Page 23

When I wake to the bittersweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee, every muscle aches deliciously.

We capped the night with four more orgasms before falling asleep, nestled in pure exhaustion.

Everything from his sculpted body to the way his dick moved inside me last night was pure bliss.

Orgasms with this man are like a drug. If more men knew how to pleasure a woman like Dalton does, we’d be putting out a hell of a lot more.

Hell, even with the tender ache between my thighs, the mere thought of his skills has me wanting more.

The “forget each other in the morning” deal is starting to feel like yet another epically stupid decision in the life of Jenna Grant.

For one thing, I’m never going to forget this man, and secondly, I don’t want to.

Not that I would admit either out loud. The struggle is real trying to remember I set those boundaries for a good reason while tucked in his plush bed, covered with an award-worthy comforter and still drowning in a post well-sexed haze.

I bury my face in the pillow that smells like him, smothering the desire to scream.

Fuck, pull it together! All I get is one night of amazing sex with Dalton.

When I leave this apartment, I have to be okay with that.

The smell of coffee grows stronger, pulling my eyelids open. The room is dark despite the not so early hour. I roll toward the windows to see huge shades now cascade out of the ceiling. Fancy. The mattress compresses beside me.

“Figured we deserved to sleep late in reverence for last night’s epic show of stamina.” Dalton perches on the edge of the bed, two cups of steaming coffee in hand.

“You’re officially my hero.” Pushing upright, I reach for the cup, only to see his eyes drop.

Dalton’s lips twitch. In desperation to grab the coffee, I missed the fact that my tits are on full display.

With one hand, I pull up the blankets, while the other swats at his thigh before snagging the mug he’s extended toward me.

Nothing about his expression looks apologetic.

“Give a girl coffee, some orgasms, and you’re her hero.

Who knew it was so easy?” Dalton crosses his legs, clinking our cups before sipping his own.

The damn man is shirtless, a pair of sweats hung so loose on his hips it should be criminal.

The lack of boxers is clear. I try not to think about how one tug on those sweats will give me full access or about how amazing he felt inside me last night.

Mission not accomplished, I’m thinking about all of it. My grip turns vice-like on the mug to keep my hands to themselves.

“You’d be shocked how many men don’t meet that hero bar,” I say, then sip from the steaming cup. Of course, he also makes excellent coffee. “What time is it?”

I glance around, pretty sure both our phones and his watch are somewhere out on the balcony.

“Nine-seventeen. Latest I’ve slept in years. Coach would have my ass if he knew I wasted a perfect training morning, though if he had the spectacular view I just did a minute ago, he’d understand.” Dalton’s eyes drop back to my now covered chest.

“Caffeine before sex talk, Ward. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Oh, I know.” That signature crooked grin flares with pride. “Scoot over, forty-eight. My toes are cold.”

Careful not to spill, I shuffle to the middle of the bed.

When Dalton slides in next to me, I’m both disappointed and relieved to have his oversized gray sweatpants as a barrier.

His toes brush against mine and I hiss. Shit, they’re cold!

Resisting the urge to pull away, I press back against them to share my heat.

“They make these amazing things called slippers. You put them on around the house and they keep your toes from turning into ice cubes.”

“Hmmm… seems I should invest in this new-fangled invention.” Dalton presses up against my side, draping an arm over my shoulder.

I tuck into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then try and fail to notice the magnetic effect his bare chest has against my shoulder.

The memories of our skin colliding in all the right ways last night come flooding back.

I take another drink, hoping to wash them back down.

“What was your favorite part of the date?” Dalton asks, fingers trailing up and down my arm in a mind numbing motion.

“The pastries at Second Chance and the building climb.” I say without hesitation, then add, “And dinner. The food was amazing. Bards used to write ballads about food like that. Tell your sister, thank you for helping plan everything.”

Dalton chortles. “Don’t tell my sister that. Those were the only things she didn’t plan.”

Shit, of course, the parts I loved most were planned by him.

“Well, in that case, three out of five stars. Wouldn’t change a thing.” I smirk into my coffee.

“Please, forty-eight. I saw that look on your face on top of that building. You are not a three out of five star kinda girl. You’re a five-star passionate person for sure.” He kisses my temple, startling us both.

I clear my throat. “What were your favorites?”

“Catching you trying to ditch me in the morning, the spa—your massage, not mine—and the building climb.”

“You were green up there! There’s no way the climb was your favorite part. I call bullshit.”

“I had an extremely sexy woman talk dirty to me, then got to watch her conquer a daredevil task with a huge grin on her face right before she kissed me. What’s not to love about that?”

My breathing stills at the word love. Even after just one date, that feels like dangerous territory. Dalton must sense it too, because he sits up a little straighter.

“Alexa, blinds open.” Dalton’s voice is throatier than usual. The curtains glide open and we get a view that’s better than any daytime TV.

“How much longer do you get to stay here?” I ask. If someone offered me an apartment like this, you’d have to pull me out kicking and screaming, still chained to the designer sofa.

“Originally, only till the end of the month. But after Ellie’s stunt at the hotel, Peter wants me to stay here for the rest of the season.”

“Peter?”

“The team’s owner. We’re playing well this season, slated to take the cup. He doesn’t want anything messing with our mojo.”

“I think your mojo is just fine.” I bump my toes against his, and Dalton’s laugh shakes the bed.

“Rest assured, I’ll pass your approval along. So, I’m assuming you found last night satisfactory?”

He’s digging for compliments he full well knows the answers to. Not even an Oscar winner could fake the orgasms Dalton gave me last night. Full body, mind blanking, toe curling orgasms.

“Too bad we made that clean slate deal, or I might just have to pick you up as a new client and shout about your skills far and wide. We could even get you a spread in Men’s Health. Teach other men your pussy mastering ways.”

Dalton snorts at the idea.

“Not that you need any help in getting women into your bed,” I continue. I don’t even want to think about the actual numbers.

“Oh, those women would give you a totally different account of my sexual prowess. I don’t try hard with them anymore.

They’re too busy trying to fuck a pro athlete to let me actually pleasure them.

Once the fake moans start too early and the ‘oh baby, you’re sooo big’ porn voices come out, I tap out in the effort department.

At that point, it’s just about the sex. There’s zero connection, just primal needs. Last night… was not that.”

I stare at the half-empty coffee cup clutched in my hand. A twinge of desire for something deeper than sex twists in my chest. Rules, Jenna. This is supposed to be no strings. You don’t have the time or brain space for a relationship right now.

“I’m sorry. That has to be…” I struggle for the right word, thinking of the last few times Steve and I had sex, the total lack of connection. “Lonely.”

Dalton’s arm flexes on my shoulder, but he stays silent. I change the topic to an equally uncomfortable one.

“Speaking of our agreement, when does our Cinderella policy kick in? We’re past midnight.” I gesture to the sunny skyline.

“Up to you, forty-eight. It is your rule, but I was thinking of a new proposal while making our coffee.” His fingers are twirling on my shoulder.

“I’m listening.”

“You could grab your things off the floor, scrape your hair into a messy bun, and perform the perfunctory Uber of shame back to your place. Or we can enjoy this lovely morning by finishing these excellently made cups of Joe, then make good use out of Peter’s fancy ass shower system and share some of the breakfast I had delivered. ”

My stomach growls in response.

“Or breakfast first, then shower.” Dalton chortles as I press an arm over my midsection in a useless effort to stifle another growl.

He quickly amends the offer. “Breakfast first.” Dalton untangles from me, stepping out of the bed.

“I’ll give you some privacy. Robe is in the bathroom.

T-shirts and sweats are in the top drawer if you want to borrow a pair.

Bathroom is through there.” He gestures to a dresser, then to a pair of sliding doors with a massive bathroom beyond.

I pull my knees up to my chest. “Thanks, I’ll be down in a sec.”

“Take your time!” He hollers over a bare shoulder before disappearing down the stairs.