Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3) - Kristen Ashley (bearly read books .txt) 📗

“No,” he agreed, and didn’t move.

Oh my.

Yes, I was his.

I loved that.

One hand left a breast, moved over my belly, which normally, I didn’t like. It wasn’t concave or even flat, and I’d always been conscious of it.

But he palmed it with the same reverence he gave my breast and any notion of embarrassment or discomfort that might have formed vanished in an instant.

He then slid his hand back up, the other one moved, and they changed tits as he crossed them over me, but he still held the weight cupped in his hands.

“Before I had you, would jack myself, thinking of you sucking me off with all this gorgeous hair all over my lap,” he shared.

“Honey,” I whispered.

“I think with that ride, Hattie, you broke us both in. We’ll find time where we got a good amount of it to get creative.”

Oh yeah.

“Okay,” I agreed.

His hands went to my waist, he pulled me up and got out of bed.

Then he hooked me with an arm and my knees skidded across his sheets before he swung me up in both of his arms and carried me, not in a fireman’s hold, but groom and bride, to the bathroom.

He set me on the counter.

I had not recovered from the Groom and Bride Maneuver when, for the first time, he got out a washcloth, wet it with warm water, pressed it between my legs and cleaned me.

Rinse, and I watched as he cleaned me from him.

Another rinse, and he draped it neatly over the sink (exactly what I would do).

And in another surprise move, he caught me under the arm with a swing and I was on his back.

On.

His.

Back.

Playful and sweet.

Oh my God.

This man.

I tucked my thighs to his hips, wrapped my arms around his neck, and he flipped the light switch as he carried me out and dropped me down beside the bed.

He handed me my shorts, panties and cami, reached to grab his pajama pants, we dressed and Axl pulled me into bed.

He yanked the covers up and this time he wound himself up in me, front to front.

“I don’t think, ever in my life, I’ve initiated sex,” I admitted.

“Time for me to buy a diary. Though, no heart stickers, but definitely a thick black Sharpie to record how fuckin’ thrilled I am I was your first.”

I started giggling.

He touched his mouth to mine while I did it, again when I was done, then tucked my face in his throat.

“Go to sleep, Hattie.”

“Okay, Axl.”

“Thanks for the fantastic head and the ride of a lifetime.”

I was giggling again.

Through it I said, “I can’t go to sleep if you’re being sweet and funny.”

“I’ll shut up.”

I didn’t want him to, but I did want him to sleep. He’d had a trying day.

So I didn’t say anything.

Not much time passed before a certain feline made her way up our bodies.

Cleo stopped with a pair of paws on me at my upper arm, and the way I felt them, the other pair was on Axl.

I felt her censure through the dark as she stared down at us.

She then jumped clear and I suspected she was done with us and had gone to sulk somewhere free of the humans until Axl said super quietly, “She’s at my feet.”

“She still loves her daddy.”

He gave me a squeeze.

And with the gang all there, settled in and safe, finally, I fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tripped

AXL

It wasn’t the time.

He wasn’t ready for it.

He wasn’t sure Hattie was ready for it.

But it happened.

The next morning.

After a quick fuck, a quick shower, and Hattie launching into getting ready for Lottie’s brunch bridal shower at Jet Chavez’s, Axl made some calls.

First, they had to hit Hattie’s place to get her present, then he was going to drop her at the party, and with all the women there, the men were going to meet.

It was time to go, but when he went to the bathroom to hustle her ass up, she wasn’t there.

She wasn’t in the bedroom either.

He used that door to the living room to see if somehow she got past him and went to the deck, when he saw her in the living room, the handle of a cat toy with a feather on the end of it in her hand.

Cleo was nowhere to be seen, and he was about to tease Hattie about her ongoing efforts to steal his cat’s affections when he noticed why Cleo wasn’t playing (if there was one thing his cat loved, she loved to play).

Hattie had lost focus on the toy and was staring with not a small amount of interest at the piece on the chest in his front window.

He felt a clutch in his chest, and it wasn’t the first time.

He shouldn’t have bought it.

He should sell it.

He just couldn’t.

“Babe, we gotta go,” he called, and he hadn’t managed to hide that clutch sounding in his voice.

She started, and her head turned his way.

“You okay?” she asked.

Yep.

She heard it.

“Yeah, but we gotta get on the road.”

Her study of him became acute. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he repeated his lie. “Ready to go?”

She nodded.

And she was.

That day, it was the red dress day, he saw, and unfortunately, no matter how gorgeous she looked in it, he had to agree it was a good call she didn’t wear it to his parents’.

Because it had a short, flirty skirt, a halter-like top with a straight edge under her collarbone and slender straps, and those straps crossed over her bare back. She wore her big gold hoops with it and a less-dressy pair of gold high-heeled sandals.

And unlike the yellow dress she’d worn to meet his folks—which his mom was right, was effortless and chic—the red dress said she was an adorable, but hot fuck.

And she was.

But his father would have torn that apart like a vulture.

Due to the way that night went, the discussion of what Hattie did for a living didn’t come up.

That red dress would have pushed it in that direction, and it would have