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And then he closes the closet door, and I just stare at it. He won’t even give me a glimpse of that ass.
Damn him.
I hop into the shower, and when I’m done and dressed for work, I stroll into the kitchen. Elliot is already in there brewing coffee.
I move in behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, and press my face into his neck.
He stiffens for a moment before melting into me. It seems he’s accepted his fate.
“There are frozen breakfast sandwiches in the freezer.”
I smile against his skin. “You buy those for me?”
“I would never,” he grumbles, but his cheeks are flushed again.
“Admit it. You bought me fucking food. You’re keeping me.”
“I just know you eat more frequently than a newborn baby and I didn’t want you to expire from hunger. I don’t know how to dispose of a corpse.”
I snort and move away from him, throwing two breakfast sandwiches into the microwave. “Sure you do. You’re the smartest person I know.”
“Fine, yes, I could manage it,” he mutters, then hands me a to-go mug. “Creamer is in the fridge as well.”
I run my fingers into his hair and press my lips to his temple. He bristles, so I let him go and drown my coffee with the white mocha creamer he bought, just for me.
I can see him now, mulling over choices in the grocery aisle, all serious and scowling. He probably checks the ingredient labels too. I bet this is the healthiest white mocha creamer on the planet.
“Thanks, Doc,” I say, lifting my mug up to my lips and taking a sip. “This is fucking delicious.”
“It’s nothing.”
He jokes. It’s not nothing. This is everything.
I know what this means.
“I gotta run,” I say as I grab onto my breakfast sandwiches and my to-go mug and move toward the door. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
He watches me go. “Fine.”
I wink at him and disappear outside, slipping into my truck, and I can’t wipe the damn smile off my face.
* * *
I battle through traffic hell to get to his office but it’s so worth it. We were finishing up at the docks today, so I just left a little early. But not before I snapped a picture of myself in my truck, legs spread, my shirt pushed up to my neck.
He likes these photos, I know he does. He’ll never admit it, but Amanda told me he zooms in on them. She’s caught him looking.
Twice.
I wonder what he does in private, when no one is around to catch him. Does he look at those pictures while he gets himself off? Does he moan my name when he comes?
Me:Almost there.
Elliot:Great.
Me:Don’t sound too excited.
I snort and run a hand across my mouth. He’s such a grump.
