You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you.
Bathroom’s across the hall.
Take your time.
I’ll be in the kitchen preparing breakfast.
~Grace~
Who leaves notes to inform someone they’re in the kitchen making breakfast? More importantly, who saves those notes because the damn paper reminds him of the scent of the woman who wrote it? Me. That’s who.
I folded the note and stuck it inside the pocket of my jeans before grabbing the toiletries and heading across the hall to the bathroom. I hadn’t paid much attention the night before to the room that Grace had furnished in earth tones. The different oranges and browns gave the bathroom a warm feel, and I paused, examining the shower curtain that was designed with the image of the Serengeti desert at sunrise. At the forefront a curvy, dark-browned skin woman carrying a basket on top of her head stood facing front with a gorgeous smile on her face.
I showered quickly, noting the specialty shop soaps, face washes, and lotions Grace had neatly tucked in the shower’s caddy around the sink. Most of the toiletries were handmade or made from basic ingredients such as coconut oil, cocoa, or shea butter.
About twenty minutes later, I sauntered up the hall, being pulled by the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and that siren voice of Grace’s, as she sung another song I wasn’t familiar with but wanted to hear more of.
Rounding the corner, I stopped short. Grace’s back was to me as she continued to sing. She stood at the stove in just a sleeveless black T-shirt and a pair of yellow boy shorts that hugged her ass nicely. When she started swaying her hips with whatever she was singing, my dick stood up, asking for some attention. An image of me bending her over the counter she stood at, my hand burying into her hair as I pulled her head back, ordering her to say my name, flashed before my eyes.
That was when I cleared my throat and moved forward.
She abruptly stopped singing and smiled as she moved around the kitchen island with a cup of coffee in her hand. “Morning.”
She held the mug out for me to take as she moved closer, but the damn coffee was the last thing I needed. I dropped my head, before taking the coffee, beckoning her lips. Complying, she lifted her head to allow our lips to touch. Not until I pulled back did I retrieve the cup from her hand.
“Morning. Have you been up long?”
She shook her head and took my free hand in hers, guiding us to the stools at the kitchen’s island. “Not too long. I would’ve woken you but …” She trailed off and shrugged. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” I answered, clearing my throat because that was the truth. I don’t ever sleep well, much less in a foreign bed. However, last night I had.
I watched as she slid a veggie omelet onto a plate and then another. That was the first time I actually looked at the kitchen island. There were two bowls of salsa, one of cheese and another with avocado slices in it. A glass pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. I knew it was fresh squeezed because I saw the recently used citrus fruit juicer parts in the sink. And something told me the salsa wasn’t from a jar. She’d prepared a whole spread. She had to be up for the past hour, at least.
That was when my eyes went to the time on the electric stove. It read just after nine o’clock. That was sleeping in late for me, even on a weekend.
Lifting the coffee to my lips, I took a sip, my eyes closing at the strong taste; I was thankful for the fact she knew I took my coffee black.
“Thank you,” I said when she placed my plate in front of me.
She turned to retrieve her plate, but my arm moved around her body, trapping her to me, instead. Forking off a piece of the omelet, I held it up to her lips even though my own stomach began growling at the smell of the food.
“Jacob, that’s yours. I have my own omelet.”
My eyes dipped to her lips and a smile touched my own. She was such a caretaker. At work and at home. It came to her naturally. Caring and doing for others.
“We’re sharing. You’ve been awake for some time preparing all of this food. The least I can do before I bend you over your own kitchen counter is let you have the first bite.”
Her eyelids fluttered and slowly her lips parted as she received the omelet I fed her. Pulling the fork free from her lips, I buried my face into the crook of her neck and licked before sucking the spot where her vein protruded, telling me her thoughts without words. My hand slid underneath the T-shirt she wore, but when I attempted to move it higher, her hand stopped mine.
Leaning back, I looked down on her. There was uncertainty and a touch of fear in her eyes. I hated it; she didn’t deserve it. I brushed my lips across hers and then hopped off the stool, doing what my cock and brain had been begging me to do ever since I rounded that fucking corner.
I spun Grace around, and before the gasp could fully escape her lips, I had those teasing boy shorts down, around her ankles. I removed the condom from my back pocket because foresight had told me I’d end up in this position before I left Grace’s home.
Sheathing myself faster than I ever had before, I was sliding into Grace’s wet core without so much as a second thought.
“Arch your back for me, baby.”
Grace did as instructed, and I was able to slide inside of her deeper, exactly where the fuck I belonged. I reached up and yanked the band she used to keep her hair clasped in a bun loose. Her wild curls spilled out, and just as I had in my fantasy, I buried my hand in those curls, pulling her head backwards as I rode her deep from behind.
