Why isn’t he awake yet?
My beast was impatient for Bronson to open his eyes and maybe watch me shift. He wanted to make up for lost time, and there was little point in me explaining that wasn’t possible.
But I was also sending Bronson messages to wake up because like my beast, I enjoyed his laughter, his adorable smile where one side of his mouth quirked up, along with his husky voice.
My panther tugged at my insides, telling me to shake our mate awake. He was disturbed by the tiny rumbles and whistles coming from chest and mouth.
It’s known as snoring and humans often do it, especially men.
I ran my mind over the events of yesterday which had ended with Bronson choosing me and my beast. It was the most significant event of my life and couldn’t be outmatched even by the moment we met.
But my reminiscing was interrupted by my stomach growling. I suspected my beast had something to do with that in his effortsto wake up our mate. It did kinda resemble his snarling. But he claimed no part in it.
Bronson lifted his head and glanced around. “What was that? Not a gas explosion, I’m guessing, as we’re all in one piece.”
I patted my belly. “It’s just me. I’m starving.”
He flipped the bed covers down and offered me his cock. But giggled and covered himself up while I was dithering as to whether I should suck him off or make breakfast.
“What time is it?”
“Almost nine.” It was the weekend, and I guessed he didn’t have any commitments either work or personal.
“It’s Sunday, right?” He flopped onto his pillow and closed his eyes. “Or did I misplace a few days?” He didn’t wait for a response before adding, “Why are you so awake?”
I explained that my shifter metabolism didn’t allow me to doze away the day, and besides, I was hungry.
Bronson pulled the covers over his head. “Early mornings on a weekend should be illegal. I believe they were conceived to torture night owls.”
“Well, I need to eat before I start gnawing the furniture.”
He yelped. “Please don’t eat my table, because it’s new. Well, newish.”
I promised him furniture wasn’t on the menu and told him to stay where he was and I’d rummage in the kitchen for food. He asked if my beast took down a deer and ate, would that satiate my hunger.
“Nope, it doesn’t work like that.”
He told me the fridge contained food, and I pretended to be shocked, saying I’d expected to find his laundry in there. I got an eye roll in response.
But as I was opening the kitchen cupboards and staring into the fridge, Bronson padded over the floor and hugged me from behind.
“I missed you.”
Awww, that’s so sweet. Our mate loves us.
I grabbed eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, and mushrooms, plus a tin of baked beans and a loaf of bread. Bronson stared at it and asked if I’d invited a football team for breakfast.
“Protein is an excellent way to start the day, and breakfast is the most important meal.” I repeated my mantra, “Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pauper.”
He raised a brow before starting the coffee. “Milk is protein, and I add that to my cereal. Besides, I’ve never met a king, so I have no idea what they eat. Gold-encrusted toast, perhaps?
I made a face because I’d never met a cereal that wasn’t dry and dusty and reminded me of the bottom of a bird cage. My panther recoiled at the mention of cages, and I apologized.
Bronson manoeuvred around me to get to the fridge. His kitchen was more cramped than mine, and when we discussed where we should live, I hoped he agreed my place was more spacious. Plus, the proximity to the woods was necessary for my beast.
“Sorry, it’s a little small.” He brushed over my butt as he squeezed behind me. Hmmm, maybe a tiny kitchen was more intimate than a larger space.
He opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out a squished cereal bar. “Oh look, my breakfast in a packet.”
