mara had been texting me daily asking when I was coming back. I couldn't afford to keep putting off preparation.
I was running out of time and running out of excuses. My body needed work and sitting around the house wasn't going to fix it.
I stood slowly and tested my weight. Everything hurt but nothing felt broken, just battered and sore, the damage that came from impact and age and pushing too hard for too long.
The smell of food cooking drifted up from downstairs. Coffee. Bacon. Something else I couldn't identify but that made my stomach growl.
I pulled on sweatpants and left my shirt off because putting one on required lifting my arms and my ribs weren't ready for that yet. I headed downstairs following the smell.
The kitchen was bright with morning light streaming through the windows. Troy stood at the stove with his back to me. He was wearing the apron I kept hanging on the hook by the sink, just the apron, and underneath it, barely visible, black lace hugged his hips.
My brain stopped working properly.
He was cooking breakfast half-naked in lace like this was completely normal, like we did this every morning. The apron strings tied at his lower back drew attention to the curve of his spine and the shift of muscle when he moved, and I was hard before I made it three steps into the room.
Troy glanced over his shoulder, saw me, and smiled in that way that said he knew exactly what he was doing. “Morning.”
I crossed the kitchen without answering and came up behind him, pressing my body against his back with my cock hard against his ass through the thin barrier of sweatpants and lace, and I felt him inhale.
“I'm cooking,” he said.
“I can see that.” My hands went to his hips and slid over the lace, feeling the delicate fabric shift over muscle. “Turn off the stove.”
He took his time about it. He plated the eggs with infuriating calm, made me wait, then set the spatula down and turned. The apron covered the front but I could see the outline of his cock through it, hard and straining against the fabric.
“Hi,” he said.
I grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him deep and immediate, tasting coffee and want, and he kissed back just as hard with his hands spreading across my chest.
“Get on the table,” I said against his mouth.
He untied the apron and dropped it. The full picture of him in nothing but black lace in morning light hit me somewhere low and permanent.
He climbed onto the table and got on his hands and knees. He looked back at me over his shoulder with dark eyes. “This what you want?”
