Page 117 of Swept for Forever
I woke up tangled in him.
His arm draped over my waist, and his breath stirred the back of my neck with every exhale. The sheets smelled like him, skin and malt and whatever magic lived in Dom’s laundry detergent.
For a second, I just lay there. Content.
My body had caught up to something my heart had already known. Yes, I’d been loved last night in the truest sense of the word.
And then the doorbell rang.
Dom stirred behind me with a groan. His lips brushed the top of my spine. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing me once more before slipping from the bed.
I pulled the covers higher, smiling to myself. My muscles were sore in places I’d never paid attention to, but I felt euphoric. I’d finally tasted something I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to keep.
Then I heard voices, something about a delivery.
“I swear, I nearly gave up,” the man outside said. “Been trying to drop this off for weeks.”
“Sorry,” Dom replied. “I was out of town. Thanks for bringing it by.”
Curious, I eased out of bed and grabbed Dom’s shirt from the floor, pulling it over my head as I padded into the hallway. My body resisted the movement, but I didn’t mind. The ache was earned.
I found him in the other bedroom, bracing a rolled-up rug over his shoulder. He was barefoot and shirtless, his hair a mess. Perfect.
“You planning to turn the whole house into a luxury pet bed?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Dom glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he adjusted the rolled rug. “I’ve got a thing for fluff. The thicker, the better.”
“Don’t tell me there’s a polar bear rug coming next.”
“Oh, Otter.” He shook his head with mock gravity. “I draw the line at trophy hunting. Strictly anti-carnage over here.”
I grinned, but he didn’t look back this time.
He set the rug down with more care than I expected. Then his voice dropped a notch.
“I just hate flat rugs. Mats. Anything thin under my feet. Not trying to be fancy or anything, it’s just…” His voice faltered. For once, the ex-lawyer couldn’t find the words. He sighed. “It’s a thing.”
“A thing?” I echoed. Fetish? Habit? Something in between?
His posture changed, barely. But I caught the way his shoulders squared too fast, as if he had to brace for the answer.
“Flat rugs. They feel like my childhood home,” he revealed. “More than unpleasant. Let’s leave it at that.”
I didn’t press. Some doors weren’t mine to open, not yet.
So I simply wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pressing my cheek to his back. He was all tension.
“I’m sorry,” he said, catching one of my forearms. “Didn’t mean to start the morning grumpy.”
“You didn’t,” I whispered. “Not even close.”
He kept adjusting the rug. “Go back to bed if you want, Otter,” he said without looking up. “I’ll get breakfast going.”
“Actually, I should call my mom.”
He turned and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You do that.”
I turned around, about to pad out.
