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CHAPTER ELEVEN

STAR

My body wakes up before my brain does. I’m hard-wired for early rising, a habit drilled into me by parents who believed daylight was wasted on people who slept in. Even on weekends, even on vacation, my internal clock yanks me out of dreamland and sets me upright and twitchy at the crack of dawn. Only this time, “upright” is a technical impossibility, because I’m cradled snugly in Tanner Carrington’s arms, locked tight like he’s a sleep-deprived python clinging to its only heat source.

The first thing I register is warmth. There’s heat everywhere—under my cheek, across my chest, pressed against my stomach, radiating from the solid line of Tanner’s body spooned up behind me. My quilt is tangled around us and tucked tight under me just the way I like to sleep.

The second thing I register is Bruno. The traitorous Chihuahua is snoring, flat on his back, splayed across my pillow, and occupying prime real estate within centimeters of my hairline. His four tiny paws are paddling in the air, probably chasing dream-squirrels.

I try to wiggle free, just to see if I can, but Tanner’s got me caged in with zero hope of escape. Even unconscious, the man’s got a grip like a steel-banded vice. I shift a little, feeling my bare ass press into the cradle of his hips. Something twitches, and he grunts, low and possessive, before burying his face in my neck and inhaling deeply.

“Too early,” he mumbles against the back of my neck. “Go back to sleep, Star.” His hand, broad and callused, slides down my ribcage and tightens over my waist. His chest rumbles against my back, and it’s so comfortable I really fight to go back to sleep, but it isn’t going to happen.

I glance over my shoulder, careful not to dislodge the Chihuahua’s head from my pillow. Tanner’s face is buried in my neck, his eyes closed, his lips parted in a lazy half-smile. He looks younger in sleep, less dangerous, almost sweet. His hair is sticking up in every direction, like a hayfield after a tornado, and there’s a red mark on his cheek where it pressed into my shoulder all night.

I try to remember what it felt like to wake up alone, but the memory is fuzzy, overwritten by the heat and gravity of this man, this moment. My body feels heavy, not with exhaustion, but with contentment.

I last exactly four minutes before the urge to move overpowers the bliss of stillness, and I decide to make my move. I slide my top leg off the bed, then shift my hips in a slow-motion maneuver. Tanner’s arm follows, but I manage to break free just long enough to scoop up Bruno, who is now a floppy bag of sand. I plop him into the dog bed beside my own and tuck the blanket around his tiny body like a burrito. He looks up at me, indignant, but within seconds, he’s making little huffing noises and snuggling into the memory foam.

I’ve achieved step one. Now it’s time for step two of my plan.

I slip back under the covers, inch by inch, careful not to disturb the smoking hot man sleeping away in my bed. Evidently, I’m not stealthy enough. Tanner senses the disturbance in the force. He mumbles something that sounds like “hngph,” then rolls onto his back, an arm flung over his face in dramatic defeat.

He’s so freaking beautiful like this, stretched out and oblivious, the blanket barely covering his hips, the rest of him golden in the morning light. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths.

The temptation to wake him up is too much to resist. I press my lips to his sternum, right over his heart, and leave a soft, lingering kiss.

The muscles under my mouth tense, then relax. I move lower, dragging my lips over his pec, his abs, the line of hair leading down, down, down.

Tanner makes a low, growly sound, then lifts his arm and squints down at me. His hair is a disaster, and his face is mostly pillow-crease-marked, but the look in his eyes is instantly and ferociously awake.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he accuses.

“Can’t,” I say. “I’m wide awake.”

He snorts, but his hand comes up, big and gentle, cradling the back of my head. His fingers tangle in my hair, flexing as I kiss my way down his body.

He watches me the whole time, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, mouth parted in anticipation. By the time I reach his hipbones, he’s fully hard, cock standing at attention and already leaking. I hover above him, letting my breath ghost across the sensitive skin, and the way he shudders is delicious.

“Star,” he says, and the way he says it makes my insides melt.

I dip my chin and take the head of him into my mouth, slow and teasing. He tastes hot and salty and feels like velvet over steel. I swirl my tongue, apply just the right amount of suction, and Tanner’s hips jerk off the mattress like he’s been hit with a live wire.

He grabs a fistful of my hair but doesn’t force me, just holds, guiding, a silent plea for more. I oblige, sinking lower, taking him deeper, one hand wrapping around the base while the other holds on to his thigh.

“Holy fuck,” he rasps. “You’re going to kill me.”

I hum around him, and his entire body vibrates.

Every instinct I have says to go slow, to savor, to see how many times I can make him lose control. So, I do. I work him with my mouth, then my hand, then back again, each time pulling off just long enough to swirl my tongue over the sensitive underside. His breathing turns ragged, little curses slipping out between gritted teeth, while his muscles tremble and his cock throbs against my tongue.

He lifts his head, pupils blown wide, and stares down at me. “I want to wake up like this every morning,” he says, raw and honest and so vulnerable it makes my own breath hitch.

“We can make that happen,” I mumble against his erection. I look up at him, keeping my eyes on his as I take him deep and swallow. His whole body goes rigid and his hips buck. Then he shouts my name, coming hard, pulsing hot and thick in my mouth, and I swallow every drop, never breaking eye contact.

When it’s over, he melts back against the mattress. I crawl up his body, slow and lazy, and settle next to him with my chin propped on his chest. His heart is jackhammering under my cheek. I trace lazy circles on his skin, waiting for him to come back to earth.

He eventually drops his arm and looks at me, a mixture of awe and total disbelief. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”