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Blaze
I pushLia up against the tile to get enough leverage to kiss her. She accepts my harsh kisses with a serenity that blows my mind. I love seeing her so wrung out like this.
Byme.
I want to be the guy who leaves her limp and well-fucked every time.
I need more of Lia Burke.
All of her.
But right now my job is to take care of her, so I put her feet down and use a washcloth to gently clean between her legs and ass cheeks. I hold her up with an arm around her waist, because she still appears to be floating. I want to wash her hair, but I’m afraid she can’t stand up without me holding on, and a one-handed wash isn’t what I have in mind.
Next time.
Because I’m damn certain there’s going to be a next time. A whole lifetime of next times, if I have my way.
Chapter 11
Lia
I moan softlyinto the bedcovers. Blaze rolled me to my belly this morning, inspected my ass and then ordered me to spread my legs. Now, I’m lying boneless on his bed after he essentially fucked my brains out.
His phone beeps with a text and he picks it up and looks at it. Instantly, his shoulders tense and his mouth turns into a grim line. He glances at the clock and rolls out of bed.
“What is it?” I ask, even though it’s none of my business. Or is it? I don’t know. We haven’t really defined our relationship.
“My ex. I have to get going. It’s our daughter’s birthday party today.”
I sit up, my mouth turning bone dry, stomach knotting into a tight twist. “You have a daughter?”
“Yeah. Sort of. It’s complicated. Listen, I’m sorry to run off. I didn’t realize the time—not that I’m sorry about how we spent it, by any means.” He gets dressed with the speed and efficiency of a firefighter.
“Your daughter’s birthday,” I echo again. I’m shocked by this information. I didn’t know he had a daughter—or whatever complicated thing she may be. And the fact that he’s not willing to explain it to me kind of tells me everything, doesn’t it?
This isn’t a relationship. He’s not inviting me along to meet his daughter—not that I’m presuming we’re at that stage, but still.
Or maybe I’m just bitter over him running off to his ex’s while the bed’s still warm from our love-making. Fucking. Whatever.
I get up, the bliss of my recent orgasm spiraling down into something dark and tired. I don’t use any of my firefighter speed-dress skills. In fact, I move slower than usual, out of a wee bit of spite. I hate feeling like I’m being kicked out.
“You’re welcome to stay here and sleep, if you want,” he offers, somewhat mollifying me. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll still be here when he gets back. But then he adds, “I won’t be back until late. I have to help a friend install some cabinets after the party.”
“You’re always helping someone, aren’t you?” I try, unsuccessfully to keep my tone light.
He turns a shrewd glance at me and rubs the stubble on his face. “Yeah, it’s a habit, I guess. Maybe it needs breaking.”
I force myself to throw off my foul mood. “Nah, I think it’s sweet. You like to be the hero. That’s why you’re the captain.”
His smile seems forced, but I sail past him toward the door.
“Hold up.” He sounds unhappy. He catches me around the waist and pulls me back against him. “Are you pissed?”
“No,” I sigh. It’s not really a lie. I’m not pissed, just disappointed. “I’m fine. Have fun at the party.” I turn in his arms and offer my lips.
He gives me a perfunctory kiss, but his eyes still search my face for more information.
I don’t give him the chance to sniff out my bad mood. It’s just me being small, anyway. “See ya,” I call and head out the door.
