“Isaac doesn’t break between orgasms.” My cheeks heat as my eyes dash around the half-full bakery to make sure no one is paying attention to our private conversation.
“I thought guys need time for. . . you know. . . down there to pump back up,” Harlow half-queries, half-informs.
I cock my eyebrow before tilting closer to her, wanting to make sure the elderly lady seated next to me doesn’t have a coronary from my question. “So Cormack has never fucked you so hard once he came, he kept going until he climaxed another two times?”
Harlow’s pupils dilate into saucers. “Honestly, no he hasn’t, but that is because I have a hard enough time keeping up with his sexual prowess as it is. By the time he does cum, I’m so exhausted, I can’t keep my legs in the air.”
Our immature giggles are interrupted when the elderly lady next to me touches my arm. “Make sure you hold onto those two fine gentlemen.” Her twinkling blue eyes flick between Harlow and me. “It is rare to find a guy who can pop a cork on a champagne bottle these days, let alone find your G-spot.”
Mine and Harlow’s mouths gape open in sync. We watch the elderly lady in awe as she stands from her seat and puts on her light teal trench coat. She’d easily be in her eighties, if not older. Every hair on her head is a beautiful strand of silver, and even a full face of makeup can’t hide her heavy set of wrinkles that come with her age.
“Suck them dry for every orgasm they're willing to give,” she advises before strolling out of the bakery with an extra spring in her step than when she entered.
My shocked gaze remains planted on the door she exited for the next several minutes. I have been stunned into silence. It is pretty obtuse of me to think only young couples can enjoy vigorous bedroom activities. I don’t believe it would matter if I were twenty or seventy, I’ll never stop enjoying the bedroom antics of Isaac Holt, so why would I expect it to be any different for her?
“I think I’m in love,” Harlow mutters a short time later.
A full smile cracks onto my mouth. “She was pretty cool. I can only hope to be as rocking as her when I’m her age.” I return my gaze to Harlow.
When I see the quickest second of panic smearing Harlow’s face, I realize she isn’t talking about the elderly lady. She is talking about Cormack.
My face scrunches. “Then why do you look so worried? Love isn’t supposed to make you stressed.”
The grim expression on my face grows. No matter how much my head tries to deny it, my heart has already fallen in love with Isaac. I’ve loved him from the moment I laid my eyes on him. I’m just too terrified to tell him.
The past four weeks have been a crazy lust-filled blur. I’ve spent every waking moment I’m not at work with Isaac: sleeping in his bed, eating his food or snuggled on his lap while he makes business calls.
Because of his crazy schedule, our sleep patterns are at opposite ends of the spectrum. Before I was in the picture, Isaac never came home until after 3 AM, but because he knows I’m there waiting for him, he generally makes sure he is home no later than ten.
His business is probably suffering because of me, but I love that he is willing to make sacrifices to ensure he has the time to see me. It is another reason why I fell in love with him so quickly.
For the past four weeks, I haven’t had any struggles hiding my relationship with Isaac. Other than Harlow and Cormack, no one is none the wiser that we're a couple. Isaac wants to ensure Col Petretti never finds out who I am. I agreed with his plan, knowing I couldn’t run the risk of Alex or the surveillance team finding out about our relationship.
Although the secrecy adds intrigue to our relationship, I look forward to the day I can declare we're in a relationship. I can’t wait until I can go on double dates with Cormack and Harlow, and not need to look over my shoulder every time I slip into his town car each evening.
Shrugging off my confusion about my own relationship status, I turn my focus back to Harlow’s statement. “Does Cormack feel the same way?”
Her glossed-over eyes dart down to the tabletop. “I don’t know.” She exhales a nerve-cleansing breath before returning her beautiful green eyes to me. "I may have accidentally declared my love during an intense. . .orgasmic experience.”
Smiling, I wiggle my brows.
“Shut up.” She slaps my arm. “It was more the fact he didn’t say anything back. I know he heard me, as he stopped thrusting, but not a word seeped his lips. Not even a thanks.”
I giggle at the last part of her comment. “One, you would have been mortified if he said thanks.”
She grins while nodding.
“And two, maybe he thought you said it in the heat of the moment. Have you said it to him outside of the bedroom?”
She shakes her head. “I’m too petrified he won’t say it back.”
My heart squeezes from her panicked tone. “If he didn’t say it back, would it change how you feel about him?”
Harlow’s lips quirk as she contemplates my question. “No. I'd still love him.”
My brow arches high. “Well, there you go. That is the answer to your question. You have to tell him.”
Not giving her the chance to reprimand me on my double standards, I thrust my hand toward her. “Hi Kettle, my name is Pot.”
