“Goddamn, Derelie.”
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”
Outside the wind and rain became a storm; inside, lightning lit him up, electric volts of energy and Derelie’s chant sending him over. A final thrust to take her with him, then he brought them both down to the bed, where he kissed her out the other side of that shared whirlwind and she sighed her contentment into his mouth.
He resented having to leave the bed. Came back to find her smiling at him with her eyes closed and her arms out. Sticky and sweaty, beautiful. “I need to pee, but I don’t want to get up.”
And his version of delightful.
He couldn’t be madder about her. “It’s a dilemma.”
He dove into her arms. No cool, no cool at all. “Ten minute snuggle and then I’ll make you breakfast.” Snuggle. He buried his face in her neck. One night with her and he’d morphed into a man who used the word snuggle.
“Fifteen minute snuggle, and we shower and I cook you breakfast. It’s my turn. How do you like your eggs?”
“Any way you want to serve them. I can’t remember the last time anyone cooked for me.”
“I can’t remember ever having been pounded so hard.” He lifted his head to look into her face and she laughed at his distraught expression. “It’s a good thing. Please do it again.”
He brought her lips to his. An array of unusual emotions felt very close to the surface of his skin. It was a distressing feeling, and the only way he could deal with it was to keep moving. If he slowed down to examine things it might wreck him.
He hadn’t thought it would be like this. Told himself it was all a manipulation. Didn’t know she’d ignite such craving. Yeah, he wanted her in his bed and more. He wanted her at his table and on that old blanket he’d used for the picnic. He wanted all the questions and all the answers with her, but he didn’t have a decent up-to-date guideline for what happened with a girlfriend and that’s where this was going.
He wasn’t entirely sure he was boyfriend material. But this was a pay grade above fling and a bank vault of gold more valuable than a casual hookup.
“I’m going down on you in the shower,” she said.
Oh fuck. “You’re trying to screw with me.”
“Is it working?”
“I’m an old man. And I’m hurt.” He groaned at the image of her on her knees. “You could do me permanent damage.” She snorted like a roll-in-the-mud farm animal. “Little heathen.”
She was a saint in the shower. She made the cramped space work, though he might’ve put a fist through the tiles trying to hold back. A champion way to ease into a Sunday. Later, damp, and with a heavy pleasure buzz, he watched her navigate his kitchen, producing poached eggs and thick sliced toast, roasted tomatoes and mushrooms.
“I’ve worked out what your comment about video means.” She nibbled her toast. He’d used his under the eggs. “For the story. We need visuals.”
“Fake visuals.” She wore his T-shirt and he liked that, the familiarity of it. She had great legs. “For the story we’re colleagues who got to know each other better after a rocky start, not lovers.”
She looked down at herself. “Staged as a coach. I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. You don’t have to out yourself.” Yeah, he did. “We need stills too.” She took another bite of toast. “What would you normally do on a Sunday?”
“Sleep, work out, spend time at my desk, catch up on reading, file any story due for Monday I’ve not finished. You?”
“Sleep, clean my place, shop, curl up with a book and talk to my family, lie about going to church.”
Both of them passing through Sundays alone. “Is there anything you need to do today?”
“Apart from call home, no.”
He had an idea what they could do for the day. It included taking her to church so she didn’t have to lie so blackly to her mom. St. Longinus wasn’t open on Sundays. No fighting on the Sabbath, but Jack knew how to get inside. In the Uber car, he called Barney.
“Haley, what jail and how much is the bail?”
“Funny man.” He gave Derelie’s hand a squeeze. “I have a friend with me I’d like to show the church.”
“A friend. That friend wouldn’t happen to be a woman?”
“She would happen to be.”