His tone magically helps the tears dry right up and steadies my emotions. But I can’t let him know he has such an effect on me. “You’re bossy, you know that, Tedster?”
Neither of us mention how much I loved that five minutes ago when he pounded into me.
His lips twitch. Was that almost a smile? Couldn’t be. I’m hallucinating.
“Downstairs, when you're ready.” Ted grabs a folded shirt from atop his dresser, shrugging it on as he walks out and closes the door behind him.
It's only after it’s shut that I suck in a deep breath and let it out.
He wants to talk about this? He’s not going to boot me out of his house as fast as humanly possible? Is he drunk? On drugs? Or maybe orgasms put him in an amenable state of mind?
And holy fuckola, what an orgasm.
I fall back into the pile of plush pillows and cover my face not sure if I should be deliberately trying to recall the size and feel of him. He fit juuuust right.
What is wrong with me? Men throw themselves at my feet nightly, and I want the one guy who thinks I’m a special kind of pest sent solely to torture him.
Wait, I don’t want him.
I’m not addicted and desperate for more.
I’d wear a pure white, ballgown with a sweetheart neckline and. . .
FUCK!
But that kiss last night, allowing me to tell that guy Ted was my boyfriend—gah, why did that stick to me like glue? The way he kissed me, so painfully sweet, just before he came. The way he called me out for faking it then giving me the most insane all-consuming pleasure of my life.
I have to get out of my head, so I focus on the surroundings.
To my left, a large window offers an impressive view of the lush green mountainside. The morning sunlight streams in, casting an inviting glow on the polished wooden floor. I'm in a hefty king-sized bed with a rugged, hand-carved wooden headboard that screams Ted.
I cover myself up with a plain comforter in a rich, earthy brown hue. I’m already mourning the loss of the plump pillows. On either side of the bed, matching nightstands hold small lamps with warm, amber shades.
To my right, a tall bookshelf reaches almost to the ceiling, filled not only with books but also fascinating bits and pieces: an old compass, a pair of binoculars, some vintage camping gear. Each item hints at the man Ted is—adventurous, practical, a man of the wild.
“That’s my good girl.”
Okay, I thought I knew him, but now I’m thinking I don’t.
Across the room, a large oak dresser stands imposingly, its surface uncluttered save for a few essentials—a worn leather wallet, a silver pocket watch, a small bowl holding what appears to be assorted river rocks. Above it, a simple mirror with a rustic wooden frame reflects the room back at me.
As feminine as I am, with my love for all things pink and dainty, I can't help but feel the appeal of this room. It's warm, comfortable, and imbued with a charm that can only be Ted's—something authentically rugged, yet thoughtful. For a moment, I stand there, taking it all in, appreciating the unexpected allure of Ted's world.
But it’s not my world. My heart cracks in ten different directions.
My friends are right. I fall too fast. I get way too obsessed and it’s not healthy. I’m an absolute idiot and it’s so much worse that he knows it.
Knowing I can’t hide up here forever, I slip out from the way too comfortable bed and head downstairs. It’s so weird how I know exactly where I’m going in this house, considering I’ve never consciously entered.
Maybe I can slip out the front door and avoid him all together.
I’m halfway down the stairs when a smell so delicious grips me and practically shakes me.
Bacon and coffee. Oh faelords, it’s been so long since I’ve had anything but porridge. After the sex and stress bomb that exploded in my stomach, I’m absolutely starving.
Another step and I come into view of the kitchen to find Ted turning pieces of sizzling bacon. He looks up as if he sensed me the moment I left his room. He points at me and then the chair at his kitchen table.
“You, sit.”
