Sex On The Seats (Love After Midnight Book 4) by Elise Faber (most inspirational books .txt) 📗

had run long. Again. I’d been so wrapped up in Dominque, in painting her in different shapes and formats and colors (also yes, I was aware that this was bordering on obsessive, but I hadn’t painted this efficiently in years), that I’d come late to my shift. Again.

Good thing I was just doing Kace a favor.

Because I’d seriously be fired if I wasn’t.

Still, I’d always stayed after, working off the time I’d missed, even if it was just scrubbing dishes in the kitchen or cleaning up the storeroom.

Today, though, with the thought of Dominque walking into trouble, or trouble finding her, I untied my apron, dropped it on the counter behind the bar, and I left, pushing through the crowd as I searched for any sign of the curvy brunette.

There wasn’t a glimpse of her in the hall or in the front room, nor in the area immediately in front of Bobby’s.

I glanced around, still looking, then turned in the direction she’d parked before, some instinct driving me to at least try to see where she was, to make sure she was good, and maybe just to get one more glimpse of her before she turned into smoke again. Because I had the feeling that she wouldn’t be coming back to the bar.

I stepped off the curb, prepared to cross the street. I’d go one more block and—

“Watch out!”

A body slammed into mine.

A car flew by, close enough that I felt the heat of its engine sear my face.

We hit the concrete hard, the air whooshing out of me, pain radiating through my arms, my ass, my head. My teeth clinked together, spots flashing on the edges of my vision.

“Are you okay?” Dominque asked, her hands on my chest, her legs straddling my torso.

I sat up, one hand around her waist, blinking as my brain struggled to process the last few moments. “I’m fine,” I said, gently pushing her off me, standing, and helping her to her feet. I cupped her cheek. “Are you?”

Her lips parted, a breath shuddering out. Then her expression went fierce, and she smacked my chest. “What’s wrong with you?” she exclaimed. “You could have been killed!” Another smack. “You were nearly run over and—” Her eyes widened. “You’re bleeding!”

“Niki,” I murmured.

Soft fingers encircled my wrists, and she turned my hands over, studying them. “You’re bleeding, Arch.”

“I’m fine—”

She slipped her arm around my waist, started tugging me down the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” I asked, stumbling slightly. My vision was a little hazy, and my head throbbed like a motherfucker.

“Taking you back to your place.”

I smiled.

“Not like that,” she snapped, hauling me to a stop at the corner, pausing to deliberately look both ways.

We crossed the street, and I opened and closed my mouth a few times, shrugged my shoulders, rolling my neck. The haze began to clear, the ache fading away. I’d had my cage rattled courtesy of Dominque’s tackle, but I hadn’t been run over by a car, so that was something.

I walked alongside her to my apartment, appreciating the sensation of her pressed to my side but not daring to do anything about it lest she leave my ass on the curb.

“Keys,” she ordered.

I pulled them out of my pocket, handed them to her. She unlocked the door, held it for me, and then she gripped my hands.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

I nodded toward my bedroom.

She hauled me forward, through my bedroom and into the bathroom, shoving me to sit on the edge of the tub. “Stay,” she ordered.

I stayed as she began rummaging through my cupboards and drawers.

“Feel free to snoop.”

A narrow-eyed gaze in my direction.

I shut my mouth.

She opened the cabinet beneath the sink, pulled out the first aid kit I kept there, along with a washrag. Then she spent the next ten minutes doing something I never would have expected—fussing. So much fussing over my hands, over the back of my head, over my elbows, my palms. She wet the rag, cleaned out the abrasions, checked my head for lumps.

And all the while she tsked and muttered, checking every inch of exposed skin before pulling up my T-shirt and stroking a hand up my back.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for bruises.”

“If you want my shirt off, just ask.”

She leaned back in front of me, more eye narrowing happening. “Archer,” she muttered, “so help me God, I will—”

“I’ve already been threatened with lime juice tonight,” I said. “That’s a good one.”

A long, suffering sigh.

“Niki?”

She froze.

I caught her wrist, pressed a kiss to her palm. “Thank you.”

Her lips parted, breath slipping out, and she was near enough that I felt it caressing my mouth.

“You need to watch where you’re going,” she said. Another order, though this one was tempered, her tone gentled. Her fingers sifted through my hair. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” I murmured and drew her closer, until she sank down into my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her waist.

“For the record,” she said into my hair. “I shouldn’t give two shits about you getting run over on a dark street corner.”

I chuckled. “Noted.”

But she was letting me hold her, so I wasn’t going to complain.

My body’s awareness of her grew, my cock remembering that it was near where it’d had a great time a month before, my fingers itching to sketch, to capture the fierceness that had been in her eyes when she’d snapped at me for not paying attention, my lips aching to taste her again.

Eventually, though, she sighed and pushed out of my hold.

Disappointment swelled. I knew she would be leaving, but as much as I wanted her, as much as I’d thought about her over the last month, as much as I felt this intense, persistent connection to her, Dominque didn’t owe me anything.

I stood. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

She went still. Then rotated back to face me, her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re getting ready to leave,” I said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“What makes you think that?”

I