Page 75 of Weston’s Treasure

“She won’t be for long if he continues to be an arrogant ass about it.”

“Wouldn’t want that, now would we?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know, would we?”

Weston’s face pressed into my hair and I heard him inhale.

“Are you smelling me?”

“Yep.”

“That’s weird.”

“Nothing weird about smelling my woman. Nothing like waking up to the smell of sex and flowers.”

“Are you saying I stink?”

Weston’s big body started shaking so hard my body had no choice but to quake with his. It felt nice—so nice I forgot I was gearing up for an argument.

“No, baby, I’m saying you smell fucking great.”

“Sex doesn’t smell good.”

“Says who?”

That was a good question. I didn’t know exactly who says that, I just knew that it was said. At least I thought people said that. But now I wasn’t so sure.

“I don’t know. But sex is sweaty and there’s an exchange of bodily fluids.”

“Bodily…fluids.” Suddenly Weston wasn’t pressed against my back, he was on his, roaring with laughter. Now not only was he shaking, making me shake, but the whole bed was moving with it.

“Weston!” I shrieked.

“Babe, give me a minute.”

I didn’t give him a minute. I sat up and stared down at him.

His hair was messy and I knew part of that was because my fingers had been in it. And I knew my fingers had been in it because his mouth had been between my legs, but also because he’d been on top of me. Then my eyes traveled over his smiling face and my heart squeezed. But it was when my gaze traveled over his chest that my insides clenched.

The shock of it all, big, strong, hot, Weston loved me. He loved me. Months and months of hiding I had some weird crush on him fueled by frustration and anger. Sometime during my perusal, the bed had stopped moving and my eyes went back to Weston’s face.

“Good morning,” I whispered.

“Indeed. Shower.”

I wasn’t ready to get up but had no choice when Weston rolled off the bed, reached back in, and yanked me to my feet.

“Bossy,” I mumbled as he guided us to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later I was standing under the warm spray, Weston’s soapy hands roaming my body. From top to toe he gently washed me. He shampooed my hair, ran conditioner through it, and rinsed it. Never had anyone taken care of me, the way he was.

“You feeling okay?” Weston asked, turning me so we were face-to-face, his hands on my hips, mine went to his shoulders.

“Better than okay,” I answered but my concentration was on the bruise my teeth had left on the skin above his collarbone.

“I meant here.” Weston’s hand went to my booty and tapped my cheek. If it was possible to burst into flames I would’ve.

“I marked you.” I felt my face heat further.