The sweet, buttery scent of freshly cooked pancakes lures me from a sound slumber. My lips curve into a lazy smile as I roll over in the bed, confirming Tristan’s side is empty.
Telltale sounds emanate from the kitchen. The scraping of a metal spoon along the side of a bowl. Water splashing in the sink. He’s humming along with some song on the radio, his voice low but pleasantly in tune. A sleepy chuckle fills my throat. He’s beaten me to it again.
It’s become a running joke between us since Tristan officially moved in with me a few months ago. Who can wake up first on a Sunday and make breakfast for the other? At first, it was usually me. Tristan spent a lot of time sleeping in those early months. Sometimes it seemed like he was trying to catch up on all eight years’ worth of lost sleep at once. But, over time, he’s settled into a more regular seven-hour pattern. I’ve always needed eight hours to feel rested, which mean he now wins the breakfast race more often than I do. I won’t be complaining any time soon. Plus, I still cook dinner more often, so it seems like a fair trade.
When the clinking of plates and cutlery sound, I know breakfast is about to be served. Sure enough, Tristan appears in the doorway a few minutes later.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says, carrying the tray over to the bed.
I drag myself into a sitting position. This morning’s breakfast includes a tall stack of golden pancakes. Each of them smothered in butter and maple syrup. The sweet tooth Tristan’s been developing must be going into overdrive. “You are the best boyfriend ever,” I tell him.
“Funny. I thought that was your title.” Leaning over, he places a morning kiss on my lips.
He tastes like maple syrup and coffee, and I can’t help but sneak in a little tongue action to claim a deeper taste. “Yum,” I whisper, licking his flavour from my lips.
With a soft chuckle, he shakes his head. “Oh no, you don’t. These are the best pancakes I’ve ever made. No making me horny until after breakfast.”
Laughing, I fold my legs up to make room for him on the end of the bed. “I’ll do my best, but I make no promises.”
The next half hour is spent demolishing the pancake stack. He’s right. These are the best pancakes he’s ever made. I wash the sweetness down with sips of tea from my favourite mug as we talk about how we’ll spend the rest of our weekend.
Yesterday was spent relaxing at home. I needed the break after a jam-packed work week. I managed to record several new meditations for mySleep with Meapp, as well as a couple for my latest app,Relax with Me.They’re both doing better than I ever could have dreamed, but I like to add new content regularly, so they take a lot of work. Plus, I’ve started a blog on the website Tristan had set up for the two apps. It’s a way of using all the notes I wrote in preparation for the television interview. Tristan insisted not a word should be wasted, and I’ve enjoyed fleshing out all the ideas I explored in those weeks of madness. I try not to take too much notice of how many hits the blog gets, but I know the numbers are growing quickly. It’s weird to think so many people are interested in what I have to say. It’s weird to realise I have so much to say. Who knows where it will take me.
On a face-to-face level, I’ve capped my classes again—at twenty this time. It feels like a good limit for me. I’m slowly learning to find the place where I’m still moving forwards, but without exhausting my reserves.
Hiring another meditation teacher to help out in the studio has helped. It means I’m able to offer more classes, without taking on the extra work myself. Alice continues to insist on being in my classes, though she’s coming less often lately. She still enjoys meditating, but now she and George are expecting their first child, she’s become more relaxed about her attendance.
Tristan’s been equally busy at work, especially since his dad assigned him a larger company to work with. He’s excited by the challenge, but still makes every effort to leave the office at a reasonable time.Why would I want to spend more hours at work, he told me once,when I have you to come home to.
He’s always there for me when I need him now. Although sometimes he goes a bit overboard, dropping everything to show up at my side for the slightest emergency. I’ve rolled my eyes at him on a number of occasions, but secretly I think it’s kind of awesome. Any concerns I had about Tristan putting me first in his life, as I put him first in mine, have long since been put to rest.
We’re hoping to take a holiday soon and get away from everything for a few weeks. Tristan has suggested we go to Melbourne this time. I’m considering it, letting the idea percolate in my brain for a while so I can get used to it. Then, I’m going to say yes.
I’ll never be the kind of person who sets off to conquer the world or is eager to be the centre of attention. That’s all right with me. I’m not meant to be that person.
Instead, I’m working on the little things, like leaving my bubble more often. I’ll always get nervous going to new places. It will always take time for me to warm up to new people. But having Tristan by my side makes it easier. He makes me want to put in the effort.
When the breakfast tray is finally empty, Tristan takes it out to the kitchen before coming back to bed. He drops kisses on my feet before making his way up my legs.
“Is it time to be horny now?” I tease.
Pausing at my cotton-covered groin, he looks up at me with a wide grin. “What do you think?” I’m already at half mast, so when he nuzzles his face against me, I gasp and curl my hips in an attempt to get closer.
He makes quick work of divesting us both of our pants, before continuing his journey, paying particular attention to my nipples, before his lips meet mine in a scorching hot kiss.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling his body down onto mine and then sigh in relief as our erections slide and rub together in a desperate need for friction.
With a long moan, he releases my mouth and uses one hand to tilt my head back, his fingertips curling beneath my jawline. “Can I have you?” he murmurs, echoing the question I asked him the first time we made love, so many months ago.
A slow smile works its way across my face. “Always and forever.”
Humming his appreciation of my response, he grinds harder, making my whole body shiver. “Sounds like a plan.”
I lift my head to draw him back into a kiss, licking at the seam of his lips. He opens instantly to my silent request. I slide inside, tasting all of him. My hands skim over his warm skin, touching all of him. And when he settles between my parted thighs, I take all of him inside me.
It’s only recently he’s admitted this is something he wants—at least sometimes.
“The desire has always been there,” he told me one night under the cover of darkness. “But I’ve rarely allowed myself to give in to it. Somehow, it always felt like taking too much for myself.”
