This would have freaked me out, how good he was at it, but thinking on it, it didn't. First, he had a great body and he was in command of it. Not just during sex but all the time. Second, he was strong as in very strong. Ronnie was no weakling and took care of his body as a matter of habit and survival. But the strength of his lean muscle was nothing in comparison to the power behind the bulk of Ty. And Ty used his strength during sex in a dizzying variety of delicious ways. Third, Ty was seriously hot and, prior to his incarceration, he had to have had his fair share of practice and then some. And last, Ty had already proved he was generous and sex was no different. He saw to me, sometimes twice (once three times) before he took care of himself. He never left me hanging or took care of me after. Not once.

It was phenomenal. So phenomenal, I didn't mind that there was no further heart-to-heart sharing from Ty. What he was giving me, all of it, was just fine. Better. It was perfect.

I moved to him, set his travel mug on the counter by his hip, got as close as his bowl would let me, leaned a hip into the counter and instantly started bitching.

"Seven o'clock is a ridiculous time to have to be at work."

His beautiful eyes on me, he chewed, swallowed and replied, "Told you, you don't have to get up with me."

Yeah, right, like I'd miss taking a shower with him. Not gonna happen.

I communicated this with my eyes and a tip of my head. He read it loud and clear and his lips tilted up at the sides.

Then he spoke again. "Seven o'clock means gettin' off at four unless they need me to do overtime. I could do nine thirty to six thirty but I like the evenings clear. Don't sleep late, that time in the morning would be a waste."

"Mm," I mumbled and his lips twitched.

"Mama, fuckin' you in the shower, doable. We really start to play, I won't wanna go and how are you gonna get deck furniture if I don't have a paycheck?"

He had a point.

And he called me "mama" in his soft voice. That was a new one. I liked it.

Not to mention, I was discovering we seriously needed deck furniture.

"Whatever you wanna do, honey," I muttered.

"Yeah," he muttered back, shoved the last spoonful in his mouth, chewed, swallowed then dipped his head to touch his lips to mine and moved around me to get to the sink, saying, "Gonna hit the gym before I come home. Be back at around six."

I turned with him so I was facing him when I replied as he put his bowl in the sink and walked back to me, "Right. Anything you want for dinner or are you gonna do a shake?"

"Food," he said, making it to me, putting a hand light on my hip and leaning his face close. "Whatever you make, I'll eat." He again touched his mouth to mine then said against it, "Later, Lex."

"Later, honey," I whispered against his.

He bent his head forward an inch which touched his forehead to mine and he did this for half a second before his forehead and his hand went away because he'd tagged his travel mug and was sauntering to the stairs.

I watched him until he disappeared then I warmed up my coffee, took it out to the sunny deck and sipped it at the railing, taking in a view I knew I'd never get used to.

I saw the view, I loved the view but mostly I loved that standing at that railing, this time, I felt full. Sated. Replete.

And I hadn't had breakfast.

Once I hit the bottom of the mug, I wandered into the house, refreshed my coffee and then wandered up the steps. I went to my lingerie drawer, dug under my stuff and pulled out the glossy violet and ice blue folder. I opened it, pulled out an eight by ten then replaced the folder in the drawer.

Then I wandered down the steps to the pantry. I pulled out a thick, brown paper bag that had a red stamp on the side with some lasso-style ropes around Old West-style words that said "Carnal Country Store". I took it to the island, set the picture and my mug down and dug stuff out of the bag that I bought in town yesterday after I had my job interview.

Carnal Country Store was a gift slash souvenir shop. They had a multi-theme going. Old West slash Colorado Mountains slash Bikers slash Country. It was wild but it worked. There was a lot of wood. A lot of antlers. A lot of feathers. A lot of buffalo. Being Carnal, which was definitely a biker haven and not the pedal kind, it also had a bunch of biker stuff. This was intermingled with an abundance of full on country wares that were mostly really cute but not my style (or Ty's) and some local artisan stuff which included some seriously kickass pottery. And, luckily, for those with a discerning eye and because it was the only gift shop in Carnal (except the florist who had a few frames, vases and knick knacks not having a job and with time on my hands I'd definitely spent time perusing what Carnal had to offer, so much I had it down pat), they had some nicer stuff too.

And I said this was "luckily" because, although Ty was born in that county, he was not a feathers, antlers, buffalo, biker or country wares kind of guy.

So I got the stuff I got and it was pricey but since Ty paid for nearly everything, I had most of the wad of cash Shift gave me to finance my journey, so I went a little crazy thinking some Shift in an alternate universe would want to give Ty and I a wedding present (or, as it turned out, several). I also went a little crazy because it was "nice shit" so it would fit.

I pulled out a beautiful, wide-edged, beveled silver frame, took off the back and then put our wedding picture in it. I turned it around after I secured the back and there we were. My dress. My bouquet. Ty in his suit. Me smiling bright and big. Ty looking hot.

I studied it thinking, at the time that photo was taken, I would never have guessed two weeks later I'd spend that much money on the perfect frame for that picture because that picture needed the perfect frame.

But I did because that picture needed the perfect frame.

I smiled at it then I walked it to the living room and put it on the sleek, polished wood mantel set into the stone hearth above the fireplace. It was the only thing there.

Still, it looked good.

Then I went back to the bag and yanked out the thick folder that held the photos I processed at the kiosk in the grocery store. I also pulled another frame out of the bag, this one six by eight with a simple but thick, matte black edge. Then I flipped through the photos I developed to find the one I knew I wanted. Ty and me and Moab, shot from waist up, my cheek to his chest, my arms around his middle, his arm around my shoulders, our shades directed at the lens, an infinitesimal section of Moab our stunning backdrop. I framed it and put it in the deep sill at the window over the kitchen sink.

I went back to the island, sipped more coffee then again hit the pantry, pulling out the two, bigger bags. I took them to the island and unearthed from bunches of tissue the three charcoal gray matte pitchers with their spindly handles in black gloss, rim, lip and inside that same gloss. Three of them, one huge. One not as huge. One a little less than not as huge. I arranged them in a circle in the middle of the island. Out next came the wide, flat bowl of the same. I grabbed the bananas and dug in the fridge for the apples and oranges, assembled them in the bowl and put them on the short side counter between the stove and the fridge. I cleared away the bags and tissue and set the pictures on a side counter to show Ty later.

Then I went to the cupboard, found the sugar bowl and creamer and set those at an angle opposite the frame in the windowsill. I looked from bowl and creamer to pitchers to big-ass, kickass fruit bowl and was relieved to find I was right. They complimented each other perfectly.

Then I grabbed my mug and took a sip, my head moving in a slow swivel to take in the entirety of my handiwork.

Something was missing.

I knew what it was, put my mug down and dashed up the stairs, digging in the back of my lingerie drawer; I pulled it out and jogged back down the stairs.

Then I set the Treasure Island snow globe in the middle of the deep sill over the kitchen sink where the picture was angled in a corner and the sugar and creamer in the other. I'd see it every time I did the dishes. And I liked that.

I moved to my mug, picked it up, backed up until my hips hit counter and then surveyed the scene.

It wasn't much of a stamp but it was something.

And every bit was perfect.

Even the snow globe.

I grinned to myself and walked my coffee upstairs to get dressed.

I had a house to clean then groceries to buy and then I had to find a craft shop.

That afternoon, I drove into the mechanics, my eyes moving between the three large bays at the same time searching for a parking space.

I'd driven by the garage many times since I hit Carnal but had never been there. The tarmac outside was huge. A little office up some cement steps to the side of the bays. A plethora of bikes and cars all around. Garage sounds coming at me through my open windows.

I found my spot at the very end in front of the office, parked, shut her down, got out and rounded the trunk, eyes to the bays.

Then he came out, light gray-blue coveralls unbuttoned to the waist, the top of them hanging down making it look like he had an upside down shirt hanging from his hips. He had on a white wife-beater that must have been in his workout bag because he left in jeans and a tee. He looked hot even in that getup, what with the muscles and tats on display, but he could probably wear a pink polo shirt with the collar turned up and look hot (though I hoped he never did).

He had black grease stains on his wife-beater, all over his hands and up his forearms.

And I didn't care.

I also didn't care that I had on strappy, super-high, platform wedges. I still ran flat out across the wide expanse toward him and didn't stop even as I noticed he saw I wasn't going to. So he did and he braced right before I took a flying leap into his arms.

Those arms closed around me, mine closed around his neck and I was suspended several inches off the ground as my hand curled over his short-cropped hair and I pulled his mouth to mine.

Then I laid a hot, wet one on him.

After I did that, I tore my mouth from his, kept my arms tight and asked excitedly, "Guess what?"

"Lex, got grease all over me. What the fuck?" was his taking-all-the-fun-out-of-it response.

My arms gave him a squeeze and I repeated, "Ty! Guess what?"

His lips twitched and he asked, "What?"

"Dominic at Carnal Spa gave me the job!" I cried loudly.

At that news, his arms gave me a squeeze and he muttered, "Good news."

"Uh... yeah!" I exclaimed and he set me on my feet but didn't release me, just bent his neck deep so his face could remain close (ish) and his eyes could hold mine. "I just got the call. No way did I expect that he'd hire me because I'm not really local... yet. But he did! He said I have the flair and comportment, his words, that screamed 'Carnal Spa', also his words, and the minute he saw me he wouldn't have chosen anyone else. I start next Tuesday."

"Happy for you, babe," he said softly, his eyes warm, his lips tipped up at the ends.

"Me too," I replied. "I mean, it's ten to four with half an hour lunch break so it isn't full-time and it's about two cents over minimum wage since I'm a glorified receptionist but still. He said that he might hire another stylist and is definitely hiring someone to do facials and with the extra business they may need another hour or more. Isn't that cool?"

He didn't respond verbally but he did give me a full grin so I took that as agreement he thought it was cool.

"Let's celebrate," I declared, pressing closer to him. "Tell me what your favorite meal is and I'll make it for dinner tonight. Get a bottle of sparkling wine or something."

"Celebration doesn't say you cookin' my favorite meal and wine from a grocery store. Celebration says me callin' The Rooster and gettin' us a table."

I tipped my head to the side and asked, "The Rooster?"

"Steak place up the mountain. Fuckin' great food. Top-notch."

I smiled because that did, indeed, say celebration.

"Excellent. Can I dress up?"

His arms gave me another squeeze, his face dipped closer and his voice was low and super rumbly when he said, "You can do whatever you want."

"Awesome," I whispered, his eyes smiled into mine and I liked that so much, I leaned up and pressed my lips to his.

When I moved back, his eyes went over my shoulder and then started to come back to me but then they shot back over my shoulder and I felt the entirety of his frame freeze solid.

I didn't like that or the expression on his face... no, I really didn't like the expression on his face which almost looked like he was in pain so I pressed closer but looked over my shoulder to see a dark red SUV driving up to the office.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"The Keatons," he rumbled low and that was when my body froze so I was stuck in position as the SUV parked and out of each side came a body.

Driver's side was the man. Tall, straight, lean, dark blonde hair. Good-looking if you didn't happen to be married to Ty Walker and Ty Walker didn't happen to have friends the likes of Tate and Wood. Jeans, heavy, silver, Western-style belt buckle, cowboy boots, nice sports coat, chambray shirt.

Passenger side was the woman.

Misty.

Bitch-face Misty.

My eyes narrowed on her as I vaguely noticed Wood and a couple of other guys moving out of the bays and Stella coming out of the office and if I hadn't vaguely noticed this I would have realized they did it because they knew cowboy guy and Misty, they knew they'd fucked over Ty and they were positioning, should something happen, to take Ty's back.

But I only had eyes for and a mind to bitch-face Misty.

She had lots of everything. Lots of leg. Lots of tits. Lots of ass. Lots of hair.

Ty's type, definitely.

She was wearing much what I was wearing. Platform sandals (though not wedges). Short skirt. Three steps up from a normal t-shirt.

But mine was better.

I wasn't wearing a skirt but cream-colored, tailored, low-rider, cuffed short-shorts. My tee was blousy, a soft orchid color and one side hung off my shoulder. I'd sleeked out my hair, my belt was awesome, my jewelry understated and even more awesome than the belt. And, at that moment, I was really fucking glad I spent extra time on my hair after cleaning the house and before going into town.

Her stuff was good quality. What could I say? I was a buyer. I could see it even from far away.

But her skirt was just on the wrong side of too short, her top just on the wrong side of too clingy and way the wrong side of too much cleavage, her hair was massive and her sandals leaped over the boundary of acceptable straight into the land of slut shoes.

Looking at her, she didn't work with Ty, no way. And she also didn't work with the fake straight-arrow (seeing as he was a dirty cop) Colorado cowboy guy with his precise haircut, jeans that weren't faded even a little bit and, clearly visible even through his clothes, a body fat count that stated he spent almost as much time at the gym as Ty. And I felt I could say this coming from Texas. I knew cowboys and I knew their women.

She was just a skanky, white 'ho trying to be something else.

This made me feel way better. Of course, I still hated her and wanted to rush across the tarmac and rip her hair out. But Ty said I was class and beauty and now I knew why. Because, in comparison to Misty Keaton, I fucking was, top-to-toe.

I turned back to Ty, pressed deep and when I did, I got his eyes.

"Dude, I am way more that than her," I informed him, he blinked then I felt his body start shaking.

"Think I already told you that, mama," he replied in his soft voice that was better than his normal soft voice considering it was soft and amused.

Must be said, I was liking this mama thing.

I held his eyes and asked quietly, "You okay?"

He gave me a shallow chin dip of affirmative before answering, "Pullin' out my .38 and gunnin' 'em down in broad daylight with witnesses kinda fucks with my grand plan o' vengeance."

I started giggling and slid my arms from around his neck to rest them on the wide wall of his chest.