Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

aware of her apprehension about a relationship is nerve-wracking. I’m mildly
terrified Frankie’s going to break my heart before she even realizes it’s hers to
shatter.
Pazza whines up at me and cocks her head. If dogs smile, this one just did.
Sweeping up the tray of goods, I stroll down the hall, shoulder open the door,
and nearly drop everything. Frankie’s sitting up in bed in nothing but one of my
V-neck undershirts. On me, it’s snug, fitted enough to be invisible beneath the
tailored dress shirts I have to wear before and after every game. But on Frankie,
it drapes.
Torturously.
The “V” neckline knifes down her chest, exposing her collarbones and the
line of her sternum, the shadow curving between her full breasts. Dark nipples
poke sharply against the fabric. Staring at them, my mouth waters.
“See?” she says, clearly fishing for some positive feedback. “Look at me.
Vertical.” With a few rotations of her wrists, she sweeps up her arms, like an
actress prepared to receive applause. “I even got up and peed. Splashed my face
off. Changed into something comfy. Aren’t you proud?”
I gulp.
She grins, seeing where my eyes have snagged. “Thought you might like
that.”
“‘Like’ is an interesting choice of word.” I cross the room, set the tray
between us on the bed, and hand Frankie her coffee.
After taking a long sip, she sighs contentedly.
“Hardly seems fair,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the cinnamon roll I’m
cutting into quarters but largely finding my gaze drawn over and over to her
breasts. “I wouldn’t look nearly as good in one of your shirts.”
She smiles. “The heating pad helps my joints, but it makes me sweat like a
prostitute in church. None of my shirts felt good when I put them on. Too
scratchy. Too hot. I just needed something big and soft and nice smelling.”
I pop a bite of cinnamon roll in my mouth and graze the back of my hand
against her nipple, pebbled sharply through the material. “Glad you found one.”
“Hope you don’t mind,” she says. A subtle shiver rolls through her as my
finger dips between the valley of her breasts and teases the other nipple just the
same way. “I riffled through your drawers and found it.”
My head snaps up. “You went through my drawers?”
“Mhm,” she says before taking a bite of cinnamon bun and chewing. “Who
knew Søren Bergman color-codes his underwear, socks, shirts—”
I kiss her, if for no other reason than to stop her teasing. And while I know
nobody likes morning breath, now we both taste like cinnamon and coffee.