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“I do feel better,” I reassure him, laughing. “Much better.”
He chuckles, vibrations traveling from his chest down my back. “Good.” He quiets then. “I’d do anything for you, Pax. I hope you know that. You only have to ask.”
I blink, my eyes suddenly too hot. I don’t know what to say. After fighting it, telling myself to be rational and cool-headed, he says something like this that knocks reason on its ass, something that hooks me and reels me in, giving me no choice but to fall in love with him.
Chapter Sixteen
Riot
Cradling Pax against my chest, my dick still buried inside her, I’m the closest to happiness I’ve ever felt. I was so worried before I came looking for her. Worried when she said she was sick, worried I couldn’t make her well. That she didn’t want me here.
That she’d send me away.
And although I bet this won’t last—she’ll come to her senses soon enough and remember I’m not what she’s looking for—I can’t find it in me to care. Not now. Not when I’m still floating on a post-orgasmic haze unlike any I’ve ever felt.
Maybe it was because it was without a condom, flesh against flesh.
Or maybe it’s because it’s Pax and I want her every hour of every day and night. Anything we do together is mind-blowing. But still, this one was...Whoa. My dick is slipping out of her, little by little, and I have to bite my lip not to groan at the sensation.
Dammit, the water is cooling already. She shivers in my arms. Need to get her warm and into bed, then...Food. She needs to eat.
I have no clue what to do about that. Take-out? I don’t know how to cook to save my life, except for out of the package Mac-and-Cheese, deep-frozen pizzas and sandwiches. My foster mom wasn’t much of a cook. Besides, two of the three years I spent in her house she was battling cancer. The last thing on her mind, especially toward the end, was cooking.
And these past years of living alone haven’t helped either. Let’s just say Dexter and Batman aren’t into cooking, either. We make do with whatever is lying around.
As I lift her from the water and wrap her up in a huge fluffy towel she has hanging on a hook, as I grab a smaller one and dry her long hair, I think about what I could make her to eat.
Or try to, because touching her in any form and way makes me want her, makes me happy.
I’m way past the danger line. Now I’m full and well in riptide territory. Might as well stop fighting it. Let the current take me deep into the sea.
I find another towel, which I fasten around my hips, and I walk her to her bedroom. She’s drowsy, leaning heavily against me. Pulling back the covers, I have her sit, then unwrap her from the towel and lay her down.
“I’m naked,” she whispers as I drag the covers over her.
“Just the way I like you,” I whisper back and wink.
She laughs. I love the sound of her laughter—soft and tinkling like a small bell. “You could grab me clean pajamas from the closet.”
“I could.” I grin at her, but then decide maybe she’ll be warmer that way and I open her closet. It’s made of heavy, dark wood, carved with flowers. Inside she has shelf after shelf stacked with folded clothes. “Um, is there a coding system? A sign pointing toward the pajamas?”
She laughs again, and I grin like an idiot, proud of myself for wringing that sweet sound out of her. “Bottom right shelf.”
Right. I grab light blue bottoms and a white top. “Panties?”
“Top left drawer.”
I open it, stick my hand inside, and pull out a lacy white thing. Thong? What in the name—?”
“Riot, did you find them?”
Turning around, I show my loot. “Yeah.” I eye her thoughtfully. “I might just put them back, though, and climb into bed with you.”
“Riot!” But she’s laughing delightedly, and if I grin any wider, my face will split in two. “Gimme my clothes.”
“What will you give me in return?”
“What do you want?”
