Where are you, Bookworm?
The smell of buttery pancakes hits as I close in on the kitchen, then I find her, bare legs swinging as she sits on the island, lost in a book like she didn’t just shave five years off my life.
“Morning,” I greet, already walking in her direction. She looks up, that dimple winking at me. Relief flutters through.
Fuck. It’s damn good to see that.
“Hey, I made breakfast.”
“I can see that.” A tower of pancakes sits beside her. “I also saw that you weren’t in our bed.” My hands slide up her thighs. “New rule, you don’t leave until I say so.” I kiss the spot behind her ear. Her laugh tells me she knows I’m teasing, even if a part of me isn’t.
“Hunger came knocking,” she says. “And you were sleeping so peacefully.”
“Wake me next time.” I kiss her cheek, then tap my knuckles on the counter. “Feels like déjà vu.”
“Last night,” she starts.
Her cheeks tinge pink, and it hits us both at the same time. She’d woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. When she slipped back into bed, she snuggled into me, shifting closer and rubbing against me without realizing. Not until she felt exactly what she was pressing into.
Her gasp.
My involuntary moan.
Her mortified groan that somehow made me laugh.
I turned her to face me, kissing her until she was breathless. When I searched her eyes and she nodded, I lifted her leg around my waist and grinding against her while being fully clothed. I watched as her eyes rolled back in pleasure.
She’d touched me gradually, with haste, hesitantly at first, still unsure on what to do. But every reaction she dragged out of me gave her confidence.
Her grip was firm, curiosity dancing in her pupils. My body answered immediately, and my head dropped into the crook of her neck. Her lips twitched, a smile she didn’t quite manage to hide.
I think she liked that, seeing what she did to me.
We fell apart together, slow and messy.
It was perfect.
She still hasn’t seen all of me, doesn’t know how much I relish in control in the bedroom. My body wants to take. My mind holds the reins. She comes first—always.
I won’t dump my desire on her. Not while she’s still learning what she likes, what she wants. While I want to toss her aroundand have her scream my name six ways to Sunday, she needs safety, and I’m just fine going at her pace.
“Last night,” she says again. “It was… I mean, you…” She stops, unable to finish.
“I know, baby.” My thumb strokes her thigh. “Me too.”
Her forehead rests against mine.
“I like having permanent sleepovers with you.”
My heart does that stupid Grinch thing and grows, but ten times instead of three. God, she says things without knowing what they do to me.
“Oh yeah?” I slide my hand up beneath the hem of the T-shirt I know I’ll never get back. “I think I need clarity on what happens at these sleepovers.”
Her breath catches. “Well, I’m not exactly an expert. The only sleepovers I’ve ever had have been with my boyfriend. We eat food, watch movies, and…” She gasps when my thumb grazes the underside of her breast.
“Did he do that?” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers, breath trembling when I repeat the touch but slower this time.
