Game Saver - BJ Harvey Page 0,42

told you about my dad’s little chat?” I ask back. I take a deep breath and run my hands up to glide my fingers through her hair. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I should’ve known Mom would try something like that. Must’ve been wishful thinking.”

We lie there for a while, just looking at each other, comfortable silence stretching between us.

She clears her throat, biting her lip and drawing my attention straight to her mouth. “I may have said to her that we were . . . happy.”

“We were then . . .” I pull her head down and kiss her forehead. “We are now . . .” I tilt her face up so I can do the same to the tip of her nose. “And we will continue to be . . .”

She opens her mouth and my tongue delves inside. When we pull apart—only because breathing is an inconvenient necessity—her lids flutter open and her dazed eyes meet mine. “So we’re doing this? You and me, working towards something real?”

“It’s always been real. We’ve just finally realized it,” I reply, looking deep into her eyes. “Promise me one thing though?” Her body tenses against mine, so I quickly continue, “Don’t take on board anything she said to you. I know what and who I want, and I’m looking at her right now.” And with that, she melts back into me. I smile. “I like the ‘you’ that you are now. I wouldn’t change a single thing.” I roll her over and pin her to the bed, swallowing her surprised shriek with my mouth hitting hers.

With the need to bury myself inside her overtaking the need to talk, I set about doing that, and judging by the way she gingerly walked into my kitchen the next morning, I’d say it was job well done all around.

Two months of ‘real’ Cade, and I never want fake again. It’s crazy that a woman like me who has been independent—and happily so—for many years is loving the ‘dating’ experience.

Of course the man I’m dating has a lot to do with that. We work on what seems like every level. Opposing shifts? Not a problem—we have dinner together after his day is done and before I’m due at the hotel. Night at the Pink Monkey? I head home to whichever bed Cade is sleeping in, generally my place, because the lack of roommate is a definite bonus.

Sunday mornings are different. Neither of us have anywhere to be or anything to do, so Cade has decreed that Naked Sundays become a tradition in the Abi-Cade bubble. For obvious reasons, we only carry through with this practice when we’re in my apartment. As much as he might enjoy seeing a naked woman in his house, I’m fairly confident that Thomas would not enjoy hanging around a naked Cade, or more so, what inevitably happens on Naked Sundays when Cade and I are . . . well . . . naked.

Today, being Sunday, I’m standing in my kitchen, naked as the day I was born. Two arms wrap around my waist, and Cade’s hands roam my skin. He rests his chin on my shoulder, looking down at what I’m doing. “Coffee?”

I tilt my face to lean my cheek against his. “Is my name Abi-Jane Cook?” I ask before snorting in a ‘pfft’ tone. “You’d think my manfriend would know that I’m not human until I’ve had at least one cup of joe. It’s my morning ritual.”

He sucks my earlobe between his teeth, letting go to murmur, “I thought your manfriend eating you for breakfast was your morning ritual.”

My breaths quicken as a mental reply of what we’d done just thirty minutes ago plays on a loop in my head. So freaking good. “Well, there is that one, too.”

“Maybe I should add other things for you to do as part of this morning ritual of yours.”

I spin in his hold and loop my arms around his neck, rising up on my toes to brush my lips gently against his. One of his hands drops to my ass, the heat of his palm shooting through me like a missile.

A good thing about Naked Sundays? Nothing hindering me from Cade’s talented hands, mouth, and cock—which at this moment is rapidly rising back to life.

Biting my lip, I lock my eyes with his as I drag my nails down his back, earning a low guttural growl for my efforts.

“Couch. Now,” he grinds out before wrapping his hand around the back of my neck,