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And I was reminded of that every time I gazed into his eyes, like I was currently doing.
“Comeagain…” I sighed. “Can my body even handle it?”
He chuckled, a sound so gritty and masculine. “How about I give you a little break and get some food into you first, and then I’ll repeat that question?” The kiss he gave me wasn’t soft or gentle.
It was passionate.
Slightly rough.
Needy.
And I loved it.
He separated us and climbed off the bed, walking naked toward the large living room area. The sight of him was something I could stare at endlessly, full of hard, corded muscle and smooth, perfect skin.
He picked up the phone from the desk, hit a few buttons, and held the receiver against his ear. “I’d like to order some room service. To drink, a bottle of champagne and some cranberry juice. To eat, why don’t you bring a mix of sandwiches—turkey, roast beef, salami, and ham? Condiments to go with them. Some fries and potato salad.” He gazed at me as he spoke. “And for dessert, a mix of chocolate and vanilla—ice cream, cookies, cake, whatever you have, I just want some in both flavors.” When he hung up, he slowly walked back to the bed.
He knew I was taking him in, and the cockiness in his expression told me he was quite satisfied with that.
Of course, any man who looked like Cooper with a dick as large as his would walk with just as much arrogance in his step.
“You know … most men would have asked what I wanted to eat and drink.” I adjusted the pillow behind me, rising into a seated position, resting my back into the fluff.
“Would you rather have most men in this room? Or me?”
Although I shrugged, we both knew my answer to that question. “What if I’m gluten-free?”
“I was told the sandwiches come with lettuce. I’ll toss the bread and wrap it in one of the leaves for you.”
There had been no hesitation; he’d had an answer waiting. He was that good.
“And if I’m vegetarian?”
“I’ll call back and have them make you a caprese sandwich.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the light catching the golden-brown hair on his forearms. “I’m a problem solver, Rowan. Keep going. I can do this all day.”
I smiled. “I’m a fan of strawberry.”
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe. But it’s not your go-to. Chocolate is. You tolerate vanilla. But if I’m wrong, which I hardly ever am, I wanted you to have another option in case the chocolate sucked.”
I laughed. “God, you’re cocky as fuck.”
His smile only reinforced that. “You’re not going to ask why I didn’t get you orange juice and opted for cranberry instead?”
“I was getting there.”
He scratched his scruff, the sound filling the silent room. “You don’t like orange juice.”
I stared at him, engrossed and wildly entertained. “Why would you think that?”
He shifted over to the nightstand, where his phone had been charging, plugged into my cord since his battery charger had died, and he brought the cell into bed with him. “When I went to grab a drink from the fridge last night, there were bottles of cran stocked by the bar. They’re not randomly sitting there. They’re there because you requested them, which tells me you prefer that over orange.” He reached across the space between us to run his fingers over my chin. “Cran happens to be my favorite too.”
He watched.
He paid attention.
Two things I hadn’t suspected from him.
I turned to my side the moment his hand was gone. “Since you’re the alpha in here, why don’t you tell me what tonight’s going to look like? You know, how we’re going to celebrate Christmas Eve.”
