“No. It’s your place. Why would I think that?” But her tone says she’s lying.
I move around the island counter, stopping a foot away from her. “You woke up, saw me gone, and thought I, what, went out for a run?”
She sighs. “I didn’t know what to think. I don’t know you. And I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“I should have left you a note letting you know I ran out to the store. Like I said, I’m rusty.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head with some embarrassment. “This stuff is new to me too.”
God, what I want to do with all her newness. But that’s not in the cards. Breakfast is though. “I promised you breakfast. I went out to get it,” I say.
“You don’t have to make me food.”
“I want to.” Does no one do nice things for this woman? She’s probably not used to much from men. Virgin and all. Well, she was.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks curiously.
Oh, I guess a grin took over. “I was thinking about how much I like doing nice things for you. I was wondering if anyone else had. Then I figured you’ve probably met a lot of jackasses.”
“Actually, I haven’t really dated much,” she says.
Huh. I figured she’d dated jerks. “Really?”
“Dating is…complicated.”
“Yeah. I get that,” I say. Marriage is too. Mine came with promises that the woman I loved didn’t keep. I exhale, trying to shake off that thought. “But you know what’s not complicated?”
“What?”
I head back to the spread. “Breakfast where you don’t have to pick a thing off it. There’s no bacon,” I say.
Her grin is immediate and electric. “Yay.”
I crack up. “I’ve never known anyone to cheer the absence of bacon.”
“Well, first time for everything. You gave me my first,” she says, patting her chest. “I’m giving you one.” I enjoy this sardonic side of her so much.
“There are no eggs in this breakfast either.” I scrunch my brow. “I wasn’t sure if you ate eggs.”
“I do. As long as they aren’t hard-boiled, soft-boiled, Benedict, runny, over easy or in egg salad,” she says with a shudder. “Egg salad is the scourge.”
“Of the food world?”
“Of the whole world,” she says, emphatic.
“Well then. Let me wow you with some…fruit.”
She smiles. “You showed me your sex moves last night. Now, show me your breakfast moves.”
Yeah, that’s the woman I met at The Scene. The one who challenged me in the library. The one who came over and demanded I make her come. That’s my daring girl.
“You’re on,” I say.
“Do I get to help?”
“Not a fucking chance,” I say.
She sits on a stool, huffing. “Fine. Mister Bossy.”
“You like it when I’m bossy.”
“I don’t know. Do I?” she taunts.
She’s got a little brat in her, and the things I could do with it. I move behind her and grab her hands, pulling them tight. She shudders. “If you taunt me, I might not let you come next time,” I whisper harshly in her ear.
At those words, she tenses, maybe wondering if I’ve forgotten this is a one-time thing. I’ve not forgotten at all.
“By next time, I mean…after I feed you,” I add. But my jaw tightens and I wish I could spend another night with her.
Just a night.
That’s all.
I let go, move to the counter, and set the pineapple on the cutting board.
“A pineapple? You really want to impress me, don’t you?”
“Orgasms and pineapple? Is that the way to your heart and soul?”
She taps her chin. “I mean, pineapple is pretty good.”
I smile. That’s new too. Smiling with a woman. Getting along with a woman.
It’s the first date effect, you dick. Of course it feels like fucking magic. It did with Marilyn too.
I try again to shake off thoughts of my ex. There’s no room for her in a world of pineapples and orgasms. Grabbing a knife from the wooden holder, I cut and slice the fruit, then set it in a bowl. I find a fork and offer Jules a bite. She parts her lips, letting me feed her.
I happily comply, enjoying her moans of culinary appreciation. I offer her another bite and she takes it, then murmurs “More” in a too seductive voice.
God, that word. “Be careful when you say that,” I warn.
She tilts her head, dropping the act. “Why?”
“You don’t want to know what it does to me,” I say, sternly.
A smile teases the corner of her lips. “But maybe I do.”
“Jules,” I caution.
Her brown eyes gleam with mischief. “More,” she murmurs.
I stalk around the kitchen counter. I grab her hips roughly, staring down at her. “Say that to a guy like me and it pretty much makes me want to fuck. Right. Now.”
She shudders then parts her legs. “A guy like you,” she says, then tilts her face. “You mean someone who likes to punish me with pleasure?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”
“So when I say more you want to give me more. You want to fuck?”
I grip her hips harder, digging my fingers into her flesh. “Yes, and by fuck, I mean…make you come.”
She licks her lips, slow and tantalizing. “More, Finn. More.”
That’s it. I lift her off the stool, yank down her leggings, then help her quickly step out of them. Once they’re off, I’m not gentle at all. I rip off her pink panties. “Turn around. Hands on the counter, ass up.”
She gets in position.
I grip her hair in my fist, slide a hand between those thighs, and sweep my finger across her sweet, wet pussy. She shudders, dropping her head, her hair spilling around her. Like that, I stroke and play. Whispering dirty words of praise in her ear. “So beautiful. You obey so well. You deserve all the orgasms.”
She grows wetter. Arches more. Moves faster against my hand. She’s so free like this, so responsive, and it revs my engine. I fuck her with my fingers till she’s gasping, begging, and shattering.
All before eight a.m.
She’s still shaking from the orgasm, and I let go of her hair, lick off her sweetness, then head to the sink to wash my hands. “Want more pineapple now?”
She looks woozy. “Yeah, I do. It’s my favorite fruit.”
“Mine too.”
I serve her breakfast, savoring her post-climax look even more than she seems to be savoring the fruit.
An hour and another handful of orgasms for her and one more for me later, she slings her bag on her shoulder, leaving my bedroom.
Such a shame. Jules looked so good in my bedroom. Like she belonged there.
She heads downstairs a few steps ahead of me when her gaze strays to the toy truck on the table in the corner of the landing. Last night, she seemed to want to ask more about Zach, but I wasn’t sure what to share so soon into the night. She’s the first woman I’ve been with since my ex-wife, and I don’t know the rules or timelines. But overnight and over breakfast, Jules and I have talked about her fears and my friendships and the way we like to touch. All of those are intimate topics.