I’m laughing loudly as he carries me downstairs, slung over his shoulder. “Put me down, I can walk,” I complain without really wanting him to put me down at all.
“Mm. You could. But you might try to escape. I can’t risk it,” he says sternly, but the smile in his voice gives him away.
I punch my fists against his ass, pretending to fight him.
“Actually, that feels like a massage,” he tells me.
In the kitchen, he sets me down on the counter, wrapped in nothing but his bed sheet. “What if someone comes in?” I complain, trying to pull the sheet up.
“What if someone saw my wife naked?” he says, horrified, his brows shooting up as his eyes narrow. “I’d have to kill them,” he mumbles dangerously.
“Oh shush,” I laugh, swinging my legs playfully as he chuckles on his way to the coffee machine. He flicks it on.
“I’m starving,” he says, tugging the fridge open.
“I can make bacon and pancakes?” I say, moving to wiggle off the counter.
“Don’t you dare move,” he warns me. “I’m making breakfast for us.”
I wiggle back to where I was and watch him.
It’s not the first time I have a moment of guilt spin through me. Guilt because I should not be having fun. I should not be enjoying this as much as I am.
And last night, in the shower, I could explain that away if I wanted to. I could say it was a mistake, something that built up and just happened in a desperate moment where I lost control.
I can’t say the same for this morning.
This morning was slower, more intimate. It was sensual and playful.
I chose to be with him again.
And watching him comfortably make us breakfast, humming to himself, I know I will choose the same thing later.
We eat in the kitchen. Anton leans against the counter next to me and eats pancakes from a plate in his hand. I sit talking to him about my favorite breakfast when I was a kid with a plate of pancakes balanced on my lap.
“Just cereal?” he asks, shaking his head. “Plain old Froot Loops?”
“They aren’t plain, they are colorful and fun!” I say, horrified he would say such a thing about my favorite breakfast.
“I’m not sure. I feel like your favorite breakfast should be something more adventurous,” he says thoughtfully as he takes a bite out of his pancake.
“Well, maybe I haven’t tried enough breakfasts yet. Maybe I need to travel the whole world and try breakfasts everywhere before I choose a favorite.”
“Exactly. Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he nods excitedly, his enthusiasm making me giggle.
The problem is that it’s not just about the sex. Even though…dammit, the sex is mind-blowing in ways I didn’t know were possible. It’s notonlythat making me so attracted to him…
He makes me laugh. I’m genuinely having fun.
Our conversations flow so easily, and nothing between us feels forced or awkward in any way. We drift between serious topics and playful ones with ease.
He’s smart, funny, brilliant, and attentive. He listens. He shares. He genuinely seems to want to know about me. He asks me about what I like and what I dream of.
The bottom line is that I haven’t had this kind of connection with anyone before.
It’s strange to find it in the man who kidnapped me, but who am I to judge or question what’s happening? Last night, when I was falling asleep, I decided to just enjoy it for whatever it is. So, that’s what I’m doing.
Anton sets aside his empty plate and stands between my legs, pushing them apart so he can get closer to me. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to the edge of the counter. His lips find mine, and the kiss has my heart racing the moment his mouth locks over mine.
