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“He keeps you on a short leash.”
“He can also fuck himself,” I mutter.
She rises, pads to the coffee maker on the counter, and pours another cup. “Cream and sugar?”
“Hell no,” I practically growl.
“You got it.” She hands me the mug and our fingers brush against each other.
And damn if I don’t feel that tiny touch in my cock. It jerks against the denim of my jeans as I remember all the different ways I had her during the night. I’m pretty sure we might have been upside down at one point.
Sadie looks like a dream in a short red satin robe. I could easily brush it off her shoulders, spread those luscious legs, and bring her to a couple more climaxes right here in her little kitchen. On her table, spread out like a feast. I lick my lips, and not for coffee.
“So it’s Saturday,” I say, noticing how her nipples are outlined through the thin fabric.
“All day,” she replies.
“Okay. That means we met on a Thursday evening.”
“Right again.”
“Why was your friend Stacy—”
“Tracy.”
I take a sip of coffee. Damn, I want Sadie again, but it probably won’t happen. She has to be sore. “Sorry, why wasTracyhaving a bachelorette party on a Thursday evening? Isn’t that usually a weekend thing?”
She shrugs and her robe slips a little, baring slightly more of her milky shoulder. “Not when the bride works every weekend. She’s a cocktail waitress at the same bar where the party was, and Friday, Saturday, and Sunday are her biggest nights for tips.”
“Ah. Got it.”
In fact…
I jolt at a knock on her door. Who the hell is getting in the way of me being with my woman? She cocks her head at me and gives me a look I can’t read.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you mind?” She cocks her hip.
“Do I mind what?”
“Going into the bedroom? I have no idea who that is.”
I sure as hell do fucking mind. I know sleeping with a detective who’s working on a murder investigation in which I’m a primary suspect isn’t the best idea, but I have nothing to hide. Of course it could be her mother or something. Except doesn’t her mother do hair in Billings? Besides, I’m not going to get into a relationship where my woman is afraid to let anyone know we’re together.
Fuck. Are we even together? Didn’t I tell her I don’t do relationships?
I did. But I also said I want more of her. That her pussy was mine. And I reinforced that every time I filled her with my dick and made her come all over it. And that happened a hell of a lot last night. On her couch and in her bed.
“No fucking way you’re answering the door to anyone dressed like that.” I pointedly take in the skimpy robe as I cross my arms.
She frowns, but when I stay quiet and continue to glare, she storms past me into her bedroom. Over my shoulder, I watch her fling off the robe and tug on sweats and a hoodie sweatshirt.
She’s naked underneath, but the thick cotton hides it all from neck to ankle.
Much better. I nod and she sighs, gives me an eye roll, and pulls the bedroom door shut behind her. Me on one side, her front door on the other.
I take another sip of coffee. Damn it to hell. The woman makes good strong coffee too. Is there anything she can’t do?
