Page 72 of Down & Dirty: Reaper

Neither would her sisters.

Or, hell, any of the DAMC sisterhood.

“We’ve got a busy night ahead.” He reached over, wrapped his hand around her thigh, and squeezed. “Hot damn. Pizza, beef jerky, and a sexy as fuck woman in my bed doin’ a little jerky-jerky. Can’t fucking wait.”

“Me neither. Why do you think I was speeding?”

Reaper quietly shut the motel room’s door behind him and flipped on the light.

Vi was nowhere to be seen because she’d morphed into a burrito. She was completely wrapped in the bedding to the point he couldn’t even see a single, stray strand of dark hair.

As he picked his way over their discarded clothing, his eyes skimmed over the messy room: the open box with cold, leftover pizza, the empty beef jerky bag, and the well-used toy discarded on the nightstand. It was probably due to be recharged. Yeah, last night had been a blast.

Not only did Vi’s “rose” need recharging, so did she. Apparently, Vi was still recovering.

But then he didn’t expend as much energy as her since he got to sit back and enjoy the opening show.

The woman didn’t have a shy bone in her beautiful body. So, his idea to sit and watch her get herself off had been a good move. She seemed to agree.

But, man, she gave him a wild show that would end up being a quality core memory.

He set the bag that contained their breakfast on the TV stand, took a long swallow of his coffee before setting that aside and carrying hers over to the bed.

He waved her vanilla latte—with two pumps of syrup, two packets of stevia, and oat milk—near what he thought was her nose and waited. When she didn’t even stir, he did it again this time on the flip side of the burrito.

He assumed she had woken when a muffled snort could be heard. A hand wormed its way free of the polyester tortilla and snagged the coffee. Then both disappeared just as quickly.

What the fuck?

He peeled the covers back from her head like she was a fucking banana, fought to loosen her death grip on the disposable cup, then held it out of her reach. “You can’t drink hot coffee like that without ending up being scarred for life.”

She groaned, unwrapped herself enough to free both arms, sort of sat up—but listed to the side—and blinked due to the overhead light. “What time is it? I thought we were sleeping in.”

“It’s eleven.”

“Damn.” She made a grabby-hands motion. “Gimme.”

“It’s hot,” he warned.

“I sure as fuck hope so.”

He circled her liquid crack in front of her face but before she could latch onto it, he pulled it away and grinned.

She glared at him. “Do you want to die?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you going to kill me with your bare hands?” He headed over to the TV stand and set her coffee down next to his.

With a grumble, she unrolled herself until she was free and casually walked her naked ass over to their breakfast, peeked in the bag, then snagged her coffee.

She groaned again with her first sip.

Moaned on her second.

Then released a loud, “Aaaah,” on the third.

He grabbed his own coffee. “Better?”

“A little.” She jerked her chin at the bag. “Eat first, then shower?”