“What’s that?”
He meets my gaze, and even though he doesn’t utter a word, my skin prickles all over, my heart in overdrive.
When I look away, he chuckles. “That’s okay.” He presses a kiss to the spot beneath my ear. “When I finally say it, you’ll never want me to stop.”
the filthy smut (yes, more)[trope]
the not-so-guilty pleasure of romance novels; frequently hidden behind innocent-looking covers and read in public with an impressive poker face. often, these scenes should come with a “do not try this at home” disclaimer
I stir awake, my eyelids heavy with sleep, and immediately notice the mattress beneath me isn’t the usual thin, lumpy one; this one is plush. And the sheets—they’re smooth and cool against my skin, not the cheap, scratchy ones I have at home. There’s a faint, clean scent lingering in the air, fresh linen with a hint of lavender.
I open my eyes, a sense of warmth spreading through me as I realize I’m in Rafael’s bedroom. But his side of the bed is empty, the sheets rumpled. My heart skips a beat. Did he leave?
Just as I’m about to get up and look for him, the air carries the smell of breakfast to me. Bacon, maybe eggs. “Rafael?” I call out.
His voice comes from downstairs. “I’m making breakfast. Stay where you are!”
“Why? Are you hiding another woman?”
“Yes,” he replies, his tone teasing. “That’s exactly it.”
I sink back into the pillows, grinning up at the ceiling. The cozy warmth of the blankets wraps around me, and everything feels so perfect I have to stop myself from squealing. The mattress cradles my body in all the right places—which my sensitive skin needs after last night—and I’m giddy with excitement at the thought of Rafael coming back.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table, and I glance at it, contemplating whether I should answer, then quickly realizing I lost the luxury of ignoring my phone the moment Ethan moved in. I grab it and scroll through the notifications, but everything can wait, and Paige hasn’t answered my latest texts yet.
Quickly, I open theWhistle’s website. No news.
Rafael walks into the room, a pleasant distraction wearing nothing but a pair of low-waisted shorts, most of his tattoos on full display. His dark hair is wet from the shower and pulled back, and his muscles ripple slightly as he moves.
I bite my lip, memories flooding back—his hands on me, the way his hips felt pressed against mine.
My body aches in the best possible way.
“You Judas,” I say as he sets a tray down in front of me and the smell of breakfast wafts up, making my mouth water. There’s a plate of perfectly cooked bacon, golden scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes drizzled with syrup and topped with fresh berries. “I can’t believe you showered without me.”
“Well, I needed to so I could make you breakfast in bed.” He holds a ringed finger up. “And I got you a shirt, too. Not one of mine, ’cause I figured it’d be too big.But—” He walks to the dark wooden dresser and opens up a drawer. “I see your one dead parent’s broccoli shirt and raise you…”
“Oh my God!” I sit up, holding the blanket over my chest. It’sanotherbroccoli shirt, exactly like my dad’s and mom’s shirts. “How’s that even…”
“I thought about it and figured it was one of three possibilities. One: someone at some point gave out these shirts for free. Two: a local up-and-coming broccoli stylist we’ve never heard of. Or three: a vegetable secret society.”
“Ha! Number three is my favorite.”
“Mine, too.” He throws the shirt my way, and after catching it in the air, I pull it on. The mattress dips as he climbs back on.
“So, is it a thank-you breakfast for what I let you do to me last night?”
He chuckles, a low, rich sound. “Oh, absolutely. That’s exactly how I wanted it to come across.” He rests his weight on one elbow. “Thank you for the mind-melting orgasm, Scarlett. Enjoy bacon and eggs.”
“Well,” I say, taking a bite of pancake, the syrup sticky and sweet on my tongue, “you might want to start planning lunch in bed.”
He pauses and gives me a curious look. “Lunch?”
I run my finger down his chest. “Yes. A thank-you lunch for what I’ll let you do to me this morning.”
His eyes darken just a little as he leans closer. “I think I can manage that.”
“Good.” I lift the tray and set it on the bedside table, right overmy phone. When I turn back to him, he’s licking his upper lip. I want to feel that tongueeverywhere. “Because I’m really hungry.”
