Noah finishes making breakfast and I put away the food. We move together and around each other in my tiny kitchen with a practiced ease that belies the length of our relationship. It feels comfortable, like it’s always been this way.
I set out plates and cutlery at the bar and then settle on a stool to watch as he puts the finishing touches on breakfast. That’s right, my man makes me fresh whipped cream to top off my stack and garnishes with strawberry slices. I know I’m a lucky bitch. The guy’s seriously racking up the boyfriend-slash-baby-daddy points these days.
He serves me and then proceeds to wash up the dirty pans before taking his seat, becauseNoah.
I watch as he dips his arms into the soapy water, his muscles shifting and bulging as he scrubs. More near-swooning ensues. It’s seriously been happening a lot.
Can you call a man a smoke show? ‘Cause that’s what he is.
Noah notices me noticing him and he rakes his gaze slowly over my body. I feel it like a physical touch, heat rising on my skin.
I bite my lip and he licks his in response.
“Noah,” I whine.
“If you don’t stop eye-fucking me right now we’re going to have a problem,” he says all growly and low.
I huff out an amused breath. “You’re just throwin’ ‘em all around now, huh?”
He shoots me a questioning look.
“F-bombs,” I answer, and he shrugs, fighting a smile. “Besides, I really don’t see how it’s a ‘problem,’” I add a little breathlessly. “You know how horny I’ve been lately.”
“I guess we should do something about that then,” he says softly, seductively.
I shiver and my core heats.
Aaaand… then his phone rings.
Noah grunts and reaches for it to check the caller ID. He frowns then presses the decline button returning it to his pocket. I can tell even before he says anything that whoever it was, they’ve ruined the mood.
“We should eat,” he says roughly, coming around the counter to join me. He takes the stool beside mine, picking up his fork, but then he mostly just moves the food around on his plate.
After breakfast, I put on a movie and we doze on the couch together for the remainder of the morning. At one point Noah stretches out with his head on my lap and his feet hanging off the end. It doesn’t look all that comfortable and I urge him to go lie down for a while in the bedroom, but he insists he wants to stay with me. I stroke my fingers through his hair and stare down at him fondly, my heart constricting in my chest. His face is so much softer in sleep. He looks peaceful without his frequent frown lines, though there are dark circles under his eyes and his jaw is rough with stubble. He didn’t shave after his shower, another indicator of his exhaustion.
Soon enough I find my eyelids becoming heavy as well, and I rest my head back against the couch.
A heavy kick to my ribs jolts me awake and I lift my head to find Noah propped up on his elbows and blinking sleepily at my belly.
“Was that–?”
I chuckle softly. “Yeah. Sorry it woke you.”
But Noah just shakes his head and slips a palm under my shirt to cup my stomach. I grab his wrist and move it around to where the baby has resumed its assault on my insides.
“Never gets old,” he murmurs and there is so much emotion held in those dark eyes.
I rewind our show and we pick up watching from where we left off before we crashed, but I feel his eyes on me throughout the episode.
“What are you looking at?” I ask, squirming a little under his intense stare. “The TV’s over there, you know.”
“You. I’m looking at you.”
And there’s those hormones again, though I’m no longer thinking about that raccoon.
“Oh yeah?” my voice is husky.
“Yeah,” he says, and I watch as he adjusts his growing bulge.
