“I woke up with a massive hard-on,” he murmurs, peppering soft kisses along my neck. “I wonder why.”
“I wonder.” I tilt my head, giving him better access because apparently I have no self-control.
He slides his hands under my shirt, his palms warm against my skin. “It could be because I’m a guy and sometimes my dick does what it wants.”
“It’s a possibility,” I breathe, my body coming to life with every gentle caress.
“It could be because it wanted attention this morning.” His thumbs trace upward, and my breath hitches as he nears my breasts.
“Could be.”
When he ghosts a finger over my nipple, I can’t reel in the whimper that escapes, desire flooding through me, especially between my legs.
“Or,” he says, his voice deepening, “it could be because I had a dream.”
“What kind of dream?”
“One where I threw caution to the wind and finally did what I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.”
He squeezes a nipple, and I release a desperate moan, which he swallows with a kiss.
“I got to touch you,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my jaw. “Taste you. Fuck you.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” I whisper.
“Thank god.” He slams his mouth against mine, yanking my body against his.
Despite the desperation in his hold, his kiss isn’t rushed or frantic. It’s slow and claiming and warm. His hands continue roaming my frame, moving toward the waistband of my shorts, and for a moment, I forget we’re standing in the kitchen of the house where I’m technically employed.
Until Jemmy’s babbles sound from the monitor, calling for his dada.
Hayden groans against my mouth, but doesn’t immediately release me. Instead, he rests his forehead on mine, staying in this moment, his thumbs absent-mindedly brushing my hipbone.
“My friends always said kids are the most effective form of birth control,” he mutters. “Turns out they weren’t lying.”
I laugh, still somewhat breathless from his kiss. “They always have terrible timing, don’t they?”
“The worst.” He drops one last kiss to my lips before reluctantly stepping back. “Guess I’m on duty.”
“Do you want?—”
“It’s your day off,” he interrupts before I can finish my question. “Go do something fun. Walk dogs. Do yoga. Whatever it is twenty-nine-year olds do.” He flashes me a smile before his expression shifts into something darker. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
He leans in, brushing his mouth along the sensitive spot below my ear. “Promise you won’t touch yourself today.”
My stomach somersaults.
“I want all your orgasms. Every single one. Okay?” He pulls back slightly, one brow raised in challenge.
The audacity.
The confidence.
The very unfairness of how good he looks saying that.
Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
