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So he slept, and I read.
Two days later, I was reluctantly climbing on August’s back to fly home.
I was excited to go back to the cabin, but he wasn’t anywhere near completely healed.
He just refused to stay at Mate Mountain any longer when I wasn’t sleeping. And not sleeping had become an impossibility. I kept drifting off and waking up with his face between my thighs.
Which was fun—but he needed to stop opening his wounds.
So, we were headed back home.
The flight was long, and relaxing. I fell asleep on August’s back, but he flew steadily enough that I didn’t fall.
We made it to the cabin soon enough, and August carried my exhausted ass right to our bed before we both crashed.
August was sprawled over the top of me when I woke up. He’d pushed the bottom hem of my shirt up to my neck and was snoring quietly, his face resting against my bare breasts. One of his hands was tangled in my hair. The other was under my pillow.
I ran my fingers through his hair slowly.
Almost reverently.
He was gorgeous.
And he was mine.
It was insane. Absolutely insane.
But nothing had ever felt so right.
He kept snoring. One of his black eyes was gone, and the other was on its way to being healed too. The deepest wounds were still in bad shape, but most of the smaller ones were either completely better, or almost there.
He was recovering.
That was what mattered.
I slowly eased my way out from beneath him, replacing my body with a pillow as I did so. After I was free, I stopped in the bathroom, then headed to the kitchen. Though I was still wearing just a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts, I was used to wearing his clothes at that point. There was no need to change.
Turning quiet music on, I set my phone up next to the sink and started making pancakes. It was late afternoon on whatever day we were currently living—I didn’t bother looking at the calendar—but breakfast food sounded good.
Bacon, eggs, and homemade buttermilk syrup went with the pancakes, so I whipped it all up before bringing both plates to our room.
August was still sleeping peacefully, but he needed to eat if he was going to keep healing.
I woke him with a hand on his shoulder. He captured it and kissed my fingertips, then my knuckles.
When he sucked one of of my fingers into his mouth, I laughed.
He gave me a lazy smile as his gaze moved down my figure. “Good morning, Fireball.”
“Good afternoon, Auggie.” My voice was playful.
His eyes landed on the food I was holding, and his stomach rumbled.
When I grinned, he chuckled, accepting the plate I offered. “Thanks for cooking.”
“Any time.” I sat down beside him on bed, and we ate together.
It was perfect.
