When I leave my room, I’m greeted by the smell of coffee. She’s awake.
But when I reach the kitchen and don’t see her, I wonder if I’m wrong, until I see her head peeking past a chair on the deck. There’s a misty fog settling through the trees, casting a dream-like view out the windows.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, add some sugar, because Daddy needs a little sweet in his coffee, and then open the door to the deck. The fresh morning air is a shock to my lungs as well as the chilly temperature.
No worries about boners here. Well, the only hard things are my freezing nipples.
“Good morning,” I say, taking the seat next to hers, but instead of facing the trees, I face her.
She’s wrapped up in a blanket, her silky hair piled into a bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing round, thick-rimmed black glasses.
So fucking adorable. It takes everything in me not to cuddle her ass.
“Hey, good morning.” She lightly smiles at me, her eyes roaming my chest for a brief second. Look all you want, sweet cheeks. “How did you sleep?”
After I jacked off to you in my head? Amazingly.
“Good. That mattress is comfortable. I don’t think I could ever go back to my own.”
“My dad is all about maximum comfort when sleeping. It’s why I’m so well rested after staying a few nights here.”
“Yeah, sleep like an angel?” I sip my coffee.
“You could say that.” She looks out at the trees and the calm water. “One of my favorite things to do in the morning is watch the fog lift off the lake; it’s breathtaking.”
I can name a few other things that are breathtaking . . . like her eyes and the way they shine when she wants to smile but holds back, or her laugh, how it’s throaty and only earned, or the way she carries herself in a suit, with confidence and power.
Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking goner.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Are you going to make me cook?”
I chuckle. “Nah, not breakfast. But dinner, you’re mine, got it?”
Her eyes flash an emotion I can’t quite decipher, and she doesn’t give me enough time to work it out before she says, “Fine, dinner it is. What’s for breakfast?”
“Pancakes? I saw the ingredients in the cupboards last night. Does that work for you?”
“With raspberries?” She bats her eyelashes.
I point my finger at her. “Only if you say please.”
“Please, Jason?”
Oh fuck, that sounded good. Why did she have to add my name at the end? Now all I can hear is her saying that while I’m playing with her clit, massaging it to the point of her release but then pulling back before she falls over.
“Yup, sure.” I stand abruptly. “Pancakes with raspberries it is.”
“Thank you, I’ll be right in to keep you company.”
I tug on her ponytail. “No, just sit back and relax. I’ll let you know when they’re done.”
And when my libido has calmed down, because it seems that Dottie Domico can defeat the chill in the air and cause my dick to harden regardless. As I said, breathtaking.
Breakfast was good but uneventful. I made pancakes peacefully in the kitchen while Dottie hung outside. She looked so calm, so relaxed, that I didn’t bother her when I saw her head lull to the side and she fell asleep for a few short minutes.
We shared breakfast on the deck, staring at the lake, not really saying anything to each other. It was a comfortable silence I haven’t shared with many people. After breakfast, she cleaned the kitchen and I took a shower where I took matters into my own hands again, because the minute we were back in the house, Dottie dropped her blanket and showed off that little nightgown she packed for the trip. I swear she did it with pure torture—for me—in mind.
After a nice long shower and a rather quick release—I apparently transformed into a teenager the minute we hit the woods—I spent time catching up on some reading for the foundation. Thanks to no Internet, I can’t tackle any of the emails Natalie sent, but I did draft some things for later.
I close my computer as Dottie appears from her side of the house looking like a mountain goddess. Skinny jeans with hiking socks halfway up her shins, denim long-sleeved shirt, fresh face, and hair in high ponytail.
“Want to go for a hike?” she asks, sitting down on the couch with some hiking boots that she starts to strap on.
“Hell yeah. Let me grab my shoes and a jacket.” I take off toward my room, snag the things I need, and meet Dottie in the foyer. She has on a jacket as well and a backpack strapped to her back.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Snacks, water, a box cutter.”
“Box cutter?” I lift a brow.
“You know, self-defense.”
I hold up my fists. “That’s what these are for, sweet cheeks.”
“Oh, okay.” She rolls her eyes and opens the door.
“What?” We walk out of the cabin and lock up. “You don’t think I can do damage with these?”
“Oh, I’ve seen you do some damage on the playing field.”
She leads the way to a trail that flanks the side of the cabin. I fall in step with her, loving the still air and quiet sounds of nature still waking up. It’s stunning, and I get to experience it all with an equally stunning woman.
“You have, have you? Keeping track of me? Let me guess, you know my stats by heart.”
“No, not even close. Are you even good?” she asks, joking around.
I pull her in by the shoulder and give her a squeeze. “You know I’m fucking good, so don’t even pretend.” She pushes me away playfully.
“You’re all right. But I did see that one fight you got into with the Catamounts. That punch was all over the Internet.”
I chuckle to myself, thinking about that day. “I think that was the one and only time I actually blacked out from rage. I’m a pretty easygoing guy and can take a lot of shit, but that pitcher was asking to get punched. He’d pegged our players left and right all season, and when he tattooed my ribs with seams, I was over it.”
“You tossed your bat like a boss. I’ve seen the look on your face in slow motion. I’m pretty sure you were ready to eat that pitcher’s head off his shoulders.”
I casually shrug. “Don’t fuck with my team and don’t be a bitch on the mound.”
“You don’t seem like a fighter, you know. The footage surprised me.”
“You don’t think I’m tough?” I ask, flexing both arms for her, but she doesn’t give me the appreciation I was looking for. Instead, she shakes her head at me and keeps walking forward.
“You’re tough when you want to be, but most of the time, I think you’re just a giant teddy bear. Super sensitive, but also knows how to take a joke.”
“Sensitive isn’t a bad thing.”
“Never said it was. I think I need to work on my sensitivity a little.”
“Nooo, I would never say that about you,” I say sarcastically. “You’re the most sensitive person I know.”
She pushes me but barely makes me budge. “I can be sensitive. I just don’t cry over everything.”