I’m quickly learning there’s never justoncewith Bronte, but several rounds of sex. He’s like a sugar addict going into the kitchen for another cookie.
The man is insatiable as all hell.
I feel Bronte straighten his spine and disappear, as I stand in the middle of the living space speechless over the course of the last few days.
Prague has been everything I’ve dreamed of. This suite is just the lodging, obviously, but it’s the fact that I’ve never seen so many roses in my life, and he had to have spent a fortune getting them here in such a short amount of time.
It’s like he bought every white rose grown in this city and brought them here.
My hand searches for his without much thought behind it, before his fingers are lacing with mine and he’s gently guiding me to the short distance toward the couch.
He knows my every need. He doesn’t need to ask me a million and one questions for validation.
It’s like I’m a book he’s studied for years.
“Coffee first,” he says gently. “Then you can yell at me for all the flowers.”
I’d never do that.
He must not know about the reactions every time I receive flowers because I’m a sucker for them.
When in doubt over a gift for me, flowers.
Every single time.
I take a seat on the plush couch while Bronte is still holding my hand, making sure I’m situated before he takes the spot next to me, reaching for the coffee pot and a mug.
“I wasn’t going to yell,” I retort softly, scanning the room for a space where there isn’t a magnificent display of roses that makes the suite feel like a winter wonderland. “It’s stunning.”
“I bought something for you, but I think it’s too much.” The coffee pot softly clinks against the mug. “So I opted for another small surprise that I think you’d appreciate more.”
I turn my head toward him, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “You didn’t need to do all this. I didn’t buy you anything?—”
“That head last night was all I needed as a present, Daydream,” he issues out, his gaze filling with that familiar hunger. “I won’t be forgetting that any time soon.”
Bobby would’ve wanted a Porsche.
“You need to stop spoiling me,” I lightly argue. “I might become a brat.”
“Brats need discipline. You think I’m going to turn down punishing you?”Apparently, notas I’m offered my coffee and Bronte obtains the cream. “Two seconds worth, right?”
How?
How in the world would he know that I count when I pour creamer?
“You’re my stalker,” I blurt without stopping, how stupid it sounds, but also accurate. I don’t care how he wants to word it; everything he does, I like.
“Admirer,” he attempts to correct. “It’s my job to make sure all your needs are met without you having to tell me.”
I blink a few times as he gets his morning brew,trying to think how to casually ask what he wants without him giving me the obvious.
His cock.
“What—um…” I swallow, feeling dumb for getting nervous. “What are yours besides the obvious?”
“What’s the obvious?”
You know, sometimes, I just want to smack him upside the back of the head.
