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Skye hadn’t given him her answer about staying the night, but was looking around his kitchen. A black, red and silver 1950s diner theme had evolved in here. It worked with his essential cooking appliances, the pots hung up above the butcher block center island. Red mugs beside the Keurig, a TV mounted on the wall. Flour cloth towels were printed with Harleys, matching the framed canvases of bikes mounted on the wall behind the six-seater kitchen table. A table he’d never view the same way, now that she’d brought herself to climax on it.
“I have coffee and tea. And I cook a mean breakfast.” He crossed his loosely fisted hands in front of him so she could see theTrust. Me.
She smiled and uncrossed his wrists, making him realize the way he’d done it had presented the words backwards. But that was all right, because then she did with her hands what he’d done with his earlier.
She made the alphabet sign forOandK.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
He showed her his shop slash garage, and the half-dozen customized bikes he had, including the Harley Dyna Street Bob he had for in-town use and going to the club. It was also his favored ride for opening up on the NOLA backroads. He had a silver Harley Street Glide for when he wanted to take longer, more comfortable trips on a bike. He’d ridden it to the last Sturgis rally in South Dakota.
She asked him questions about all of his rides, wandering through their ranks with keen-eyed interest. What customizations he’d added and why, what he liked about one kind of bike versus another. After that, she wanted to see some of the property; the water access, the dirt track, and the cows that lived on the other side of his property line fence. Charmingly, she was intensely interested but a little wary of them. His Mistress was a city girl.
She let him ask questions about her, too. They stayed away from sensitive stuff, just kept it to the fun and interesting.
By the time they came back to the house, it was nightfall. They picked up the takeout, and after dinner she had him dig out the card table so they could get the puzzle going. After separating out all the edge pieces, they did the frame.
She was right. She kicked his ass at Candyland, but he learned some new strategies to hold his own against Aubrey. He didn’t know when or if Aubrey would ever be here again, but Skye didn’t let him dwell on that.
She was a night owl, but as a guy who was usually at his garage by seven in the mornings and had pretty labor-intensive days, his gas started to run out around ten o’clock. Unless he was involved in working on a project in the barn, and then time stopped meaning anything.
Today was not one of those days. Getting along in a hearing world was really fucking tiring. Way more than he’d realized. He wondered how long it had taken her to build up endurance for it, from the speaking side of things.
He managed to suppress the yawning until they sat down on the couch to channel surf, her leaning against his side. One moment, he was watching; the next, he was coming awake and realizing he’d been out for a while. He was starting to make a habit of that around her. He hoped he hadn’t snored, or worse, drooled.
She’d moved to the floor to sit at the coffee table, and was working on a laptop she’d brought. Closing down her work, she gave him a smile and pointed to the hallway. A question.Bedtime?He nodded.
He had a king-sized bed, a no-brainer for a guy of his dimensions. She was welcome in it, but he wouldn’t assume. He saw her pause in the hallway and consider her options. Take a left into the guest room and its queen-sized bed, or walk a few more paces down the hall to the master?
“You can have my room if you prefer the bigger bed. I can take the guest room.” When she turned toward him, he added, “Can’t have a Mistress in the house and not offer her the best room.”
She pointed to him, to herself, then toward the master bedroom. She did a questioning thumbs up.
“Yeah, sure, if you prefer that. That would be great.”
That would be fucking fantastic.
He didn’t anticipate any sex happening, but being in the same room made it far more likely. He had no agenda; he’d simply have to be dead or dickless not to think of it. However, if she wasn’t taking it in that direction, just having her that close and lying with him made him better than okay with that.
He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to use my shirt to sleep in.” She’d kept it on through dinner, wearing only panties beneath it. Something difficult not to think about.
She cocked her head and glanced down at the shirt. Coming to him, she picked up his hand and put it on her breast. He was smart enough not to move the hand, her grasp an implicit command to keep it still. However, his palm and fingers itched to close around that generous curve, to squeeze and fondle the nipple. Especially when it peaked against his touch.
He had to tear his gaze from her fathomless dark eyes to look at her phone when she held it up. “Do you prefer me to wear your shirt?”
“Yeah. You better believe it.”
Her lips curved, and she pivoted, drawing away from his touch but leading the way to his bedroom. He’d brought her bag for her. As he thought of its contents, he sent her an amused look and set it on the dresser.
“Next time I have to secure a load in my pickup, I’m calling you. You handle tie-downs like a pro. Do you always carry Monster Bob in your bag?” At her blank look, he shot her a grin and clarified. “The battery-operated boyfriend modeled after Mr. Ed’s junk?”
She mouthed a chuckle, typed. “Cyn has one stamped with the letters BTU.”
“Like British thermal units?” His brow furrowed.
Her grin deepened. Tap, tap, tap. “Better than you.”
“Ouch. That is one mean woman.”
