“Wake up, Little Bit,” I hear Drake whisper as he lifts me from the passenger seat of his truck. The way his strong arms support me, and the feel of his hard chest under me, has my mind going a million miles a minute.

“You gonna take me to bed?” I whisper, my voice full of want.

“Yes, ma’am. You need a good night’s sleep.”

I trail my fingers up his neck, tangling them into the collar of his shirt. “But what if I don’t wanna sleep?”

“Tough shit, Azalea. I’m not about to fuck you while you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk anymore. Not even tipsy. Swear it,” I say, sliding my tongue along the shell of his ear.

“Yeah, okay.” He snorts, like I’m lying.

“You want me to prove it to you?” I ask incredulously.

“If that’s what you feel you need to do.”

I wiggle out of his hold once he crosses the threshold into his house. “No way. I’m not gonna beg you for sex, D. I’m not that hard up.” Pinning him with my glare, I wave my hand up and down my body. “You don’t want some of this? That’s fine. Get me a shirt to sleep in and your ass can take the couch.”

“Now, hold on. Let’s slow it down. Didn’t say I didn’t wantcha. Just said I wasn’t interested if you were drunk. I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than take advantage of you, Azalea.” The icy anger flowing through my veins thaws a little at his words. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll get you that shirt you asked for, and you can go shower. I’ll whip us up a little midnight snack, and we’ll see what happens. That sound good to you?”

I nod my head, feeling like a petulant child who’s been scolded.

“Good. C’mon.” Drake takes my hand and leads me to his room, even though I know the way just fine on my own. I wait patiently while he grabs me one of his T-shirts and a fresh towel.

After laying them both on his bed, he presses a sweet kiss to my forehead. “Get cleaned up and come find me.”

* * *

Freshly showered and dressed only in Drake’s shirt, I set off to find him. I step into the kitchen just as Drake is plating the bacon, along with a heaping portion of cheese eggs and toast. This man sure knows the way to my heart. Too bad it’s not my heart he’s after.

Without any preamble, I dig into the food he’s graciously prepared me. Every bite is better than the next, and I don’t hesitate to moan my approval. “Keep that up, Azalea, and I’ll give you something to moan about,” Drake says, all deep and rumbly. Guess he’s over the drunk thing.

“What was that?” I ask, hiding my smile behind my napkin.

“You heard me. You wanna go on and make all those hot little noises? That’s fine. Just know it’ll be me causing them. Not some damn eggs and bacon.”

I place my napkin back down on the table before twirling a lock of hair around my finger. “But, D, technically this is you making me moan.” Locking eyes with him across the small table, I run my index finger through the bacon grease on my plate and bring it to my lips, running it slowly back and forth along my bottom lip before sucking it in to my mouth.

I don’t have the chance to drag it back out before Drake is up and in my space, yanking me up from my seat. “You want something to put in your mouth, Bit? I got something for you.” He latches his mouth to mine, drowning me in a kiss so delicious that I’m not sure where he ends and I begin.

Skillfully, he wraps my legs around his waist and carries me back toward his bedroom, never once removing his mouth from mine. “So, I guess you believe that I’m sober?”

“Bit, after that show, I’m not sure I’d care.”

Shifting against him so that we’re perfectly aligned in all the right spots, I remind him of his earlier words. “But I thought you’d never take advantage?”

“Azalea, your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring. But I’ll ask one more time, just to be safe. Are you sober, and do you want this?” He punctuates his question by pressing his hips into mine. And God bless it, with the feel of him so ready for me, I forget the question.

Restlessly, I circle my hips, desperate for that feeling only he can elicit, but he denies me, setting me down at the foot of his bed. “Answer me,” he grits out.

“Yes,” I tell him, pulling his shirt over my head. “Yes.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs because in no time flat, his clothes are on the floor and I’m on my back.

Nestling himself between my thighs, Drake kisses his way from one collarbone to the other, and then up my neck, finally landing his mouth on mine. “You always feel so damn good,” he groans, rocking into me.

I swear to God, everything with him is better—heightened. Being with him feels like heaven and home and everything else good in this world. “Mmm, yes, always good with you,” I mewl as he works my body in the way only he knows how.

“Feels good ’cause it’s us. ’Cause we’re meant to be—” I cut him off with a hard press of my lips, not wanting to hear whatever he has to say next.

Drake’s a sweet-talker between the sheets, always full of proclamations of love and fate and then some, but once our clothes are back on, he never pushes for more.

He dives into my kiss, picking up our rhythm so that it matches the cadence of our hearts until I’m all but hanging by a thread, which snaps when I feel him release into me.

I feel Drake move off me, but I’m far too blissed out to do much about it. Nope, I just snuggle down and replay our romp in my mind, savoring all the best moments. Which is all of it. Because, like always, sex with Drake Collins is a damn-near religious experience. That man can just about make me hear the angels sing.

Once I hear the shower click on, I sit up and scan the room for my clothing. It’s my time to go, not that I have a way home. But before I can even leave the bed, Drake is there, pulling me up and to him. “C’mon, Bit, let’s get ourselves cleaned up,” he murmurs, guiding me toward the bathroom.

He pulls back the curtain, allowing me to enter first, and while the feeling of the warm water washing over me is glorious, it’s nothing compared to the feeling of Drake’s hot body crowding me from behind.

Reaching past me, he grabs a bottle that looks an awful lot like my usual shampoo and squirts a quarter-sized amount into his hand. “Is that my—”

“Shh, just relax,” he says, lathering the shampoo into my hair, working his strong fingers into my scalp like a pro.

“We should hire you to give shampoos at the salon,” I breathe out.

“This treatment is only for you, no one else.” I swoon at his flowery words, but I don’t buy into them. As easy as it’d be to melt into a puddle every time he sweet-talked me, I always let the words roll off my back. After all, this’ll never go further than what it is. It’ll never be more, and while it might be enough for now, it’s certainly not enough for forever.

“Just for me, huh?”

“Only you,” he tells me in a soft voice as he tips my head back under the spray of water to rinse the suds from my hair. He follows up with my favorite conditioner and scrubs me down with my favorite body wash, lingering in all the right places.

I try to return the favor, but Drake stops me. “This was for you, Azalea, not me.”

“How’s that fair?” I counter, watching as he twists his bar of Irish Spring in his hands before running the green suds all over his body.

“Trust me, anytime my hands are on you—hell, anytime I’m with you—I’m content. Don’t you worry about what’s fair.” Drake guides me out from under the water to rinse himself before shutting off the tap. He steps out before me and wraps me in a fluffy, charcoal-colored towel. “Put my shirt back on and get in bed,” he tells me, his voice dipping to that yummy growl he does.

“You want me to stay?”

“Bit, I don’t ever want you to leave.” His tone sounds serious, but I laugh him off, because who wouldn’t want a live-in fuck buddy?

After he straightens the rumpled covers, I climb into his bed, burrowing down into the soft sheets that smell like him. Drake switches off the light, and I feel the bed dip beside me. “Come closer,” he tells me, wrapping an arm around my middle, pulling me into him.

We both drift off to sleep, his earlier words echoing through my head. I don’t ever want you to leave. If only he meant them the way I longed for.