"Is this what you were fantasizing about last night?" I can't help but ask as I stroke him through his pants as best I can,gripping him tight. He's so fucking big, my hand barely closes around him, but that doesn't stop me.
"No. You were spread across my bed, naked," he snarls, slipping two fingers inside me. "You were greedy for it, sweetness."
I moan, rocking against his hand.
"I'm n-not sleeping with you," I remind him. I don't know why. His fucking fingers are inside me, making me see Jesus. I think it's pretty evident that I will, in fact, be sleeping with him.
"You will," he says confidently, slanting his mouth down over mine. "But not yet. Right now, you're going to come on my fingers as hard as you came on your own last night."
I choke on his name, already halfway there. Every time he curls his fingers, he just sends me careening closer to the edge. But I want him to go over with me, like he did last night.
I release his cock long enough to tug his zipper down before plunging my hand inside.
"Fuck!" he practically shouts, his head kicking back, the corded veins of his neck standing out stark against his skin. His hips buck and roll wildly. "Fuck, Tia. Just like that."
I stroke him hard, loving the way he feels against my palm. Loving the way his breath stutters and he gasps my name. Loving the way his body trembles. He's so fucking beautiful when he wants to come.
Apparently, he thinks the same thing about me, because he's a man on a mission now. His thumb runs circles around my clit, his fingers curling inside me again and again. I hear how wet I am every time he moves.
"That's it," he croons, his body shaking. "That's it, beautiful."
I come with a loud cry, unraveling around him. My body goes electric, and then supernova, blood rushing in my ears in a torrent of sound.
He grunts my name, and then I feel his hot, sticky seed spilling down my fingers. I keep working him, claiming every drop until he's trembling and gasping for breath above me, his eyes wild and dilated. He doesn't look away from me, not once.
I've never felt so seen, so wanted…so perfect.
"Goddamn," he rasps when smoke starts to fill the kitchen, pulling his fingers away with a groan. He strides across the kitchen, flipping off burners and moving pans aside, a look of chagrin on his face. "I think I burnt your breakfast."
I slide down from the island, my legs wobbling, and peer into the pan of bacon, shrugging. "I'll still eat it."
He looks at me sideways. "It's burnt."
"It's bacon, Briggs. Even burnt bacon is still delicious bacon."
His lips curve, his expression softening as I move to the sink to wash my hands. "And you called me a psychopath."
"I did no…" I trail off when he quirks a brow, daring me to finish that sentence. "Fine, maybe I insinuated that your MO was inspired by psychopaths."
He just chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of my head before nudging me away from the sink to wash his hands. "Go sit. I'll make your plate."
"My plate?"
"Yeah, yours."
"You aren't eating?"
He shoots me another of those disarming smiles. "I ate hours ago, Tia. Besides, I have to be at the airport soon."
He ate hours ago?
I gape at him. "It's six in the morning."
"I'm aware, but I was up at four." My nose wrinkles, making him chuckle. "Don't look at me like that. I'm usually at the arena by five."
"And you think you aren't a psychopath," I mutter, deadpan.
He just laughs.
