Page 67 of Sully

Oooh, I was in trouble.

As much as some part of me wanted to blame the sex and those feel-good hormones it released, I knew better.

The sex was great.

Amazing.

The best, actually.

But these feelings had been growing since almost the moment we’d met. He’d just so effortlessly known how to handle me, how to calm me down, how to relate to me, but never treated me like less than just because my life experiences were so different from his.

Sometimes, when you were shy or introverted or anxious, people who were effortlessly extroverted tended to infantilize you. Sully didn’t do that at all. He could give me softness without acting like if he handled me wrong, I might shatter.

“That’s a very serious look,” Sully said, coming out of the bathroom, watching me with his head tipped to the side.

“About that shameful lack of orgasms?” he asked, nodding solemnly.

“What?” I balked. “I… I don’t think I could have taken any more.”

“Sure you could have. I think at least eight,” he said. I couldn’t help the snorting laugh that escaped me as he climbed up next to me, then reached to pull me against him. “What’s so funny?”

“Eight is not possible.”

I knew by the spark in his eye that wasn’t the right thing to say.

“Well, my sweet girl, that sure sounds like a challenge to me. One, if you’ll excuse the pun, I’ll be all too happy torise to. After coffee. And breakfast. Maybe an electrolyte packet.”

A little laugh escaped me at that. “Not yet,” I demanded, letting myself snuggle closer. Just for a minute. I didn’t want to be too clingy. But, god, it felt good to be held by him. I needed a little longer.

“No, not yet,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

Eventually, though, it was my traitorous grumbling stomach that had Sully finally moving away from me, heading over to the closet to pull on some fresh clothes.

Finished with that, seeming not to mind in the least that I watched the whole thing transpire, he reached to grab my panties and another set of leggings. But instead of grabbing one of my shirts, Sully went back to the closet and brought me back one of his well-worn, dryer-soft, oversized sweatshirts.

I was all too happy to slip it on, not caring how absurd it was that the sleeves hung down over my hands as we made our way out of the bedroom and toward the enticing scent of brewing coffee in the kitchen.

“Brooks,” Sully said, nodding to him.

Brooks gave him a nod. “Coffee’s fresh. Morning, Bonnie.”

“Hey, Brooks,” I said, suddenly acutely aware of how freshly fucked I must have looked. And that everyone in the clubhousemight see me in Sully’s shirt and draw conclusions. Hell, people might haveheard us.

“Doing that overthinking thing again?” Sully asked, reaching to give my hair a little tug.

“A little,” I admitted.

“About what?” he asked, making us both mugs of coffee.

“If anyone might have… you know…” I said, giving him wide eyes.

“Heard us making sweet, sweet loving?” he asked, making a laugh bubble up and burst out, knowing nothing about what we’d done was exactlylovemaking. “We’re all grown-ass men here, baby,” he said, shrugging it off as he passed me my cup. “We all fuck. Sometimes it gets loud. Who cares?”

“Yeah, but they’ll, you know, know it was… me.”

“Honey, they were assuming we were fucking already.”

“What? Why?”

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