Needing to feel his skin against mine, I quickly pulled my shirt off. He pulled his jeans down further, stepping on the legs to try and get out of them. Skinny jeans looked great on him but they were a pain in the arse to get off. He had to sit on the edge of the bed to pull them off, and by the time he was free of them, I had mine off and the bed covers pulled back.
He crawled in and I pulled him into my arms. “I’m so tired,” he breathed.
I squeezed him and kissed the side of his head. “Sleep, baby.”
He chuckled, snuggling in, and a few moments later, he was asleep.
My heart was full and happy, and I smiled at the ceiling until my dreams took me.
I woke up to Michael stretching out beside me like a cat. He let out a husky laugh and disappeared under the covers and slid down my body until his warm, hot mouth found my cock. He settled between my thighs and licked and sucked, taking me in deep and wet.
“Fuck.”
He hummed and worked me harder.
“Not gonna last,” I ground out.
He grunted, then fisted the base of my cock with one hand and pulled my balls with his other. It took every ounce of self-control to keep my arse on the bed and not thrust down his throat. But he kept me fixed to the spot and worked me over in the very best of ways.
It was an exquisite form of torture.
He drew my orgasm out of my bones, drinking down every drop of me. The room spun, my mind blissfully blank to everything but the ecstasy.
Blank to everything but Michael.
He emerged from under the covers, his lips curled in a victorious grin, his blond hair a beautiful mess.
“Good morning,” he said.
I pulled him in for a hug and rolled us onto our sides, burying his face in my neck. “Morning,” I managed to say. “Brain’s still a bit scrambled.”
He laughed so I rolled him onto his back and did to him exactly as he’d done to me. After I made short work of him, I dragged him into my shower and we laughed as we washed each other. He got out first, and when I came out with no more than a towel around my waist, he was dressed in his jeans . . .
And my BTS shirt.
“Hey.”
He laughed. “Told you I’d get it.”
My mouth fell open. “That’s not how this works.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. His grin was breathtaking. “It’s exactly how this works.” He picked up his shirt from the floor—the oversized one that made him look hot as hell—and threw it at me. “You can wear that.”
“You’re so bossy.”
“It would probably be more of an insult if you didn’t smile when you said that.”
“It was never an insult.”
Michael’s smile turned sultry and he let out a huff. “Christ, can you not flirt for one minute?”
“Flirt? All I did was look at you.”
“With those eyes.”
“These are the only eyes I have.”
“You know what I mean,” he said, his cheeks pink. “You look at me like you want to do very bad things to me.”
“Because I do want to do very bad things to you.”
He laughed, then chewed on his bottom lip. “Maybe later.” He patted his belly. “I’m hungry.”
“Then I’ll cook breakfast for you,” I said. “I’m going to make you the best omelette you’ve ever had.”
“Are you going to get dressed first?” He looked me up and down. “Because as much as I want to see you in my shirt, naked you is incredibly aesthetic.”
“Nice try,” I said, pulling on some jeans.
“Going commando?”
“Easy access.”
He smiled. “I like the way you think.”
I slipped one arm into the sleeve of his shirt. It was tight around the biceps, then across the shoulder. “I don’t think,” I said, beginning to button it.
“Oh no,” he whispered, finishing the buttoning for me. “It fits you so well.”
It was long by design, down to my thighs, but very fitted. It looked big on him and I didn’t think we were that different in size. I mean, he was lean, I was more muscular, broader across the chest . . .
“Okay, it’s official. You need to wear this every day,” he added. “Just like your name in my phone. You’re as sexy as fuck.”
I rolled my eyes at him and made him help me in the kitchen. Not that he helped much. He picked at the tomato and ham as I was dicing it, probably eating more than what went into the omelette. But he was a pro at cracking eggs and he made toast and coffee, and it was effortless to be with him.
We snuck kisses as we cooked, and he rubbed his bare foot over mine. He stood close to me, leaning against the counter, relaxed and funny, his hand on my arm or my waist or running through the hair at the nape of my neck.
I could so easily get used to this.
We sat at the table to eat, and he looked at me bright-eyed. “So, tell me where you’re up to with your shop? What’s happening this week?”
“The fit-out guys want to start, which means the refrigeration and electric need to happen,” I answered.
“That’s exciting,” he replied, and he was genuine. He was honestly interested, which ramped up my own anticipation.
“Yeah, I can’t wait.” But it wasn’t lost on me that lazy weekends cooking breakfast and having a quiet Sunday were all about to end. My dad’s words came back to me and I had to shake it off. “I believe I’m coming in to officially meet your boss.”
He smiled as he chewed and swallowed his eggs. “And I believe she wants me to introduce you.”
That made me laugh. “Do we act all casual? Because just so you know, my acting skills are not good. And I can’t lie for shit.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled. “And honestly, it’s going to be over so fast, she won’t have time to wonder. But casual, yes. No making out in my office or grabbing my arse, if that’s something to go by.”
“Damn it. That’s what I was hoping for.”
He laughed again and finished his breakfast and placed his cutlery on the empty plate. “I gotta say, you can make me an omelette any time you want. That was divine, thank you.”
“I’d like to make you breakfast most weekends,” I admitted. “But I worry there won’t be much time for it soon.”
He reached out and covered my hand with his. “We’ll make time. And if you cook me an omelette for a late dinner sometime instead of breakfast, I won’t complain.”
I found myself smiling at him. “Okay.”
“Don’t stress over what hasn’t happened yet,” he added. He sipped his coffee and gave me a smile that made my heart dance. “To possibilities, remember?”
God, that gave me a whole-body reaction. My heart swooped, my belly knotted, my skin felt warm all over. I was absolutely certain this was the feeling poems and songs were about, and now, maybe for the first true time, I understood the feeling behind the words.
“To possibilities.”
We cleaned up after breakfast, and Michael insisted on doing his share. I kissed him against the sink and he welcomed it, putting his arms around me and holding me as tight as he could. It was deep and real and full of every emotion I wasn’t ready to tell him with words just yet.