Page 133 of Bottle Shock
I don’t want to wake either of them, but Lily will be stiff as a board if she sleeps like that all night. So I lean in and slide one arm under her knees, the other behind her back. She stirsbut doesn’t wake, just burrows into my chest like she used to when she was younger.
Scottie startles a little when Lily moves. Her eyelashes flutter, a soft exhale leaving her.
“Gavin?” she whispers, still half-asleep.
“Go back to sleep,” I murmur. “I’ve got her.”
She nods and melts back into the cushions.
I carry Lily upstairs and tuck her into bed, brushing her hair off her forehead before I leave.
When I make my way back downstairs, Scottie is sitting up now, knees pulled to her chest, hair mussed and eyes heavy. Even tired, she still looks sexy.
Even sexier in one of my shirts.
“How was the drive,” she says, voice thick with sleep.
“Long.” I sit beside her, pulling her against me, and she immediately sinks into my embrace.
For a few seconds, it’s quiet—just her breathing against my chest, the sound of the old clock ticking across the room.
“So,” I start, casually, “on the phone earlier you said?—”
“Nope,” she says quickly. “We’re not talking about it.” She nuzzles into my chest, trying to hide her face.
I smile to myself and decide not to tease her about it. Even though it was the highlight of my day, up until I walked though the front door.
“You smell very sweet,” her muffled voice says against me. I feel her inhale, nose pressed into my shirt. “Like… really sweet.”
She sits up, face scrunched—so fucking cute.
I laugh. “It’s the glycol.”
She sniffs again, dead serious. “You need to shower.”
I yank her back toward me, locking my arms so she can’t get away. “But I missed you. I just want to hold my girl.”
She giggles quietly. “Well then hold me in the shower because it’s awful.”
I don’t need to be told twice. A shower with my wife is exactly what I need after the hellscape that was today.
“Come on then,” she murmurs, pushing up from the couch, still wobbly with sleep. She stretches, arms overhead, a groaning sigh slipping past her lips that makes my cock jerk against my zipper.
I follow her up the stairs, hands finding her hips on instinct. She glances back, eyes warm and heavy-lidded.
In the bathroom, she reaches for the hem of my shirt, tugging it upward. The fabric sticks, damp from the mess I was in, and she has to peel it from my skin.
She makes a face.
“Oh yeah. Definitely glycol.” She scrunches her nose again, but she’s smiling.
“I told you,” I say, voice low.
Her fingers skim the waistband of my jeans, and my body comes alive under her delicate touch.
Her gaze drops when I shove my jeans down my hips. I see the exact moment her eyes land on my tattoo—the one she’s obsessed with for some reason.Her breath catches, just barely, as her eyes trace the roots and branches inked across my skin.I can’t help but stand a little taller, knowing she likes what she sees.
I want her.
