Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(41)

I was never one to overthink things, but how the f*ck was I going to deal with this?





Chapter 11—Keep the Distance


No matter how many times I woke up and moved away, I ended up curled around Tria as soon as I fell back to sleep. Throughout the night and into the early morning, I seemed to be drawn to the warmth on the other side of the bed. I kept moving back every time I realized I was doing it, but as soon as I fell asleep again, I moved right back to where she was.

I didn’t know what to think of it.

When I woke up to daylight coming through the window, I was on top of her pillow but alone. My right arm and leg were splayed across Tria’s side of the bed with both fingers and toes hanging off the edge of the mattress.

At least I had the blanket again.

Her scent still covered the pillow and the sheet though it wasn’t as strong as it had been when I woke up next to her. That was assuming I didn’t dream all of that shit, because I still couldn’t wrap my head around why I would do that in the first place.

I rolled myself over, dropped my feet to the floor, and shook my head to clear the fuzziness of sleep. Standing up, I made a quick trip to the bathroom where my cock was refusing to cooperate with me long enough to pee.

“You won’t go up when I want you to,” I muttered under my breath, “and you won’t go down when I want you to, either. Moody little bastard.”

I flushed, rinsed off my hands, and then ran my wet hands over my head and face. The hair on the back of my head was getting a little long, and I was going to have to get it cut this weekend before there was enough there for someone to hold on to and use against me. The top was a little longer, but I always kept the back and sides pretty short.

Moving slowly out of the bathroom and through the living room, I could hear soft techno-pop coming from the kitchen. When I went around the corner, I saw my CD player on the table just a few feet from the stove where Tria was dancing around with a spatula in her hand. She wiggled her hips in time to the electronic beat and occasionally moved in to poke around in a frying pan sitting on one of the elements. As she lifted the spatula, I could see the edge of a pancake before she flipped it over and dropped it back in the pan.

I’d seen some seriously hot, naked chicks in my time, both on the pages of magazines and in person. I’d seen perfect tits wrapped around my cock. I’d seen fabulously round asses being squeezed between my hands. But I’d never in my life seen anything sexier than Tria right at that moment.

I wanted to bend her over the table right then and there.

I wanted to f*ck her on the kitchen floor.

I wanted to take her on the counter.

I wanted to pull her back into bed and show her just what I could do to her.

I wanted my cock in her so bad, I could hardly see straight.

“Good morning!” Tria said as she glanced over her shoulder at me and graced me with a gigantic smile. “I’m glad you’re awake! I was afraid I’d have to leave for class before you got up.”

I coughed a bit, cleared my throat, adjusted my sweats to make my cock less conspicuous, and returned the salutations.

“Smells good,” I said, desperately trying to keep my voice from cracking in the process. “I’m not really used to an actual breakfast—where did you get the makings for pancakes?”

Tria gave me a weird look and shook her head a little.

“The grocery store up the block,” she said with a giggle.

“Oh, yeah.” I reached up and scratched the back of my head, wondering how long she had been up.

“You ever been there?” Tria asked with a smirk.

“Of course I have!” I scowled at her. “I at least have the basics stocked.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” I said.

“Aside from beer and half a pizza in a cardboard box,” Tria said as she started counting on her fingers, “your refrigerator contained half a stick of smooshed margarine, three bread heels in the same bread bag—which I do not understand, nor do I want to—one thawed Boca burger, and an unopened carton of almond milk.”

“I ran out of cereal.”

Tria laughed and went back to flipping pancakes.

The way she moved around the kitchen did something to my inner Ward Cleaver; that was for sure. I could almost see her in a pale blue dress, heels, and pearls as she vacuumed the apartment. I was quite sure the thought was sexist or maybe even misogynistic, but that didn’t stop it from making me hard as a rock.

I had to sit down in the chair at the opposite side of the table and lean forward a bit to keep from being obvious as Tria placed orange juice in glasses and plates full of pancakes on the table. There were little bowls of grapes off to the side.

I didn’t even know I had little bowls like that.

I realized I had hauled Tria’s dishes up to this kitchen, so the bowls could have been hers. I didn’t remember seeing any little bowls, but I also hadn’t paid much attention to what had been in the boxes. I only noticed she didn’t have much. I mean, I didn’t have much of anything either, but other than her books, Tria didn’t seem to have anything. It made me wonder briefly just how quickly she had left her former home and how accurate the “escaping in the middle of the night” scenario might be.

Tria placed a small glass bottle of fake maple syrup in the middle of the table and sat down opposite me. She watched as I covered the pancakes in margarine and syrup and took a bite.