Page 63 of Treat

“Hang on.” Her thigh shifted under his cheek when she sat up. “Yes.”

His breath whooshed out in relief, and she giggled. “That tickles.”

“Sorry.” He tipped his head back to look up, over the curve of her belly, the crease of her waist, past firm breasts—the nipples were soft now, but still red from his mouth, the tidy little mounds pink with whisker burn—to her face. “Wow. You’re kind of a wreck.”

“What the hell happened to romantic?” she grumbled, but she was smiling that dopey, goofy, fuck drunk smile again.

He sat up and reached out, plucking out the ponytail holder—now holding almost nothing—and tossing it aside. It landed on the floor, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Tilly circle the bed to give it a sniff. Ignoring the dog, he brushed Brynn’s hair away from her face, biting his lip to keep from grinning when it stuck straight up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied, still smiling. Still fuck drunk. “I need a shower.”

Considering all the bodily fluids floating around… “Me, too.”

“Can I take it in your bathroom? You have a better showerhead.”

His hopes for shower sex wilted, along with his erection. “Sure.”

“Wanna take one with me?”

He and his erection perked back up. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She giggled and climbed off the bed, wobbling a little as she gained her feet. The back of her hair was even worse than the front, and her ass was a work of art, round and thick with a jiggle that reminded him of those old Jell-O commercials, and for a moment he just sat there, watching, wondering if he was dreaming.

“When I was doing the housekeeping, I used to fantasize about sucking you off in the shower.”

That dragged his attention from her ass. “You did?”

She reached up to run her fingers through her hair and gave him that fuck drunk smile again.

“Uh-huh. It helped pass the time when I was scrubbing the tile.”

“Most people put on music or a podcast,” he offered feebly, staring at her mouth. It was swollen from his kisses and curved in that goofy smile, and picturing it wrapped around his dick drained whatever blood was left in his brain.

She dropped her arms, making her boobs shake, and looked as though she were considering that. “I like sucking dick better,” she decided and turned to walk toward the bathroom.

He stared after her, watching her butt bounce until she disappeared into the bathroom. Then he and his very eager erection leaped off the bed to follow, remembering at the last second to close the door to keep the dog out.

After demonstratingher dick-sucking skills to the satisfaction of all involved, Brynn left a weak-kneed Jude in the shower, nudged Tilly off the mattress—she had no idea how the stump-legged hound had managed to hoist herself up there without help—and stripped the bed.

They’d been in too big a rush to pull the duvet back, so she stripped it off, then gathered the sheets Tilly had shed allover and carried it all to the laundry room behind the kitchen. She started the wash, then went back to the kitchen to look for something to eat and very deliberately tried not to think about the repercussions of what she’d just done.

“It’s not a crime,” she told Tilly, who’d pushed between her feet to nose into the refrigerator. “We’re consenting adults. If we want to sleep together, we can. We don’t need anyone’s permission.”

Tilly tried to grab an artichoke from the lowest shelf. Brynn snatched it before the dog could and put it in the crisper drawer. “Forget it. I’m not cleaning up any more dog diarrhea. Oh, here we go.” Spotting the package of steaks, she plucked it off the shelf, used her foot to scoot the dog back, and shut the refrigerator door.

“It’s not like we’re cheating,” she said as she seasoned the steaks with salt and pepper. “He’s single, I’m single. And we like each other, so where’s the harm?”

Tilly, her eyes firmly on the steaks, licked her lips.

“It’s the boss/assistant thing,” Brynn continued, digging a cast iron skillet out of a lower cupboard and setting it on the range. “It’s problematic.”

She turned the flame on under the skillet and reached for the butter. She dropped a chunk of butter in the pan to sizzle, and Tilly abandoned the steaks to sit next to the stove.

“I know how it looks,” Brynn went on, swirling the butter around the pan. With the butter melted and foaming, she dug out a pair of barbeque tongs and dropped the first steak in, then the second. “It looks icky.”

She looked down at Tilly, who was doing her imitation of a dripping faucet as the scent of cooking meat filled the air. “But it doesn’t feel icky, Tills. It feels…”

She trailed off, searching for the right word.

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