Page 77 of Suite 7

“Too late.” I kiss my way up her spine, to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “You admitted I ruined you.”

“I said best, not only—” She gasps when I bite down on her earlobe.

“That’s cheating.”

“That’s motivation.” I pull back, help her turn over. “Come on. Coffee will help.”

She takes the shirt I offer without comment, one of mine, a dark gray henley from the clean laundry I haven’t put away yet. She pulls it on and it swallows her completely. Mid-thigh. Sleeves covering her hands until she rolls them up three times.

“What?” she asks, catching me staring.

“Nothing.”

She gives me a look, then follows me into the kitchen. Settles onto a bar stool, pulling the too-long sleeves over her hands. I’m in jeans, no shirt. Didn’t bother.

I measure the grounds with precision. Check the water temperature.

“Look at you,” she says, voice warm. “All that focus.”

I glance at her. “Coffee requires precision.”

“Oh, I remember.” Her smile turns slightly wicked. “Six level scoops. Medium grind. Fill to the six-cup line. Exactly.”

Heat flickers through me.

“You were paying attention,” I say.

“Hard not to when someone’s teaching you so thoroughly.” She props her chin on her hand, watching me work. “Although I seem to recall you had me do all the work that time. This feels like role reversal.”

“This is aftercare. Taking care of you.”

“Mmm.” Soft now. Genuine. “My very careful Dom, making sure his girl is properly caffeinated.”

His girl.

I don’t examine those words.

“Always,” I say.

“Even if I question your grind settings?”

“Even then.”

The coffee finishes. I pour two cups. Add cream and sugar to hers, one packet, splash of cream, exactly how she takes it. Because I was paying attention too.

I hand her the mug.

She takes it with both hands before bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

“Perfect.” Soft. Appreciative. “You make good coffee, Kane.”

Then her smile fades.

She sets down the mug, hands still wrapped around it.

“Oh no.”

“What?”