“Bathroom. So we can brush our teeth.”
Naked as the day we were born he strutted to the bathroom, and placed me in between the two faucets on the porcelain countertop.
“Two sinks?” I questioned, looking between the faucets.
“His and hers.” He gestured his head toward the sink he stood in front of and then the other one.
“You have his and her sinks?” I questioned, folding my arms over my breasts, anger starting to form in my pit.
His hand paused on the plastic wrapper of the toothbrush he’d been opening. He moved a few inches to stand in front of me, between my legs. He didn’t speak for a long while, instead letting his gaze rove over my face, down my body, and stopping at my breasts. As soon as he did, they began throbbing, aching for his touch again. But I held onto my anger as best I could.
“I had this house built two years ago. And you’re the first guest outside of my family that has ever seen the inside of it.”
I wanted to ask if he was being serious, but I knew what his response would be.
“I had it built for the family I knew I’d have one day. And the only woman I’d allow inside would be the woman I married and gave my name to.” He stared at me so fiercely, so intently that my mouth went dry. I didn’t have a response to his declaration and apparently he didn’t need one. He pressed a quick kiss to my opened lips and stepped back, finished opening the toothbrush, ran it under water, applied the toothpaste, and handed it to me before saying, “Brush your teeth since you’re so concerned with morning breath. I want you to be minty fresh before I take you again right here on this counter.”
I gasped and grabbed the toothbrush from him. I swore I was soaking the ceramic countertop by how wet his statements had just made me.
“Don’t move from this position,” he growled. “Brush.”
I obeyed, brushing my teeth, all the while him staring at me as he did the same. He handed me a glass of water and I rinsed my mouth. And true to his word, he took the used toothbrush from me, tossing it aside, moved in between my legs, and unwrapped another foil wrapper. He slipped the condom on his veiny shaft just before nudging my knees apart, and he claimed me again in the bathroom.
“What would you like for breakfast?” he asked as we descended the stairs a little while later. I wore the shirt he’d donned the night before, while Carter had on a pair of jogging pants and nothing else.
“You have food?” I questioned, snarkily, which earned me a smack on my ass. “Ouch!”
“Come here, lemme kiss it,” he insisted when I yelped and rubbed my backside.
“I had to ask. No way you have no furniture but have a refrigerator full of food.”
“I got anything you want. And whatever I don’t have, we can have ordered.”
He guided me to the open kitchen area. He picked me up yet again and sat me on the granite counter of the kitchen island. He moved from me to the large, metal double doors of the refrigerator, pulling it open. I was delighted to find that it was filled with groceries.
“I don’t need furniture to feel at home but I do need good food.”
I frowned. “I thought you said you didn’t like cooking?”
“I said I don’t like cooking formyself.I do it when I have to but I much prefer cooking for others.”
“I stand corrected.” I smiled.
He turned to look at me over his shoulder. “I love a woman who can admit when she’s wrong.”
My belly did backwards somersaults. That was the second time he’d mentioned the word love in less than twelve hours.
“Careful with that L word. Say it too many times and I might get used to it.” I almost said, I might believe it, but I already did. This man didn’t lie to get what he wanted from women.
“You might as well get used to it, sugar. You’ll be hearing it a lot more from here on out.”
He turned back to the fridge and I hungrily watched the contoured muscles of his back flex and ripple with even the slightest movements of his. Unlike his chest, his back didn’t hold any tattoos but his arm did. From what I was able to make out, it had something to do with the army.
“How about I prepare my world famous banana French toast? Do you eat sausage?”
“Sure do. And what’s so world famous about your French toast?”
“Because only a select few have ever gotten me to make it for them. Very few people outside of my family, my best friend, Andy, and my brothers down at the station house have had my French toast. It’s famous for being so secretive.” He gathered all the ingredients, placing them on the counter next to me.
