He chuckled. “Well, he sounds like a great guy any way you look at it. But you know, he’s not the only one who can go three times in one night. Are you not in that equation?”
“I am.”
“So I’d reckon you’d have to be just as good, if not better. I bet you’d have a long list of guys waiting in line . . . I mean, I saw how that pizza delivery guy was looking at you. You must get that all the time.”
I scoffed. “I wouldn’t say the line is long. And I saw just how you didn’t like how that pizza delivery guy was checking me out. Someone seemed a little jealous.”
“I was not jealous.”
“I don’t mind—”
“I wasn’t jealous. I just didn’t think it was appropriate that he ogle you so blatantly in your house, like some creepy weirdo.”
“Mm, I like jealous you. It’s kinda hot.”
He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t jealous.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So you won’t mind if I call the pizza shop and order another delivery. I could invite him in and let him fuck me over the back of the sofa. I mean, if you only want sex once a night, maybe that guy can go twice—”
He pounced on me, pushing me onto my back and lifting my knee up as he settled his weight between my legs. Smiling, he kissed me. “I’ll give you your three times, you bossy shit.”
I laughed and draped my arms around his neck, bringing him in for another kiss. “One down, two to go.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Only when he’s willing.”
And holy hell, was he willing and did I ever get what I wanted.
I fell asleep around three in the morning, so wrung out I couldn’t move, couldn’t keep my eyes open. I fully intended to tell him maybe twice was enough. I was going to be sore. But he collapsed beside me, a sweaty, smiling mess, and I closed my eyes just for a second, only to catch my breath.
I woke up just before eight, sunlight streaming into my room. I stretched out, smiling at the ache in my muscles and in my arse, and I rolled over . . .
To find him sound asleep next to me.
Well, shit.
And so, God help me, in the morning light, naked in my sheets, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He had morning scruff, long eyelashes, his lips parted just so . . .
My heart thumped, strong and steady, telling me what I already knew. Sure, it was still uncomplicated. It was just sex, and our arrangement was great. But there were also some fun conversations, laughs, food, and intense chemistry I’d not felt with anyone.
The truth was, if the offer of more was ever on the table, I’d take it. Complications be damned.
I’d not woken up with a guy in my bed for a long, long time.
I liked it.
I wished I could stay there all day, but I had some errands to run before lunch. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. I showered quickly and dressed in jeans and a plain navy T-shirt. That was me, a sensible dresser. Stylish, yes. Expensive, yes. But I’d never be cool enough to wear something like the Purple Rain T-shirt that was strewn over the couch.
I smiled as I made fresh coffee and toast, and I hoped the smell would wake a certain sleeping beauty. Or maybe it was me ‘accidentally’ banging a plate on the counter or a cup in the sink . . .
Sure enough, I heard a toilet flush and a very sleep rumpled gorgeous him emerged. He was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and a sheepish smile. “Guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”
I slid a coffee over toward him. “Don’t apologise. We wore ourselves out.”
“Yeah, it’s that three-times rule, I think.” He smiled as he sipped his coffee. “Oh, this is good, thanks.”
“Yeah, I think my arse might agree that twice might be enough.”
He lowered his coffee, his gaze trained on mine. “Are you . . . did I hurt you? Shit, Michael, I—”
I put my hand up and shook my head, my heart thrilling at him saying my name. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. You didn’t hurt me. I seem to remember me begging you to fuck me harder last night. And I’m one hundred percent certain you did exactly as I asked.”
His concern gave way to a smile. “I remember that too.”
The toast popped up and I handed it to him on a plate with the butter and a knife. “What would you like on it?”
“Just plain butter is fine, thanks,” he said. He buttered his toast and demolished the first two pieces, so I popped in some more. “I, um, I don’t know where my clothes are.”
“Well, your shirt’s over there,” I said, pointing to the far couch. “And I think your jeans got thrown . . .” I walked over and sure enough, they were behind the couch. I picked them up. “Here.”
He laughed. “I don’t remember throwing them there.” The toast popped up and he climbed off the stool at the breakfast bar and hurriedly went about buttering them. “You have to butter them while they’re hot. There’s a small window of toast with melted butter perfection.”
I snorted. “Is that right?”
Him standing in my kitchen wearing nothing but a towel, getting his own breakfast, and smiling like that was enough to catch my breath. He was so freaking cute . . .
A muffled buzzing noise sounded, and I tilted my head. “Can you hear that?”
He froze, listening. “Shit. That’s my phone.”
His phone?
I looked around the room. Where the hell was it? I followed the sound, closer to the couch we’d made out on, but then the buzzing stopped. “Dammit.” I pulled a few cushions up to no avail when it buzzed again. I dropped to the ground and found it pushed under the couch. “How the hell did it get under there?”
It was still buzzing and I made a point of not looking at it as I held it out to him, but when he turned it over, the name Dad was on the screen.
“Shit.”
“I’ll just give you some privacy,” I said, walking down the hall and into my bedroom. I could tell from the look on his face he wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. The smile, the relaxed body language were instantly gone.
I went into my bathroom and could hear the mumble of his voice, not the words exactly. It sounded a little heated, but mostly frustrated and resigned. After I’d fixed my hair a few times and brushed my teeth, I stripped my bed, shoved my sheets into the washing machine and set it going. When I listened, there was no more talking, so I went back out. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand. He looked . . . sad.
“Everything okay?”
His gaze shot to mine as though I’d startled him. “Oh, yeah. Just . . . he . . .” He sighed. “My dad . . .”
I waited for him to continue, wondering if he would or not.
He made a face. “He’s a good guy, he just expects a lot. And that’s not always a bad thing. He’s . . . very successful . . . at what he does.” He sighed. “Apparently he had plans with me this morning that I didn’t know about. Plans he didn’t tell me about. He just assumed . . . Anyway, things are a bit tense between us at the moment because of . . . my career choice. But it’s fine. We’ll be fine. When he gets over himself. He won’t be home when I get there anyway. He’s away this week. So I have plenty of alone time.”