Marceline licked my hand again, more insistently.
“Okay,” I said. My voice came out rough. “I'm up.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and both dogs immediately pressed against my shins, wiggling with the forceof their excitement. Bubblegum rested her chin on my knee. Marceline tried to climb into my lap.
“Not designed for this,” I told her, but I was already scratching behind her ears. “You're not a lapdog.”
She disagreed.
I found my boxers on the floor, pulled them on and headed to the bathroom first to take care of business. Thought about finding my jeans too, once I finished, but the dogs were already leading me toward the door, and the smell of coffee was stronger now.
Jamie was at the counter with his back to me, wearing only his boxers and—
My flannel shirt. The one I'd worn yesterday. It swallowed him completely, sleeves rolled three times at the cuffs, hem hitting him mid-thigh.
Something primal clenched in my chest.Mine. This man in my clothes, in my arms last night, riding my cock, looking like he belonged there.
Like he'd always belonged there.
“Morning,” he said without looking up. “Coffee's almost ready.”
I crossed the kitchen. Put my hands on his hips, bent down to press a kiss to the back of his neck.
He leaned into it. Tilted his head to give me better access. Made a small, satisfied sound that I felt more than heard.
“Dogs woke you up?”
“Kinda. Marceline has opinions about sleeping late.”
“Oh yeah, she always does.” He turned in my arms, looked up at me. His hair was mussed, his eyes soft with sleep, and there was a mark on his neck that I didn't remember leaving. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Thanks for not leaving in the middle of the night.”
My brow furrowed. “Did you think I would?”
Jamie shrugged a shoulder. “I hoped you wouldn't, but we didn't talk about it before I passed out.”
“Never crossed my mind.”
His smile widened. He rose up on his toes and kissed me, soft and brief, then pressed a mug into my hands.
“Good answer.” He turned back to the counter. “I can make eggs. Or there's bakery stuff Brandy brought me Friday, pastries.”
“I can cook.”
“You're a guest.”
“Let me help.”
His kitchen was small, with sloped ceilings, odd angles, barely big enough for one person. I had to duck under the cabinets, navigate around the island that ate most of the floor space. Every time we moved around each other, we touched. His shoulder against my arm. My hand on his lower back when I reached past him. His hip bumping mine when we ended up at the same counter.
I cracked eggs into a bowl while he fed the dogs.
“Tell me about your grandmother.”
My hands stilled.
