“Don’t you dare say it’s a mistake.” His voice takes a harsh turn, bordering on panic. “Everything else in the world is a mistake, but not last night, not this, not us.”
“I was going to say last night was,” I reach a hand for his face and caress his cheek with my thumb, “unforgettable.”
Hope springs back to his expression. “Yeah?”
I shrug, hiding the delectable chill tantalizing my body at the memory. “It was for me.”
“Me too. God, you have no idea.”
“You’ve proven to be a remarkable student. A+ performance.”
“You really thought it was good?”
“Do you have a praise kink or something? Yes, you’re such a good boy and know exactly what to do with that pierced anaconda of yours...over and over and over.” He’s made me come four times, but who’s counting? “You must have had a lot ofpractice.”
“I wasn’t lying when I said everything I knew, I learned from your books.”
“Still, in a way, I envy the other girls who got to have you before me.”
“You shouldn’t be. No one, and I mean no one, will ever compare to you.”
He doesn’t just know how to give a woman butterflies. He unleashes a whole swarm.
“She thought it was good,” he murmurs to himself, too happy.
“I’m sure I’m not the only one who told you that.”
“I… It hits different hearing it from the woman you…” He chops off his words with a sigh. “From you.”
He leaves the bedroom before I can say anything. Before I can tell him I see him, and I understand. He’s intense and dark and has his own demons to battle. But who can look demons in the eye and hold their ground better than me?
I go to the bathroom to freshen up. Then I put on a bathrobe and go to find some clothes. When he returns, he’s wearing pants and carrying a tray, his grin back on. He leans by my side, kisses me again, makes me sit on the bed and places the tray in my lap.
I uncover the plates. “Oh breakfast in bed.”
“Hope you like it. I made it all for you.”
“How thoughtful.” A kitchenette comes to mind in passing. I didn’t get a chance to fully explore the suite. “Sure you made it, though? The eggs aren’t burned.”
He chuckles. “Positive. I wasn’t being distracted by the many ways I could take you on that counter.”
“Mr. Morra,” I feign shock. “You admit to having fantasies of fucking your client on her own kitchen counter?”
“Guilty.”
I bite on toast. “I wonder how many other clients you’ve fantasized about.”
“None,” he says firmly.
“None? Okay, how about this? How many girls have had the pleasure of tasting your cooking the morning after?”
“None, Birdie,” he answers with the same assertiveness.
“So what, you tied them to your bed, made them take your cock all night and then kicked them out before breakfast? You’re cruel.”
Red bursts in his cheeks. He runs a hand through his hair and swallows.
“He blushes again. What, early-morning dirty words are too much? I haven’t called you daddy or asked if you had your way with me in my sleep.” I laugh. I love to tease him. Taking a mouthful of eggs, the rest of that conversation flashes in my head, the recollection of my inappropriate verbal vomit.Nothing beats a virgin man trope who has been saving himself for the woman he can’t have.
