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“I know.” I catch a lock of her sleep-wild hair and tuck it behind her ear. “I don’t know what we’re doing, Elle. I wanted to kiss you, so I did.”
Her smile peeks out slowly like the sun finding its way past the clouds.
“Well, I could be okay with that.”
I smile and kiss her forehead—then sprawl back against the bed again, draping an arm over my eyes to block out the damnable light. “Could you be okay with turning off the sun and letting me go back to sleep?”
“Nope!” she chirps—and this time she pokes me in the ribs. “If you get up, I’ll make breakfast.”
“You can cook?” I lift my arm, just enough to peer at her.
“Hey!” Elle folds her arms over her chest. Pity. I was enjoying the sway of her naked tits. “What makes you think I can’t?”
“You’re a chaos monster.” Grumbling, I push myself up on one arm. “I don’t trust you not to burn down my kitchen.”
Her delectable lower lip thrusts out. “Oh, please. I’ve never burned down anyone’s kitchen. Only set one on fire once. Singed a little. A lot. A little a lot. Gran only had to replace three cabinets, I think?”
I stare at her flatly.
Elle lets out a dramatic sigh, slumping forward.
“Fine. You cook breakfast.”
With another look, I drag myself out of bed.
My entire body feels heavier before noon, slow and dull and sluggish. Sunlight is my kryptonite.
“Looks like I may have to if I want my house to survive intact.”
Elle grins and bounces out of bed, splendidly naked in the morning light.
The sunlight isn’t so terrible after all when it highlights her ass.
“Got you out of bed,” she gloats.
I’m torn between watching her peach curves and reaching for my dresser and something to cover my own nudity when the reality of this little monster’s manipulative ways truly sinks in.
Narrowing my eyes, I yank the drawer open and pull out a soft-worn button-down that’s been retired to housework, and I fling it at her head.
“Wretched girl.”
“Eee!” Elle squeals, flailing at the shirt. She ends up with it draped over her head and giggles, yanking it down. “You’re twice the asshole in the mornings, you know.”
“Just mornings?”
“You’re slightly more tolerable at night.” A sly smile tells me exactly how tolerable I am when she knows I sent at least six orgasms crashing through her last night. She wriggles into the shirt, then turns and sprints toward the door, the unbuttoned shirt flapping around her. “First one to the kitchen gets to cook!”
“Elle, you’re not—”
Too late.
She’s gone.
Thank God I’ve got excellent homeowner’s insurance.
I stare after her for a moment, then chuckle helplessly and pull a pair of pants out of the drawer.
This girl.
