I get dressed quickly, pulling on brown slacks and a loose linen shirt, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows. The chef is already up and in the kitchen, waiting to know what I’d like, waiting to fulfill an order I won’t be giving. At least not for myself.
“Good morning, Mr. Voss. Would you like me to make breakfast for two?” he asks, a glass between his chubby hands, polishing it absentmindedly.
“Just for one,” I answer, slowing just enough to talk. “I won’t be staying. Make her something nice, though.”
He nods, and I offer a wave as I pass around the corner, ignoring the sting that creeps into my chest at the thought of leaving her to eat breakfast alone. This was the deal, though. The boundaries, the structure, it’s all set. And structure keeps me sane — or, at least, it’s supposed to. And to keep that structure and that sanity, I need to get out of here sooner rather than later. But that doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of the morning.
I stop outside her door and raise my hand to knock, but hesitate. It’s still early, and the sun is still hauling itself out of the horizon’s line, which makes the sky a pale gold. She’s probably still asleep. Soft and warm, curled into the sheets she’d slept in alone last night. My hand lowers to the knob, and I ease the dooropen. Quietly I step into her room, and a blast of cold air from the AC hits me. White curtains hang half open, the shirt I’d given her last night puddled on the ground beside the bed, and her bag left open and abandoned beside the bathroom.
Then I see her curled up lying in the middle of the bed, swallowed by crisp white sheets. She’s wearing an oversized brown shirt with the neck cut out, pulled down on one shoulder revealing the swell of her breast. It’s strange to see her like this. She’s completely off her guard, no little wrinkle between her brows from scowling at me, and no huffed breaths of irritation. Just smooth, deep breathing and a softness that makes her look far more breakable than she is. She’s like a precious thing that needs to be taken care of, watched over, guarded. Something inside me tightens. “April,” I say quietly, but above a whisper. I cross slowly to the bed, but she doesn’t move. Just lets out a sleepy exhale with her lips parting slightly.God.
I sit down on the edge of the mattress; the bed dipping under my weight. Still, she doesn’t stir. I lift my hand to her face, my fingers gentle as they trace the line of her jaw and the hollow of her cheek. Her head turns, just slightly, and she nuzzles her face into the palm of my hand like it’s pure instinct. And the sound she makes…God, thatsound. A quiet little half-whimper, half-sigh, like I’ve done something she needed, like I’ve fulfilled some unspoken request from her dreams. It hits my ears like a blow to the chest. I shouldn’t be this affected, shouldn’t want to crawl into this bed and gather her against me.
Her lashes flutter as I trace the hollow of her eye with my thumb, surfacing slowly, her eyes barely open. “S’early,” she mumbles, too tired to even begin to question my presence.
“I know.” My words are barely a rasp as I lean a little closer, fully cupping her cheek.
“Mmm…” She curls into herself a little more, her knees pressing into my lower back. “Anthony?”
The way she says my name, sleep-rough and trusting, nearly undoes me. “Yes,” I say, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s me.” My fingers trail from her cheek down the column of her throat, resulting in a breathy little sigh before it turns back into deep, even breaths. I press gently against her shoulder, just enough to coax her to roll mostly onto her back. She’s so pliant, moving with me, blinking up at me just once like she’s caught between dreaming and waking. Her head tips back as my fingers trail up and around the back of her neck, before sinking in at her nape.
“Come on, princess,” I whisper, shifting my weight so I’m kneeling over her. “Wake up for me.”
She whines softly, her hand rising to my chest as if that’s justnaturalto her now. “You’re trying to make me do work, aren’t you?”
The snort that sneaks out of me is entirely involuntary. “No,” I say, my fingers clamping shut in her hair, securing my grip on her. “I justwantyou.”
Her breath hitches. Color rises in her cheeks, blooming pink under my hand. “You…wantme?”
I should pull away, create some distance, and stop myself from leaning over her like I own the bed she’s in, but I don’t. I don’t do any of that. “We should make the most of your ovulation window.” Her breath stutters. “I’m not—I’m—Anthony, I haven’t even brushed my teeth?—”
“Don’t care.” My knees move before I’ve even decided to, nudging hers beneath the blanket, making more space for myself. “You want to?” She blinks up at me. I can see she’s working on how to answer me, then she says, “I’m not even wearing lingerie.”
My brow furrows.Did I do that? Did I make her think she needed that?“You don’t need to be.”
April runs her fingers up the center of my chest, digging in just enough to make me feel it. Her throat works on a swallow, and her eyes, still clouded with the grogginess of sleep, dart from my eyes to my lips to my chest and back. “Okay,” she says, fully grasping the fabric in her fist. “Okay. Just don’t rip this shirt; it’s sentimental.”
It takes effort, genuine effort, not to scoff at the idea of negotiating over a damn shirt. But by the way she’s looking at me and has that hesitant plea in her voice, I can’t say no. I exhale through my nose and move over her, shifting the covers, revealing the NYU logo on her shirt and the tops of her bare thighs. Odd. I could have sworn her resumé had said her degree was from Columbia. “Thought you went to?—”
“It’s my dad’s.”
“Fine.” My hand flexes around the back of her neck as I turn her head slightly, just enough to fit between the line of her jaw and her shoulder, and press a kiss just beneath her ear. “I’ll be gentle with it.”
My lips trail from the sensitive spot beneath her ear down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. Her fingers loosen their grip on my shirt, sliding up to my shoulders, the softest little noise escaping her.
I should stop. I should pull away and beat it through my skull that this is just biology, that this is just a means to an end. But instead, I find myself pressing another kiss to her collarbone, my hand sliding from her neck down her side, tracing the curve of her hip through the thin, worn cotton of her shirt.
“God, yourbody,” I say, my fingers digging in just enough to get a little gasp out of her.
Her eyes flutter shut as I continue my exploration; this time in the early light of day instead of beneath the stars. My fingers find the hem of her shirt, slowly pushing it up to reveal the soft skin of her stomach. I lean down, pressing open-mouthed kissesto her abdomen, feeling the way her muscles tense and relax beneath my touch. This is inefficient. This isunnecessary.This is…Fuck, this isexactly what I want.
I don’t give the thought time to linger. My hands move to the buttons of my shirt, fumbling slightly as I work them open. April squints up at me as I open my shirt. She’s watching me with blown pupils and half-lowered lids. Her lips part like she’s dying to see what she saw last night. It’s so trusting,tootrusting, but I can’t bring myself to worry about it. Instead, I shrug out of my shirt, let it fall to the floor, and reach for the button of my slacks.
Her hands move to my chest, fingers tracing through the grey hairs over my muscles as if she can’t help herself. The rest of my clothes are gone before I’ve even fully realized, some other part of me taking hold and driving my hands, letting me justfeelandwatchandwant. Her nails dig in at my side just enough to snap me back, pulling me toward her, and I nearly groan in defeat.
Her legs part to let me in, and not a single part of me fights it. I settle between her thighs, the skin of her legs and stomach meeting mine. God, she’s sowarm, so receptive. Part of me wants to just take, claim, and lose myself in her entirely, but I don’t. I take my time, my hand sliding up the outside of her thigh, learning her responses in the light.
“Let’s get this off,” I say, dragging my fingers back to the bunched hem of her shirt around her waist. Her arms lift as I gently push it further up her body, coaxing her to sit up just enough that I can slip the fabric up her back and over her head. The peaks of her breasts harden in the cool air, and I lower my head, taking one of her nipples into my mouth.
