#2. Thatch is always the big spoon in bed.
#3. Cassie isn’t allowed to go to strip clubs without Thatch. Ever.
#4. Never delete an episode of America’s Next Top Model before Thatch sees it. (See Rule #1’s punishment, but add stilettos and Cass reenacting the episode in her underwear.) #5. Thatch has to watch a Lifetime movie with Cass once a week.
#6. Cass isn’t allowed to drink diet soda. Only regular.
#7. Thatch isn’t allowed to mention ice cream unless it’s in the freezer. Otherwise, consider himself dick slapped.
#8. Cass has to hit a minimum daily word count of fifteen fucks in front of Thatch.
#9. Pinkie promises aren’t for pussies. If you hook that finger, it’s as good as a blood oath, but less messy.
And now, Rule #10. Cass can’t hide her girlish giggle.
I rolled my eyes. “I do not giggle.”
“Yeah, honey, you do.” He nodded slowly. “Not often, but you do.”
I groaned and buried my face in his chest.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I love seeing tough as nails Cassie all girly and soft.”
My eyes met his again. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, so you blush when you get annoyed? My bad,” he teased.
“I’m not blushing!” I smacked his chest.
“Ow. Fuck,” he responded through a laugh as he flipped me onto my back before I could stop him. His hands held my arms above my head as his mouth brushed across my lips. “Spend the day with me today,” he demanded, his eyes gazing into mine.
“Pretty sure I’ve been spending the day letting you fuck me senseless.”
He smirked. “Yeah, but I want you to actually spend the whole day with me. No last-minute shoots for you. No work meetings for me. Just me and you, fucking and laughing and occasionally taking breaks for food.”
“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
I smiled. “Okay. Count me in.”
“Fantastic.” He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Now, Mistress Cassie, I need to order us some lunch.” He hopped off the bed and tossed on a pair of boxer briefs. “Anything in particular sound good?” he asked as he moved toward the doorway.
“Rule number eleven,” I called from my comfortable position on the bed. “Don’t lose your stamina.”
He stopped and turned toward me. His eyes glinted with amusement. “My stamina?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Don’t lose that. Ever.”
Thatch’s answering smile was as wide as Texas. “Oh, honey, as long as you’re around, I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”
“What’s wrong with all these people? Don’t they have lives?” Cassie asked as we weaved through a predictably crowded Times Square.
I chuckled and pulled her closer to my side as the space on the sidewalk around us closed up. “Yes, they do. Believe it or not, this is actually the sight of them living them.”
We’d stayed holed up in the apartment for most of the day and evening. I knew more about her body than I’d ever known about anyone’s other than my own. One-night stands weren’t exactly about the details, and I’d been too young and horny to ever pay attention to anything specific about Margo. My brilliant thoughts had pretty much ended at I like it.
Now we were out, and I was on a mission to fulfill my urge to let her know me. I’d never felt this motivated.
“Fucking fuckers! I reject that idea! Anyone who thinks this is living is—” Cassie started on a curse only to be interrupted by the jarring bump of a group coming to a stop for a picture. “Goddammit, watch where you’re going, assholes!”
I smiled at the irony that they weren’t “going” at all and tightened my hold on her hand, pulling her away from the confrontation with an Asian tourist and into motion through the crowd. We were only a block away at this point, the distinct neon of Fu-Get-About-Ink catching the attention of my trained eyes despite its proximity to all the other flash and flare of Times Square, but with the lead weight of my companion on my arm, it was liable to take us years to get there.
Even that thought didn’t make me feel the need to rush. I had what I really needed beside me.
“Sweet fucking cocksuckers, I thought I got annoyed in Chelsea, but I’d mate with that place over Times Square.”
“It’s not that bad,” I replied, smiling the whole time and tugging gently on her hand when she slowed to shoot a glare at some innocent children.
“Not that bad?” she shrieked. “It’s like the seventh circle of hell.”
“Well, then, just be glad it’s not the eighth,” I teased.
“What the hell were you guys thinking, putting your business this close to Times Square?”
I laughed. “Uh, that we wanted to make money?”
“From the bottom of my gold-digging soul, I never thought I’d feel this way, but don’t you have enough money?”