“High-class girl, nice fancy sheets.”
I felt my body get tense.
“They aren’t fancy.”
“Babe, in comparison, they are.”
They were, darn it all.
I made no reply. Tate’s face got closer.
“Ace, you wanna tell me why, half the time after I finish fuckin’ you, I’m still inside you and I’m laughing?”
“I’ve no idea,” I replied haughtily.
His face changed, his eyes warmed, his hand came up, fingers sliding into the hair at the side my head and his mouth came to mine.
Then he whispered, “I do.”
I fought back my more than pleasant response to all of that but I only won the fight in my head. My traitorous body melted under his.
“You weren’t supposed to notice them,” I informed him and he burst out laughing again, going so far as to throw his head back to do it, such was the hilarity of my comment.
He slid out of me, rolled off, gained his feet by the side of the bed then tugged me to standing in front of him.
I stood there while he shifted around me, pivoting me with him with hands at my hips and he sat down on the bed in front of me.
He bent and tugged off his boots and socks while asking, “How did you think I wasn’t gonna notice?”
“You’re a man, men don’t notice sheets.”
He dropped his second boot and went after the sock, tilting his head back to look at me as he did. “Babe, we do.”
“Well…” I muttered, feeling stupid standing in front of him, so I crossed my arms on my chest. “Whatever,” I finished lamely.
He chuckled as he stood up and his arms wrapped around me. He kissed my neck, still chuckling, then let me go and tugged his jeans down.
“Any other surprises? New towels? Bath mat? Did you order a new, grape Kool-Aid free zone couch?”
“No,” I snapped, again haughty even though he was being kind of funny.
“What happened? Not enough time?” he teased.
“Tate, I’m not finding this funny,” I informed him, somewhat lying.
He sat again, pulled me between his legs with an arm around my waist then fell back, taking me with him and twisting us so we were lying right in the bed. He twitched the comforter over us then came up on his forearm and looked across the room.
“What’s the top sheet doin’ on the floor?”
I got up on my elbows and looked where he was looking. Then my head turned to him.
“Neeta was banging at the window and looking in. I was naked so I had to use the sheet to… um…” I stopped talking because he didn’t look amused and content anymore.
His eyes moved to the windows.
Then he muttered, “Fuckin’ bitch.”
“Tate,” I called and his eyes came back to me.
“Tomorrow, you buy curtains,” he ground out.
“Um…” I looked at the clock on his nightstand to see it was nearly six in the morning, “it is tomorrow.”
“What shift you got?”
“I’m off.”
He grinned and then came off his forearm and rested his weight mostly on me so I was forced to slide off my elbows.
He shoved his face in my neck and stated, “Good, then we’ll buy curtains,” and he kissed my neck.
“Tate,” I called again as he moved off me, settled on his side and pulled me into his arms, front to front, face to face.
“Sleep, Ace,” he ordered, his voice suddenly sounding tired, “then shoppin’.”
“Um…” I said to him, thinking about shopping with Tate and liking those thoughts, rather than thinking about Tate having a son, that scene with Neeta and all the other things I should be thinking about and I noticed his eyes were closed. “Are we done talking?”
“For now, yeah,” he answered.
“Um…” I mumbled again. “Perhaps we should –”
His eyes opened and with one look into them, I quit talking.
Then I whispered, “The lights are on.”
His head came up then he turned, rolled out of bed and, naked, he went to the bathroom, switched out the light, went to the closet and switched out the light, went to the bedroom door and switched out the light.
I watched as he came back to bed, got in and rolled back to me. His arm came around me and he pulled me close again, front to front.
“Tate –”
“Babe, bad guy, titty bar, lots of road, Neeta, dealin’ with you and a really sweet orgasm. Honest to God, I don’t have a lot more in me.”
“Okay,” I whispered instantly.
Yes, his good girl. Always a good girl, now his.
Such.
An.
Idiot.
His head bent, he touched his mouth to mine then his hands rolled me so my back was to him. He leaned in, hitching my leg with his knee in the back of mine, his arm curled around my belly, his face burrowed into my hair and I took the rest of his weight which pinned me to the bed.
“Sweet dreams, baby,” he whispered into my hair, his arm giving me a squeeze. “See you on the other side.”
“You too, Captain,” I whispered back and stared at the light clay colored pillowcase in front of me, the water-colored brushstrokes of sun hitting it.