He jolted forward with a hilarious, weebly sound of shock to accompany the thrust of his hips as he went up on his toes, glaring back at Elka.
“Watch the giblets there, Cujo. Geeze, if you feel like eating an ass, there's a whole mess of'em upstairs.” Dillon was still laughing when she got up. The idea of putting on yesterday's clothes made her cringe, but she should have known better.
“Here.” Nasa handed her a feminine but functional romper and an ultra-soft matching set of underwear. Considering how tender she was, the loose shorts of the dusty blue romper and the soft material? Perfect.
It amused her to see it took Nasa far longer to get dressed, not only because he had to situate his morning erection just so to avoid further discomfort, but because she'd put her bra on and stepped into her outfit in the time it took him to put on his pants. He still had a shirt, socks, boots, plus his cut to go.
Struck by a strange, nearly giddy feeling of shyness, Dillon fetched the heavy leather vest from its place on the wooden stand beside his bed.
The look he gave her when she came to him carrying his cut made a shiver of excitement race through her. Helping him to shrug it on, reaching up to smooth her hands down over his shoulders to settle the vest, felt weirdly important. Almost as intimate as undressing him.
She moved around to his front, trailing her fingertips down his shoulder, the swell of his bicep, along the stark black lines of ink tattooed into his forearm.
Dillon couldn’t have possibly withheld her smile, or the flip of her stomach when he turned his palm up, waiting for her to take his hand.
Their hands fit like puzzle pieces, their fingers tangled together, and her heart did a righteous impression of a pin ball inside her chest as she watched him lift her knuckles to his mouth to kiss each one.
“How about pancakes?”
“Only if you're cooking,” she answered, feeling the brilliance of his smile all the way to the tips of her toes.
He kissed her hand again and led the way up the stairs, dancing slightly to one side as Elka rushed past, giving Nasa a glare over her shoulder at the top landing, as if saying, 'Hey, asshole. You know the rules. I go through the door first.'
*****
The heat outside smacked her in the face, sweat instantly popping out on her skin. It felt like walking through a sauna, but Elka ran around in circles around the training yard a few times, snapping and chasing the butterflies before getting down to business.
Back inside the wonderfully chilly compound, Nasa tightened his grip on her once he noticed Duke and Tobias were seated at the kitchen island.
Tobias had just shoved a huge spoonful of cereal into his mouth when he heard them come in. A dribble of milk ran down his chin, frozen mid-movement with a look of uncertainty on his face.
For the first time since seeing Tobias outside her house, Dillon’s stomach didn't twist. Her throat didn't close up in panic, and her extremities didn't go cold as Dillon's fight or flight response amped up.
Tobias still had his cast on, and situated like he was, he looked like a chipmunk with his cheeks full of cereal.
“Good morning,” she said calmly, glad to see the tension bleed out of his shoulders. Tobias did the best he could to conceal his relief, grunting in answer as he chewed and swallowed.
Duke wasn't so circumspect. “Y'all look like Ken and Viking Barbie.”
Nasa pulled a chair out for her at the bar—an empty seat between her and Duke—taking a moment to tip her face up to scrutinize her expression.
She had a feeling if he'd seen any hint of discomfort or uneasiness, Nasa would have sent her back downstairs or kicked the commandos out of the kitchen. She guessed he was satisfied with what he saw because he let her go with a kiss to her forehead.
“My dick is bigger than that hunk of plastic,” Nasa told Duke, and while Dillon could confirm, she kept her mouth shut.
“Course it is,” Duke agreed. “But that's not saying much; Ken has no dick. Veracruz owes me a hundred, by the way.
"I knew you two would start bangin' eventually. You're not junkless like a real Barbie, right babe? I mean, you can't be if y'all are umpin buglees, but inquiring minds wanna know.”
Immediately, Nasa lashed out to grab Duke by the collar and yank him halfway over the counter. He held the heavy cast iron skillet in his free hand, his eyes cold as arctic ice. Dillon could honestly say she hadn't ever seen anyone move so fast or so smoothly.
“You do not call my woman 'babe,' and you do not ask her questions like that. Ever. Got it?”
Dillon definitely should not have been turned on by Nasa's aggression. She'd spent a good portion of her life avoiding men who threatened to hurt other people, and yet she sat there trying not to squirm as she quivered with arousal.
Duke seemed completely unconcerned, his voice never changed in inflection, and it didn't seem to bother him that the milk from his cereal bowl was quickly spilling into his lap.
“No questions about your lady's junk or callin’ her babe. Got it. What's for breakfast, chief?”
“I'm making Dillon lemon ricotta pancakes.” Nasa let go of Duke, giving him a short shove back into his seat that made his cereal bowl clatter. “You can fuck off after you clean up your mess.”
“But I'm still hungry,” Duke practically whined. He turned huge puppy dog eyes on her, looking so pathetic Dillon had suck in her cheeks and bite down to keep from laughing at him.
“I'm sorry for asking about your vagina. I don't even care whether you've got one or not. I swear! I'll be good, I promise. You believe me, right?”
Tobias gave another expressive, manly grunt, and Dillon decided it wasn’t
