SEVENTEEN
Haz
Kieran strode into the bedroom, carrying a wooden tray piled with plates. Since he was so tall, I couldn’t see what was on them, but the smells wafting over to the bed were making my stomach howl in starvation.
Almost dying and then having the best sex of your life had a way of making a guy hungry. Seriously, though, my legs were still shaking. Obviously, I knew sex with Kieran was going to be mind-blowing, butwow. Those actors on the porn apps could learn something from him.
“Eat.” Kieran was gruff, the plates banging a little with the force he set the tray over me.
My eyes bulged as I took in the stack of thick French toast swimming in melty butter, scrambled eggs, bacon, and short glass of orange juice. There was also water and a mug half filled with coffee. Alongside the mug was some creamer, and I added it in immediately.
“Did you run out of coffee?” I wondered, stirring the brew.
“You’re only getting half. You’re dehydrated,” he grouched.
The IV in my arm begged to differ, but I wasn’t about to complain. “This is more food than I eat all day sometimes,” Iexclaimed, grabbing a fork to dig into the French toast. I’d never seen it look so good. The diner I sometimes went to never made it like this.
If he said something, I didn’t hear. I was too busy stuffing food into my face.
The golden crust gave way to a soft, custard-like center, and the melted butter mixed perfectly with the flavors. Groaning, I fell back into the pillows, the fork sticking out of my grip.
“I think my tongue just had an orgasm,” I declared, going back for more.
“There’s maple syrup,” he said, gesturing to a small silver container with a spout. I hadn’t even noticed it.
I poured the entire thing over the stack.
“You’re going to get diabetes.”
“Oh my God,”I crooned the second the sweet flavor burst over my tongue. Shoveling another huge bite into my mouth, I groaned some more. “What is this?” I implored, picking up the empty container and trying to dump out more. “This is not at all like the syrup I get down at the handi-mart.”
“Because that crap is sugar water with chemicals,” he muttered. “That’s real maple syrup.”
Rich people food tasted so good.
I plowed through nearly all of the French toast before realizing he was staring. Swallowing, I set aside my fork. “Do you want some?”
“I ate.”
Shouldn’t he be in a better mood after the sex we’d just had?Maybe you’re the only one who liked it.The food in my mouth turned to dust, and I pushed the tray away and sat back, avoiding his gaze.
“Why’d you stop eating?”
“I’m full.”
“Too bad. Eat more,” he ordered.
“No.”
There went his eyebrow again. “I hope it’s on salary. It does a lot of heavy lifting.”
“What?” he asked, completely bewildered.
“Your eyebrow,” I stated. “It’s forever flying up your forehead. Must be exhausted.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Looking past him, I noted the windows. “Where’s the button for those blinds?”
