“Do you need to go outside?”
I don’t know what time it is, but it has to be past her breakfast time.
“I’ll go take care of her.” I look at Holt, and then I freeze.
The man’s rubbing the dark whiskers around his jaw, hooded eyes dark as midnight as they look me up and down.
And I like it.
Heat builds between my thighs, and I realize they’re sore.
Muscle and skin.
I have whisker burn between my thighs.
He gave that to me last night.
And now it’s tomorrow.
When we have to face what we did last night.
“And then I can make breakfast. I’m feeling like omelets. Weird, right? Potatoes on the side, but I want eggs today. Are you hungry? Does anything sound good? We’re a little low on groceries. I was going to make a menu for next week andhit the store later today. My mom—we’re going to look at a few more houses this afternoon. In case one’s right. Early. Early afternoon. Not later. When it’s dinnertime. And would’ve been movie time. If we were?—”
As I’m babbling, he’s scooting down to the edge of the bed.
Naked.
Long, thick cock straining out from a bed of dark curls.
Stalking me.
I’m equal parts thrilled at the idea he wants me still and terrified that this is the only way off the bed and he just needs to get up to pee or something.
Or rub out his morning wood without me.
I like his morning wood. I want to stroke it. Silky skin. Thick veins wrapped around it. Deep pink. Thick, broad head.
That is theoretically no longer mine to touch.
He didn’t confirm or deny that he’s leaving today, but I could sense it last night.
It’s what’s best for both of us.
For his career. For his life.
For my peace with my family.
But that penis?—
His is my favorite penis.
He reaches the end of the bed, snags me by the hips, pulls me flush to his body, then slides his hands up, over my breasts, up my neck, to hook one hand behind my head and pull my face down to his.
“I’m hungry,” he says.
And then he’s kissing me.
Hard.
