She pouts slightly, lips full and parted. “Yes, sir.”
The breathy way she says it does not help my already frayed self-control.
My jaw flexes. “Don’t say things you don’t understand, Blair,” I warn.
She ignores me. Of course she does, That defiant streak in her is relentless.
Instead, she rises on tiptoe, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. Just a taste. A question.
God help me, I want to give her the answer she’s begging for.
My control slips just enough for me to kiss her, slowly and deeply. She melts into me, like she always does, like we’re already fused at the core. It terrifies me how right this feels. How quickly she’s burrowed into my life, into my chest, into my blood.
I pull back before I lose myself. She whines, reaching for me again, but I chuckle, stepping away.
“Sit your greedy ass down,” I say, swatting her butt lightly. “You’re getting fed. Then I’m fixing you a warm bath.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I do. Taking care of you after sex isn’t optional, Blair. It matters. So let me do this.”
She bites her lip, then nods, sliding onto the barstool, and I feel a quiet ripple of victory roll through me.
Once the food’s ready, I plate it carefully, grab a fork and a cold bottle of water, then bring it over to her.
“It smells amazing,” she says, smiling wide as she leans in to breathe it in.
She takes her first bite of the pasta, and the soft moan that slips out of her makes something in my chest pull tight, in the best possible way.
I settle into the seat beside her, content just being close. “Are you sore?” I ask, knowing exactly what I just put her body through.
She blushes, nodding. “More than I was when I lost my virginity,” she says with a little laugh.
I don’t laugh back. The thought of someone else ever having touched her sits wrong with me. I know it’s irrational, she’s not mine, and she has every right to have a past. But that caveman shit is hard to keep down when it comes to her.
I’m grateful when she changes the subject.
“So, your brother owns Luxe.”
“Yeah, he does.”
“Tell me about him. Is he older or younger?” she asks between bites. Her tone is light, but there’s genuine curiosity in her eyes. Normally, I don’t share much about my familywith anyone outside my circle, but with Blair, it feels easy. It feels right.
“He’s older by eleven months.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, Irish twins? That’s so cute! Do you guys look alike?”
I chuckle, the memories bringing a faint smile to my face. “If you ask my mom, we’re two peas in a pod. But I don’t see it.”
She laughs, soft and warm, like sunlight slipping through the cracks. Something about it just hits. I watch her a second too long, unable to stop myself.
That laugh…
What the hell is in it that makes me want to chase it? Bottle it?
Makes me want to spend every damn day finding new ways to pull it from her lips, loud, breathless, mine?
“What about your dad?” she asks gently. “How did he pass?”
