Page 113 of Pucking Them
“I should have known that you would drive a hard bargain even with the Devil.” He leans forward, capturing my lips in a hard kiss. “Me.”
“Done.”
D’Angelo settles back.
He gives me a cocky grin. “Look how much work I can achieve before breakfast.”
I sniff. A warm, sweet vanilla aroma with a hint of citrus wafts from downstairs. It is as comforting as a hug.
My mouth waters. “Hmm, smells like a yummy breakfast.”
Eden is baking downstairs, intending to serve breakfast in bed today.
Both D’Angelo and Shay had a bad night.
My stomach drops at the thought.
Was it because they lost in the game yesterday?
I know how much it means to them to win against Wilder after our rival attacked D’Angelo. It means a fucking lot to me as well, especially when D’Angelo’s chest and stomach are a black and blue disaster of bruises.
I still want to report the assault to the cops. I respect D’Angelo’s decision, however, because it’s his to make.
“I should get dressed,” D’Angelo says with all the urgency of a man who has no intention of leaving our warm nest.
“You should.” I play with his hair, kissing him lightly.
“You bloody should not.” Shay is naked — no surprise there — and leaning in the corner of the doorway that leads throughto the bathroom. He has toothpaste smeared at the corner of his mouth. “Stay where you are, darlin’. Don’t even think about getting up. Don’t act like you don’t need some spoiling this morning. I’m about to take a shower. Then I’m running you a bath with that expensive smelly shit you like in it, which will help your muscles. Also, Dee is attempting to bake your favorite Italian breakfast, cornetti, as a treat. They’re like croissants but with custard, yeah?”
D’Angelo narrows his eyes. “You’re lucky that you’re out of reach of my spanking hand for describing the most delicious Italian pastries in the world aslike croissants. I should refuse to allow you to eat them as punishment, but even I’m not that cruel. Also, I don’t need pampering.”
Shay wipes the toothpaste off his mouth, before pointing at D’Angelo. “You do. Sometimes, we all do.”
Shay spins on his foot and pads back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I can hear his happy humming of a song by some British rock band.
D’Angelo growls in frustration.
I snuggle closer to him, before he can jump out of bed and follow through with his threat of a spanking.
“Hey,” I soothe, “he’s right.”
“Don’t side with the sunny brat,” D’Angelo grumbles. “His brightness is hurting my head at this time of the morning.”
“Poor grumpy bear.” I kiss D’Angelo’s head, trying not to laugh.
By the death glare that he is shooting me, it’smyass that is in danger of the spanking.
“Your head is probably hurting because you slept so badly,” I point out to redirect attention from the way that one of D’Angelo’s hands has dropped to pat over my barely protected ass. Eden should order thicker cotton t-shirts, or possibly, I should stop stealing them to sleep in. But I love being wrappedin his scent too much. “Shay told me that you had nightmares. Do you remember what they were about?”
D’Angelo’s nose scrunches up, and he hesitates.
So, that’s a yes.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I add. “But I’m here if you want to.”
D’Angelo shakes his head.
We’re resting on the same pillow. Despite the tension in his shoulders, our gazes hold each other safe in a relaxed way, and our voices are hushed.
