Page 37 of Chief's Addiction

He stood there, with a look on his face I couldn’t decipher. Was something on my face? I wiped my hand across my cheek but I didn’t feel anything.

Opening my mouth to ask him if everything was okay, I quickly closed it when he crossed the room and pulled me against his bare chest.

“Wha—” the words died when he slammed his lips to mine. I gasped and he took the opportunity to lick into my mouth. My eyes closed as I surrendered to his talented mouth.

“Good morning,” he rumbled, satisfaction clear in his voice when he pulled away.

Blinking up at him, I whispered, “Morning.”

His hands lingered on my waist, thumbs tracing circles against my skin through the thin material of my tank top. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it made my heart do a backflip in my chest.

“Finish getting ready,” he said finally, releasing me with a smack on my butt. “I’ll pour the coffee.”

It was my turn to stand there watching like a fool as he gathered up the rest of his clothes and sauntered out of the room looking like every woman’s dirty fantasy.

“Get a move on, Cor!”

Shit. Shaking off the effect he had on me, I finished getting ready.

When I finally made it out to the kitchen, Chief was leaning against my kitchen counter, watching me over the rim of his cup. He’d finished getting dressed, but his hair was still a mess and there was stubble darkening his jaw.

He really was a sexy man.

“Ready?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from him before I suggested we blow off the morning lessons and go back to bed.

He nodded, and we headed out of my apartment and down to the parking lot where my pickup was parked.

Chief took one look at Dorothy and shook his head. “Hell no. We’re not going in that deathtrap.”

I planted my hands on my hips, fighting a smile at his horrified expression. “All my boards and gear are in my truck, Mason.”

His eyes flashed with heat at the sound of me saying his name before they went back to Dorothy. He curled his lip.

It was all I could do not to laugh. He really did not like my truck.

“Fuck. Fine.” He held out his hand. “But I’m driving.”

I fished my keys from my bag and dropped them into his waiting hand. I was a smart woman. I knew which battles were worth waging and which weren’t. This wasn’t one of them. “Just be gentle with her. She’s sensitive.”

His lips twitched. “I know how to handle sensitive things.” The words were loaded with innuendo that made my cheeks heat.

The drive to Atlantic Beach always put me in a good headspace.

I had Whitney Houstong singing about how would she know if her man really loved her and the sky out in front of me painted in dark blues and pinks as the sun started its ascent. Add in my chauffeur who had one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my thigh, and the morning was feeling a lot like heaven.

“Babe.”

“Hmm?” I turned my head in his direction.

His eyes were darting from me to the road ahead, with a brow arched high. “The fuck you listening to this shit for?”

My head jerked back at the blasphemy of him referring to the queen of R&B as shit. I glanced up at the roof of the truck. “Forgive him for he has sinned.”

“Who are you talking to?” I could hear the humor in his voice.

“The music Gods. Don’t need you getting struck down for insulting one of the greats.”

“Babe.” He laughed.

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