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I tuck the blankets around her and then silently exit the room. Tuesday gives a tiny lion rawr of discontent. I bend down and lift the small tabby mix and snug her up against my chest. “Sorry, little one, but your daddy didn’t think you’d want to see all that action.”
She purrs lightly and rubs her small head against my chest. All’s forgiven, she appears to say. “Let’s get you fed. Erika needs some attention, too. I worked her hard last night.”
In the kitchen, I open a can of food for Tuesday and then watch for a few seconds as the cat delicately chomps down her breakfast. Once I’m satisfied that Tuesday isn’t going to attack my ankles again, I head for the bathroom. Inside, I prepare a hot washcloth for Erika. Heat works well when my muscles are sore, so I figure this will feel good for her.
Before I can get to her, I hear the bedroom door open and a soft voice say, “Tank?”
I hurry out to see Erika wrapped up in the blanket, blinking like the cutest fucking owl that ever existed. “You hungry? Thirsty? Need to pee?”
“Um, no, I just woke up and noticed I was…alone.” She averts her eyes and tucks her chin against her chest.
Did she worry I ran off? Shit. What kind of man does she think I am?
“Had to feed Tuesday.” I hold up the rapidly cooling rag. “But I got you this.”
She raises her eyes to the washcloth. “For my face? Did I leave drool marks?” Her hands fly to her cheeks and the blanket nearly drops to the ground. She catches it quickly and I only get a glimpse of golden skin.
“Nah. It’s for your…” I gesture toward her legs. I can’t bring myself to say the dirty words to her outside of sex because she’s such a sweet, innocent thing. Plus, she might not want me saying that kind of shit. “Your muscles might be sore.”
Her face turns crimson as understanding dawns. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything. In fact, I think I have class.” She looks at her bare wrist.
Fuck. She wants to leave already? “I have to make you breakfast first,” I protest. “You can’t leave without some food in you.”
“I usually don’t eat a big breakfast.” She backs up toward the bedroom door. “I’ll just grab a muffin from the campus café.”
My brain screams “no” so loud I’m surprised alarms aren’t set off. I lunge toward her, tripping over the blanket and nearly crashing her into the floor of the hall. Somehow—probably from all those years of training—I manage to keep my balance and pull us both upright, but, in the process, the blanket is trampled underfoot. I’m pressed toe to chest with Erika’s tiny body. My dick flares to full mast against her stomach.
“Shit. I forgot I didn’t have any clothes on,” I apologize.
“I don’t either.” She states the obvious.
“Do you really want to leave? Because if you do, let me get dressed quick and I’ll walk you to your class.” I try to loosen my hold on her, but my arms aren’t doing what I’m telling them to do. They’re locked around her back, making it so she can’t run off.
“You don’t have to,” she says into my chest.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. If I don’t walk you to your class, I’m going to worry and I won’t be able to focus on training, which will make Morry mad and I don’t want to make her mad because she’s like a second mom to me.”
I knew I shouldn’t have said “I love you” last night, because now she’s scared. She probably just wanted to jump around my pole for a few hours and then take off instead of hearing some stupid declaration of love. I don’t know how to undo it, though. It’s not like I can rewind time. Time to use my balls for something other than making spunk. I take a deep breath.
“Erika, I’m sorry if I scared you last night. I’m not too experienced”—in other words, I have zero experience—“so I’m not sure what the right thing is to do the morning after”—because marriage is probably out—“but I figured I should make you breakfast, get you a hot towel”—get down on my knees and beg you to stay with me always—“that sort of thing.”
She sighs and I feel her ribcage expand like a tense balloon against my torso. “I’ve never done this either. When I woke up, the apartment was quiet and I just…I guess in movies and stuff, you’re not even supposed to spend the night. I should’ve gotten up and left so you wouldn’t have to deal with this morning-after stuff.”
“Left?” I shout like some outraged eighty-year-old.
“I-I-I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.” She draws back.
I slam her against me again. “I just went to feed my cat,” I try to explain. I know I sound pathetic, but I don’t care. It’s not like I can fuck my pride at night. “I don’t want you to leave. I never want you to leave. If it was up to me, you’d stay in the condo all day and all night except when I had to train or you needed to dance, but we’d still be together because I don’t think I started living until I met you.”
“Oh.”
It’s a small sound, quietly spoken, but there’s warmth there. Surprise, too, but mostly genuine, warm delight. She hesitates and then wraps her arms around my waist. “You’re, um, hard again.”
“I’m always hard when I’m with you.” I might as well confess because it’s not like I can hide it.
“Is Tuesday okay?”
“Yeah.”
