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I conceded the point with a small raise of my brows. “Fair enough.”
She kissed me lightly, then hummed. “Now I could go for some of those eggs and toast.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
My palm coasted along her back, down to the curve of her ass and back up. “Soon. I just need to touch you a little bit more.”
Her smile was so smug that I laughed.
“You’re so obsessed with me,” she said, eyes alight with humor.
“I think I am.” I slid my hand over her cheek, my face going serious. “You know I don’t do anything halfway, Harlow.”
“I know.” She kissed me, just a short peck. Like we’d done it a million times. “That’s one of my favorite things about you, even when it drives me up a fucking wall.”
“You are it, Harlow, for the rest of my life. I’ll want to marry you soon. Fuck dating, we’ve known each other way too long to deal with that bullshit. I want everything. You, me, Sage, whatever little smart-ass kids come after. Everything.”
Her eyes were bright, glossing over with happy tears. “I think I can handle that,” she whispered shakily.
I dragged my thumb along her bottom lip. “Good,” I murmured. “Now … let’s eat. I’m not even close to done with you tonight.”
Chapter 32
Harlow
“This closet is wasted on you,” I said. “It’s not even half full.”
Ian watched me from the bed, a smug, lingering smile on his lips from the five (five!) orgasms he gave me the night before. Honestly, I couldn’t even give him shit about it because it was so epic that my legs still felt a little jelly-ish.
But when a girl wanted to wear one of her boyfriend/lover/soulmate’s big shirts around the house post-sex, then you overlooked the jelly legs and went rifling through his closet.
“Never felt like I needed many clothes,” he answered, eyes darting briefly down to my bare legs. Not that I could blame him because if he was only walking around in his underwear, I’d stare too.
His body was insane.
When my mind started drifting to some of my favorite parts—big and muscular arms, the flat, muscled stomach, the perfect sprinkling of dark hair over his pecs, and that was just the stuff above the waist. If I went below the waist?—I felt the dopey smile begin to spread.
Whatever genetic cocktail and intelligent design went into the creation of Ian Wilder, I wanted to send giant gift baskets and massive bottles of wine as thanks because he was spectacular. And he was all mine.
“What’s that face?” he asked.
Schooling my features, I gave him a brief look. “Thinking about all sorts of delicious things,” I said lightly, “like when I get to fill every nook and cranny of this room with my clothes.”
He laughed, eyes crinkling in a deliciously attractive way.
I tugged a soft white button-down shirt from a hanger and slipped it on over my shoulders. It hung down my thighs, and I buttoned a few middle buttons. It was a blatant display, and I knew exactly what I was doing as I left the closet and pulled my sex-tangled hair over one shoulder. His eyes were on fire as he watched me walk around his room, studying things I didn’t notice earlier.
Along the far wall was a large dresser with a TV on top. I pointed at it. “How come you never use this?”
He didn’t answer at first, adjusting his position on the bed so his arms were folded behind his head. His biceps bulged as he got his hands into a comfortable position. “Guess I preferred hanging out with you two.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You trying to get laid again, buddy?”
Ian snorted. “I need at least twenty-four hours. Pretty sure I pulled a muscle that last time.”
“Well, whose idea was it to try out the shower? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
