“Oh, great. You’re one of those people.”
I whirl around, orange juice sloshing from the container and down my chin at the intrusion.
Ezra is leaning against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, in nothing but his joggers from last night, and they are slung low. And I meanlow. So damn low that I can very clearly make out the V that points straight down.
It’s hot.He’shot.
“Pardon?”
He nods toward the juice in my hand. “You drink straight from the carton.”
“Oh shit. I did, didn’t I?” I replace the cap, then slide it back into the fridge. “My bad.”
He grins, and it looks so ... easy. It’s almost disarming. I’m not used to him smiling. I’m used to the frowny Grump Ass version of him.
But this ... this I could get used to. I could like thistoomuch.
“It’s fine,” he says, pushing off the wall and padding into the kitchen until he’s standing next to me. He opens the fridge and retrieves the carton I just put away. He twists off the cap and takes a large swig before saying, “I do it too.”
Something tugs low in my belly, and even though I’ve had three incredible orgasms in the last twelve hours, every part of me could go for another, and I still don’t think it would be enough.
The thought is terrifying because ithasto be enough. This can’t happen again. I am technically his employee for the time being. It goes against so many rules, and the last thing I want is to lose this kitchen because I can’t seem to keep my pants on around him.
This was a onetime thing only.
“Sleep okay?” he asks, still grinning. Still disarming me, and it makes me wonder ...Does this really have to be the last time?
My cheeks heat because I can justhearthe insinuation in his voice.Sleep okay?sounds more likeGet fucked okay?The answer to both is the same.
“Uh, yeah. Has anyone ever told you that your bed is absurdly comfy?”
“Considering I’ve never had anyone else in my bed before, no.”
He puts the carton away and closes the fridge, then turns to me like he didn’t just announce that so casually. As if it’s not completely loaded with so many things that my brain can hardly process right now.
Ezra brought me to his house. Ezra took me into his bed. Ezra fucked me until I could barely keep my eyes open.
I want to ask him why me, but that’s likely the beginning of a whole different conversation, one I’m not quite sure we’re ready for.
“So,” he starts, taking a step toward me, and I find myself holding my breath. Why? I don’t know. But I seem to do a lot of things that I don’t understand when it comes to Ezra, like sleeping with my employer, for starters. “Breakfast?”
“You have nothing here, remember?”
“I have cereal and milk.”
I lift a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah? Why do you sound surprised by that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t really peg you as a cereal kind of guy. I can’t imagine you sitting on the couch with a bowl of Cheerios, watching TV or anything.”
“That’s because it’s not Cheerios, it’s Froot Loops, and I would never eat it on the couch. I’d eat in bed with the TV on.”
It’s safe to say I was a bit preoccupied when Ezra carried me into his bedroom last night, so I didn’t notice the television he has in there until this morning.
It surprised me, mostly because I just can’t picture Ezra sitting down to scroll Netflix or something. He seems like he’s always too busy for that.
“I don’t sleep much, remember? I need something other than work to keep me occupied in the middle of the night,” he explains as if he can tell I’m trying to sort that out in my mind.
