Page 35 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

“Good morning my sweet Smoochy Bum,” I coo, bending down only to get assaulted by the dog’s rank morning breath as he kisses the crap out of my face. I laugh as I try to pull away, but this big boy is just as determined as his daddy, and I’m not let off the hook until I’ve scratched him all over.

I have to wash my face a second time before padding out to the living room and finding my phone and camera. After checking my notifications, I get a look at the time.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. It’s almost eleven. I’m supposed to be at Black Velvet by twelve to start inventory and next week’s rosters, but it looks like I’m about to be a little late. Whoops! I guess that’s what you get for indulging in a night of wild, soul-shattering sex with a man who could make me come just by looking at me.

I book myself an Uber before trailing back down the hallway and stopping to collect my discarded clothes on the way. Making my way back into Maddox’s room, I find him exactly where I left him, and despite the noise I’ve made trudging through his home and loving on his dog, he’s still out cold.

A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I take my camera, holding it up in front of my face and looking at him through the lens. He’s so peaceful. So gorgeous. He’s everything. I can imagine him as the perfect picture of innocence like this. You know, assuming I put the cheeky flirting and wild sexcapades aside, because no man who encompasses everything that is innocence has wicked skills like that. No man who fucks the way Maddox Blake does could ever be aligned with anything innocent. That right there is raw, powerful, untamed and dangerous masculinity. He’s the reason women everywhere are ignoring reg flags.

God. Maybe I am falling for this man. Is that ridiculous? I’ve known him for barely a second.

I snap a few photos before striding right to the edge of his bed and crawling right over him until I’m straddled over his hips, but with the morning light dancing across his warm skin, I can’t find it in me to put the camera down.

I snap every angle of him as he begins to wake, his hands grasping my thighs. “Mmm, Savage. Why are you wearing pants?”

“I have to go,” I tell him. “I need to be at Black Velvet in an hour.”

“The fuck you do. I need to be buried inside you in an hour, and every hour after that.”

I laugh and snap a few more pictures before leaning down and kissing him. “I had fun,” I murmur against his lips. “That was exactly what I needed.”

“I’m exactly what you need.”

I roll my eyes and sit up again, and as a dorky grin cuts across his lips, my heart races. “You might be right about that.” I snap another picture. This man is so fine. I can’t wait to get home after my shift tonight and develop these images in my dark room. Photography is my peace. It’s where I find comfort, and if I’d never bought Black Velvet, then I might have taken photography a little more seriously. There’s just something about following the journey of taking the picture and then developing it. It keeps me calm, settles me. And had Maddox not answered the door last night, I likely would have ended up in some lonely place, taking still images of who the hell knows what, only to spend hours in my dark room. But the idea of developing photos of Maddox after a night of him being inside of me. Well, shit. Why does that have me all giddy?

“I’m always right, Savage.”

I hold his stare, unsure where to go from here, but he cuts the silence as he tightens his grasp on my thighs and pulls me closer. “Let me drive you home.”

I shake my head, and as if on cue, I hear my ride pulling to a stop in the driveway. “No need,” I tell him, pulling away. “Uber’s here.”

His jaw drops, looking offended as he sits up and gapes at me in outrage. “You called an Uber?”

A laugh rumbles up my throat as my feet hit the hardwood floor. “You were sleeping,” I say, slipping my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and double-checking I have everything I came with. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Always wake me.”

“I’ll know better for next time.”

“Next time?” he questions, getting to his feet and capturing my arm before pulling me back against him, my chest colliding against his strong torso. “When exactly is that going to be? And don’t tell me after some other guy pisses you off.”

I grin, and he grabs my ass, hauling me into his arms. Instinctively, I lock my legs around his waist as he starts walking me back up the hallway. “If you’re going to fuck me like you did last night, then every night I have is yours.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“I hope you do.”

We make it to the door and he kisses me once before settling me back on my feet, and as he opens the door, a wave of hesitation washes through me. I’d give anything to stay here, to spend my day wrapped in his arms and letting him do all kinds of nasty things to me, but I’m also not that desperate girl who’s going to fall head over heels in love with some guy she only just met. Besides, what if he has skeletons in his closet that I’m not nearly ready to discover?

Smooch comes to the door to say goodbye and thoroughly assaults me with sloppy kisses. Once I’m finally able to break free, I hurry out the door, knowing without a doubt that I’m going to be late. Though it’s not like it matters. I’ll be the only one there, but I like to get everything done before the girls come in for their shift so I can help open the bar for the day.

Fridays and Saturdays are our wild nights. We open early and don’t close until four in the morning. That’s the crowd taking wet pussy shots and grinding on the dance floor until the lights come on. Sundays are a little more relaxed. We still get a lot of people through the door, but it’s a different crowd. Sunday bargoers are a little older than the wild-night crowd, a little more sophisticated. They’re drinking dry whiskey and martinis on date night and heading out way earlier.

Sundays are great. Sundays are chill, and that’s exactly what I need after an almost sleepless night.