I fisted my fingers in his hair and pulled my head off his shoulder. “Kiss me.”
He did, open-mouthed and wet, but I didn’t care. Our tongues met at multiple angles as he went deeper inside me. He trailed his mouth up my cheek, toward my ear so that I could hear the breathy moans he emitted.
It was that sound—the confirmation of pleasure from both of us—that had me coming once more.
Noah shuddered in my arms, and he muttered morenonsense. Words about how silly it was to be nervous over this, how he couldn’t believe how much time we wasted apart, how soft I was.
And then when he let go, too, I smiled, thinking how we couldn’t possibly waste any more time.
20
NOAH/MACEY
Noah
The morning sun filtered through the blinds and reflected off my kitchen counter. I had woken up early after hardly sleeping all night. Not like me, considering I usually slept like a rock. But it was difficult to escape reality when I wanted to stay awake just a little bit longer.
Macey, on the other hand, passed right out. She was still asleep in the bedroom.
Determined to surprise her, I decided to try my hand at making breakfast. Thankfully, I had groceries delivered yesterday and a full fridge. The issue was that I couldn’t cook many breakfast dishes well. Not unless I had a chef like Luca in front of me giving specific instructions.
I was pretty sure I had an old cookbook in here somewhere. That would have to be a substitute.
Filtering through the contents of the pantry while being as quiet as I could, I searched for the book. It had to be on one of these shelves. So far, I had found old receipts, dusty Tupperware, and a half-empty bag of flour. My hands gripped the edge of the book at the back of the shelf and I pulled it out.
One dust off later and I had in my hands50+ Simple Comfort Recipes for Beginners. Perfect.
Leaning against the counter, I flipped through the pages in search of something easy. And something that wouldn’t take a million years, because I was starving. After a minute, I had a plan.
A frittata for both of us.
French toast for Macey. Plus a bite for me.
Soon enough the kitchen smelled of cinnamon, and eggshells cluttered the counter. I glanced frequently at the cookbook as I stirred vegetables into the skillet. Not professional-looking by any means, but it was better than grilled cheese for breakfast.
The bedroom door opened with a soft creak, and moments later, a soft hand pressed against my back. Macey stood next to me, her hair down and tousled from sleep, a smile on her face. She wore one of my old T-shirts, and the sight of it made me want to drag her back to the bedroom.
Breakfast first.
“Good morning, Scribbles.” I inserted the skillet into the oven. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
She gasped when she saw the bread and cinnamon sugar on the counter. “Are you making French toast?”
“Yes.”
“You’re willingly touching carbs. Who are you and what have you done to Noah Hansley?”
I grinned. “I’m evolving.”
Her eyes raked down my body—okay, I “forgot” to put on a shirt—and went back to the stove, where I was starting to cook the French toast. “I like it. Is there anything I can do?”
Using one hand, I pointed to the coffeepot on the edge of the counter. “Want to get coffee going?”
Macey coughed into her elbow then nodded. “Easy.”
“How did you sleep?” That was the kind of question boyfriends asked, right?
She measured out the ground coffee and added it to the filter. “Good. I don’t usually knock out like that.”
