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Easton: Me, too.
Want to join me. I don’t text her that.
Sadie: Maybe after.
Not an invitation for me to join her. Damn.
Easton: Okay. Let me know.
None of this is okay. I want her in my shower and in my bed. I want to know what she’s thinking, and I want to hold her while she falls asleep. I’ve never wanted that. Ever. It could be because we’re so close. The women I sleep with regularly are friends. I know them. I know their bodies, but I don’t know them personally, like I do Sadie. I don’t care to know more. If they need to vent, I listen but, typically, they don’t. Our arrangement is mutual. When I pick up a woman at a bar or meet one from a dating app, I don’t know the person other than what I learn from small talk. We have a mutual understanding that we’re going to have sex. I was so concerned with how Sadie would handle being with me in a sexual capacity that I didn’t stop to consider how I’d be affected.
I shower and then change into sweats and a t-shirt. When I leave my room, the house is quiet. I listen for movement upstairs. Hearing nothing, I head downstairs. A murder crime show plays on the flat screen above the fireplace, but I don’t see Sadie. I glance at the kitchen. Two coffee mugs sit next to the variety pack of cocoa I left on the counter for her. Was she waiting for me? Warmth fills my heart, the sensation is as strange as it is enjoyable.
Where the hell is she?
The bathroom maybe? I stroll to the couch to wait and find Sadie curled on her side asleep. Her damp hair falls behind her, the maple color darker. An oversized sweatshirt bares one of her shoulders, and matching pants cover her legs. Her bow-shaped lips are slightly parted. The sight of her cuddled on my couch sends more of that warmth to my heart.
I brush a finger across her cheek. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a sexy sleepy moan.
“Were you waiting for me?” I ask.
She nods, then snuggles her head into the pillow. “I’m so tired.”
“Let’s go to bed,” I say, a plan in mind.
“Okay.” Her eyes close.
A chuckle escapes my throat. I scoop her into my arms, then carry her upstairs to my room. Other than murmuring, “I can walk,” she doesn’t try to get down or even open her eyes.
I put her in my bed, then slide in beside her, and cover us up. She turns onto her side and snuggles her face in the pillow like she had on the couch.
I’m about to pull her to me when she murmurs, “Too hot.”
She pulls off her shirt and pants and then tosses them on the floor.
Well, this is going better than I planned. I’d already removed my shirt, but now I want to join her in the no-pants-department. I consider leaving on my underwear, which I never do so she doesn’t think I’m trying for round two. Crazy thinking given the sex we had less than two hours ago and how she encouraged it—initiated it. Not that I’m complaining. I loved every second, especially when she pulled down her pants and stuck her plump little ass in my face. As if summoned by the memory, my dick stands at attention. Not going to happen, buddy.
Ignoring my hard-on, I strip bare, then tuck Sadie against me, her back to my chest. I hold her there with my nose buried in her sweet apple-scented hair. A peace I’ve never known settles over me. Why did I ever think having a woman in my bed is a bad idea? This is amazing. But then this is Sadie. Everything with her turns out amazing.
* * *
My phone dings, waking me from the best sleep I’ve had in a long, long time. Early morning light scatters through the trees outside the windows.
Sadie’s body is still tucked against me, where I’d moved her last night. Carefully, I lift my arm, then turn to get my phone from the nightstand. She stirs a little but doesn’t appear to wake.
I read the text. It’s from Steven. He has information about Sadie’s attacker. Equal parts of concern and anxiousness tumble through me. As desperate as I am to know what he found out, I fear how the news will affect Sadie.
Should I wake her and we call Steven together, or should I find out the facts and then present them once she’s eaten and had coffee? Option two sounds much better than disturbing her slumber.
I inch from the bed, careful not to disturb her and then put on my clothes. Once I’m dressed, I head to my office and close the door, separating the space from the bedroom where she sleeps.
Steven picks up on the first ring.
“That was fast,” he says instead of a greeting.
“How bad is it?”
“I found who the stalker is, and I have some dirt on her ex-boyfriend, Dash.”
