Page 62 of Never Pucking Ending

His eyes search mine before he drops an arm over my shoulder and guides us to my car. He parked right next to it. “I’ll follow you home.”

He opens the door for me and leans down to peck my cheek, except he gets dangerously close to the corner of my mouth.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod aimlessly when he adds, “Drive safe.”

All I can think when I climb in is, He came.

I drive home feeling lighter than I have in weeks.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jesse

A rough, sandpaper-like tongue that could only belong to one thing wakes me up the next morning. I peel an eye open to see Dobby laying on my chest and licking the stubble I’ve let grow out over the past few days.

“How did you get in here?” I ask groggily, picking the cat up and using the back of my wrist to wipe where he’s been bathing me. The dude probably licked his asshole right before doing the same to my face, and I don’t love that idea.

I sit up and examine my cracked door, wondering how the hell that happened. It was well after one in the morning by the time I got upstairs, so maybe I was too tired to realize I didn’t close it. Or maybe Belle needed me and opened it before changing her mind and letting me sleep.

Either way, it leaves me being stared at by a one-and-a-half eared cat with boundary issues. He meows once from beside me where I put him, nudging my arm with his head.

“You’re a needy thing, aren’t you?” I murmur, glancing at the time on my watch.

Christ. It’s after nine. When was the last time I slept in this late? I don’t have anything to do until this afternoon, but it feels like I’ve wasted half the day.

“All right, let’s go.” I barely swing my feet over the side of the bed before Dobby launches off the mattress and onto the floor and happily walks to my bedroom door.

Belle has referred to me as his dad yesterday, and it went straight to my cock. Didn’t think that was one of my kinks, but apparently it is. I learn new shit about myself daily.

Or maybe I need my head examined for thinking it’s hot that my stepsister called me her cat’s daddy. But I’ve been with women who had far more…interesting kinks. That definitely wouldn’t have topped the list. Shit. I probably just need to get laid. The only action I’ve seen lately is from my hand.

I follow Dobby downstairs, trying to will away the semi I’m sporting from thinking about sinking between a pair of thighs. Because it isn’t just any thighs I picture when I’m getting myself off. It’s always Belle. It’s her with her legs spread open for me on the couch with a show forgotten in the background and my face between her legs. Or her bent over the kitchen counter while I slam into her. Or her in bed with me, riding me until I—

“Morning,” Belle greets, startling me out of a too-vivid image of her with a lot less clothing on.

I swallow, trying to brush off the mental picture of her on top of me, but it’s hard to do. Which is why I internally cringe when my “morning” comes out hoarser than usual.

Her brows pinch. “Are you okay? You’re not coming down with something, are you? I know your throat is always the first thing to hurt when you get colds. I can make tea.”

I shake my head and walk into the kitchen to see the mess spread across every countertop surface. “What happened in here? It looks like the pantry exploded.”

She flushes as she examines the contents of the kitchen. “I’m doing a practice menu to figure out what I’d want to sell at the café. I want there to be a wide variety of options for any dietary needs. Like gluten, dairy, and nut free things.”

I notice something white on her cheek and reach out to brush it off with my thumb. The skin beneath me turns pink as I pull away to study the… “Is that yogurt?”

Glancing over, I see the fruit parfaits she’s making using the gallon of lactose-free yogurt and the freshly chopped fruit she must have gone to the open-air market for early this morning since we didn’t have anything fresh in the refrigerator yesterday.

She’s got a notebook with her handwriting along the front and back of the open pages. A few things are crossed out. Others are circled. There are ink smudges and stains from whatever food she’s experimenting with.

“Sorry for the mess,” she apologizes softly. “I’ll clean it up as soon as I finish making the scones. I thought I’d be done by the time you got up. You seemed tired.”

I gesture toward Dobby, who’s currently drinking from his water from the dish by the island. “I had a visitor this morning who decided he wanted me up.”

She frowns down at the cat. “I should have mentioned he’s a little Houdini. I don’t know how he gets in and out of rooms. I think he jumps on the doorhandle and pulls it down enough to open the doors. He’s done it to me twice.”

That would explain it.

“He jumped into the shower with me yesterday,” she says, lips flattening. “Then realized quickly he didn’t like water.”