I watch him, propped on my elbow, and the movement makes my whole body protest again. I wince before I can hide it.
Antonio’s eyes flick to my face immediately.
“There it is,” he says, satisfied.
“Shut up,” I tell him, but it’s weak. It’s affectionate. It’s compromised.
He looks far too pleased with himself. “I told you.”
“You did,” I admit, because denying it is pointless.
He reaches out and slides his hand up my thigh, slow, stopping just shy of the sore place. His fingers hover like he’s tempted to test me.
My breath catches anyway.
His gaze locks on mine. “Still sore?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
He smiles like he’s been given a gift. “Good.”
“You’re a menace,” I say, and try to sound stern.
He leans in and kisses me again, a quick, warm press of lips. “Your menace.”
I should correct him. I should be offended. I should have a list of reasons why this is reckless and irresponsible and exactly the kind of thing I don’t do.
Instead, I feel my mouth curve and I hate how easy it is.
He shifts the phone in his hand. “Breakfast,” he says again, firm. “What do you want?”
“Coffee,” I say instantly.
He chuckles. “Of course.”
“And something… salty,” I add, because my stomach is a little too hollow.
He nods like he’s taking it seriously, then pauses. “You want it here?”
“Where else?” I ask.
He lifts a brow. “We could go downstairs.”
I stare at him. “Not a chance in hell.”
He grins. “You said you can walk.”
“I can,” I say stubbornly.
He looks at me with an amused tilt of his head.
I glare at him. I shift to sit up—and immediately regret it. My body feels like it’s made of bruises and pleasure. Thesheet slips down my chest, and Antonio’s gaze drops with it. He makes a sound under his breath like a prayer.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, because the look in his eye is dangerous.
“I’m not doing anything,” he says, innocent in a way that is absolutely not convincing.
“You’re thinking,” I accuse.
