"Ithink we overslept," I whispered, my voice thick with sleep as my hands slid over her exposed skin.
The murmur Megan made was the sound of someone who had no intention of leaving the bed. I turned her so our faces met, confirming the she was even more beautiful at dawn. My stomach growled for food, but I just wanted to stay in this bubble. Her phone rang, and I handed it to her, my fingers lingering on her lazy grip.
"Your phone is the one that woke me up," I murmured against her ear, my hand tracing the valley of her abdomen. She mumbled something about her mother and a friend.
"I’ll talk to them later. Elisa is probably trying to get my mom to wear something other than gray or black for New Year’s, and my mom... well, she probably won the sex game," Megan explainedwith a tired laugh. I pulled her head to my chest. "I mentioned the strip poker at the nursing home, right?"
"You did. Tell Vanessa I want a spot there," I joked. "Your mother seemed so much quieter the few times I saw her."
"She was keeping up the facade of a judge’s wife," Megan noted. "It was only after my father passed that she truly became independent."
"Do you want breakfast here or in the kitchen?" I asked.
She grumbled in response, so I simply picked her up. Carrying her was the fulfillment of a teenage dream I didn't know I had.
"You’re spoiling me, Mrs. Calama," she teased as her feet hit the cold bathroom floor.
"I’d spoil you every morning if you let me," I promised.
After we both freshened up, we made our way to the kitchen.
An employee had left carafes of hot drinks, and we thanked him in unison. I poured her coffee, but she declined the sugar bowl with a sharp gesture.
"We can ring in the New Year at a party, but only if you want to. My initial plan was just to stay here with you..." I started, but she arched an eyebrow, prompting me to continue. I lost my composure for a second as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.
"What do you mean? Elaborate on that," she challenged.
"A BDSM club is organizing a masquerade for New Year’s. The costumes are..."
"I don't know," she interrupted, her brow furrowing. "I’m worried someone will recognize me. You’re like Superman wearing glasses, Kels and everyone knows who you are."
"If we go, I thought we could wear wigs," I suggested with a grin.
"I want a pink bob, like inCloser," she declared suddenly.
"I can get you the wig," I began, but she raised a hand to stop me.
"I want the whole costume," she insisted. I swallowed hard. The thought of Megan in Natalie Portman’s pink wig and that outfit was enough to drive me insane. "If we’re going to hell, I want to burn. You can call me Jane Jones."
"Is this a new kink of yours?" I asked, smiling as she hopped onto my lap.
"Of course it is! I’ve never had the freedom to wear a costume like that as an adult. Especially one so sexy," she admitted.
"You’ll be completely free there. You don't even have to be my submissive, especially since we don't have a formal contract. I’ll just be in a suit, like thecrybabyfrom the movie."
"The crybaby is Clive Owen," she corrected.
"I know, honey bun. I know those scenes by heart," I whispered.
"Then we just need a room with a pole and a couch," she teased, stirring her coffee. I bit my lip, already mentally making the arrangements. "But Kels... does a party like that mean I can be with anyone?"
"Technically, yes, Megs," I said reluctantly. A sudden, possessive heat flared in my chest; I realized I’d probably have the guards break the hand of anyone who dared touch her. "But your bodyis yours. I don't want to deprive you of anything, even if the idea makes me uncomfortable."
"I don't think I want that," she confessed, leaning into me. "The idea of others touching me... what if I only want to be yours?"
"I’d love to interfere with your choices," I admitted, kissing her shoulder. "One more thing, I have to work a bit today. I’m sorry I can’t spend the whole day with you."
"It’s fine, Kels. I think I’ll visit the Van Gogh Museum. Do you mind?" she asked.
