His bear rumbled appreciatively as her scent curled around him, warm and inviting. He loved her more than words could express. Hell, he hadn’t even expressed that yet, but he could show her, nonetheless.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead, Elliott murmured, “I missed you. Now go to sleep.”
“Give me an orgasm first,” she grumbled, nipping his shirt to emphasize she meant it.
He spanked her softly, then brought his fingers around to her front, dipping inside her panties and finding her warm and wet. Though she was tired, she whimpered when he teased everywhere but her clit and writhed against him when he found his mark. It wasn’t long before she shattered with a raspy cry, then fell asleep, just as he’d intended.
Disentangling their bodies, he slipped from bed, tucked Fern in, and shuffled into the bathroom. With his eyes closed and his cock wrapped in his fist, Elliott pictured her ass-up, letting him fuck her from behind. He came in approximately twenty seconds. Then he hopped in the shower, dressed quietly, and crept out to the kitchen.
With “Fern’s Playlist” on low, Elliott made a coffee, took a quick bong rip, and got down to the fine business of making a quiche. In a rare moment of genius, he even ran his food processor out to the studio to mix up thecrust without waking Fern.
His mind percolated on thoughts of her while he prepped the filling and put his pie in the oven. Timer set, he took to the back porch to think more about the woman he loved and glare at squirrels.
Fifty-four minutes later, Elliott pulled out the quiche to cool. As he turned from the oven to the island, Fern padded from his room, barefoot and barely dressed. In the middle of fixing her hair, her raised arms lifted her breasts and pulled her pink panties tight over her pussy.
“Fuck.” She was beautiful.
Her smile gleamed, caught up in sunlight streaming through the windows. “Should I put a shirt on?”
Elliott groaned. “Probably?”
Laughing, she covered her breasts with cupped hands, and he grunted. “And what if I don’t? I need a shower. What did you make? That smells so good.”
“Quiche, but it needs at least half an hour to cool. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“I need you rested if you want to mate today.”
“I’m not tired,” she whined, slinking toward him with the tips of her floral-capped fingers trailing suggestively down her stomach. “I want to get fucked.”
“We’re not doing this right now, as much as I want to.”
Pouting, she said, “Fine. I won’t sleep, but I’ll shower.”
“I’ll watch.”
She was naked in a flash, scampering into the bathroom with him hot on her heels. He didn’t make her come again, but he got close, unable to keep his hands from wandering her body as he helped her from just beside the open glass door.
He got food, she got dressed, they met up in the living room, and Elliott settled beside Fern on the sofa, depositing their plates and coffees on the table. She still looked sleepy, like she could curl up and take a nap at any moment. As much as he wanted to peel off her cute flowery overalls and cropped white tee, she needed to refuel, so he practiced patience.
“Eat,” Elliott commanded.
“My piece is bigger than yours!” It was a quarter of the pie.
“Yeah, well, you’re going to be going through the sickness. I want you fed before it settles in.”
She picked at her quiche while he downed his in two bites. After a coffee chaser, he snatched Fern’s fork from her hand and loaded it with an enormous piece.
“What are you—?”
“Open up.”
“I can feed myself.”
His bear grumbled at her protestations, and he had to agree with the beast. Shewasbeing ridiculous. “You can, but you’re not. I’m feeding you. Now open up.”
Laughing, she played along, letting him shove the fork in her mouth.
