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The hand not inspiring such impure thoughts strokes down the length of my spine. “Care to share?”
I stifle a horrified snicker. “I had a good day.”
“I’m glad.” He strokes me again, upwards this time, fingers along the bare skin of my upper back. “I think August did too, right?”
Another noise gets stifled, a groan this time becauseJesus. Cut me some slack. There’s something profoundly attractive about the edge of concern in his voice, a hint of desperation in there too, like he wants it to be true so bad.
Care—that's what it is. The care he provides, how much he cares. I’ve got a fucking care kink. Dormant for almost three decades, ignited by a man I’ve known for mere months. Ramped up when I, in a stilted, raspy voice, confirm that, against all odds, my son did have a good day, and Cass slumps in relief, pats my thigh, pecks my temple.
“I gotta tell you something,” he murmurs, low and… bashful, almost. “I got us tickets to the Wolves game next week. You, me, and August. I know I should’ve asked you first and I know it’s on a school day but I wanted to get him something to make today a little less shit, y’know. And—” He rolls his lips together, definitely nervous now. “He has a room upstairs. Next to the nursery. Across from yours.”
He has a room upstairs, I repeat in my head.Next to the nursery. Across from mine.
“I wanna make it clear,” he continues, mistaking my stunned silence for disapproval, “that I’m not trying to sneakily move you in. But when you are here, when the baby’s here, I want you to be comfortable. I want you to want to be here.”
When I scramble to my feet, no one questions it. I imagine they blame my poor, squashed bladder for the way I suddenly bolt inside. They’re—thankfully—oblivious to the fact a very different organ is the one wreaking havoc and sending me on a mission for a moment of blessed privacy, just so I can calm the hell down.
Cass’ garage is quickly becoming my sanctum. I learned my lesson last time; I don’t try to flee outside. I do go straight for the chest freezer tucked in the corner, pressing my palms flat against the lid as I contemplate opening it up and diving right in. An ice bath seems like exactly what I need.
What I don’t need; a shadow. A big, caring shadow who follows me inside and presses a scorching hand to the small of my back and asks, “You okay?”
I jolt, trying and failing to shrug Cass off. “Uh-huh.”
Even to my own ears, I sound thoroughly unconvinced, so I’m not surprised when he doesn’t buy it. “What did I do?”
“Nothing.”
“Did I make you uncomfortable?”
Jesus. Always with theuncomfortable. I don’t know if I’m more relieved or surprised that The Great Cass Morgan keeps mistaking arousal for discomfort. “No.”
“You practically fell out of my lap. You won’t look at me. You look pretty—”
“Jesus Christ, Cass,” I interrupt, cheeks already flaming in anticipation of what I’m about to admit. “I’mhorny, alright?”
A whole lot of emotions flash across Cass’ face in the next thirty seconds. Surprise, doubt, indecision, before, God help me, slick satisfaction settles. “Because of me.”
Eyes narrowed, I kiss my teeth. “Pretty sure hormones have a lot to do with it.”
Cass hums. His lips press together as he inches towards me, like he’s stifling a laugh.
“Is this funny to you?”
The shake of his head contradicts full, quivering lips. “Definitely not.”
“You’relaughing.”
“I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up in the worst display of innocence I’ve ever seen. “I’ve just never had anyone scream how horny they are at me.” Before I can retort, he cheekily adds, “Okay, I have. Once or twice. But in this context, it's a brand new experience.”
“Shut up.”
He does no such thing. “Every time you yell at me, is it ‘cause you’re horny?”
“I hate you.”
“C’mon, sunshine,” he coos, and the husky timber of his voice awakens every last nerve ending in my body. “You should’ve said something. Of all the problems, this is definitely the easiest for me to solve.”
Fuck. Squeezing my eyes shut, I grace him with nothing but sullen silence.
