“Hmm, this is nice,” she says with approval.
“I know. I’m very cuddly.”
I’m holding myself in a way that allows me to see her frown as fragments from last night come back to her. “Did I compare you to a wombat yesterday?”
“It was this morning, but yes.”
She grimaces, lets out an embarrassed whimper, and buries her face in my biceps under her. When she’s recomposed herself enough, she twists to meet my eyes apologetically. “I’m so sorry for coming here in the middle of the night. I don’t know why I did that.”
“Oh, I know exactly why. You were very clear aboutwhy,” I tease. Her cheeks go from pink to red, and I lay a kiss on the apple of one. “I really didn’t mind, love. Feel free to come to me anytime you want some dick.”
“Just not when I’m hammered.”
“Well, I’d fuck you tipsy, but not when you can barely walk straight.”
“Really? I was that far gone?”
I nod. “But at least you didn’t get sick, so it seems Kensingtonsareabove that.”
“Oh, God,” she whines, remembering more. “Next time, don’t let me in, okay?”
“I'llalwayslet you in, red.”
My hold on her tightens, and she wriggles closer to me. With her bum against my crotch, I’m hard as hell between us. But neither of us does anything about it, aware that she can’t handle it right now.
After several minutes of silence have passed, I begin to think she’s asleep again. “Love?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I know Sundays are your special days free of human contact to recharge from the week, but if you want to spend it here, I promise I’ll give you all the space you want.”
She ponders for a moment, and I tell myself she’ll refuse, so I’m ready for the rejection. I fully expect it to go that way when she says, “I have some work to do today. But as long as I have a computer and internet, I’m good to do it here.”
“Well, you’re in luck because while we’re not as advanced as the Upper East Side, we do have Wi-Fi here in Brooklyn.” She lets out a small, lazy giggle. “And you can have my laptop. I’ll use my tablet.”
“Perfect.”
After another few beats of silence, I ask, “Do you want me to cook breakfast?”
More thinking on her part and, “Where’s my phone?”
“I think your clutch is still on the bathroom floor. Let me get it.”
I slip out and return within seconds, handing her the tiny bag. I watch as she extracts her phone from it. “Crap, I’ll need a charger, too,” she notes.
“Not a problem either.”
When she opens a food delivery app, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Ordering breakfast so you can stay right here while someone else handles it.”
“Really?” I chuckle.
“Yes. As much as I love your cooking, right now, I need you to be my emotional support wombat and cuddle with me until my brain stops hurting.” She tilts her head sideways to meet my eyes and asks, “You think you can do that?”
“I definitely can, yes.”
We move in unison to share a kiss, our lips meeting with eagerness. I let her dictate the mood, willing to take whatever she can give in her state, and when she unlocks her jaw to demand more, I happily indulge. In seconds, we’re tongue-fucking each other’s mouths, her hand reaching back to hold my neck while mine cups and fondles her breasts under the T-shirt. I can’t stop my hips from grinding onto her when she begins writhing, and I feed on the little moans and gasps she lets out, which end in my mouth.
