Page 15 of Mommy

He’s wearing joggers and a tank top that does almost nothing to cover his upper body. I thought he just looked huge in his cop uniform, but I guess he’s actually huge.

Other than Ezekiel who’s muscled because he fights and likes to win, Derek is muscled like it’s a competition.

Packed arms, boulder shoulders, a chest that is without exaggeration bigger than anything I’ve ever seen on a human. All wrapped in perfectly tanned skin. It’s all on full display too. If I concentrate and he’s moving right, his top slips and I can even glimpse one of his dark tan nipples. And if he’d bend forward just a little bit, I think⁠—

“Done looking, mommy?”

Heat scorches my cheeks, and I quickly avert my gaze.

Derek chuckles, and a minute later he places a steaming plate in front of me. Next comes a glass of water and—to my great dismay—a full cup of coffee.

I stretch one hand out towards the coffee, to hand the cup back to Derek but he stops me.

“Water first.”

The authority in his tone forces my insides into a tight clench and I obey. Lifting the glass to my lips, I sip a little of the water.

Only when Derek looks satisfied, I place it back on the counter and grab hold of the cup again. I’m almost tempted to drink it, just to not feel guilty for telling him I don’t want it.

Staring at the dark contents, I contemplate my options, and make a decision.

“I actually don’t like coffee,” I say quietly, hoping he’ll mistake the weak trembles in my voice for shyness instead of nerves.

Taking the cup back, Derek empties it in the sink and rinses it with water.

“I’m sorry. What do you drink with your breakfast?”

“I—” I stop my sentence after that.

His brows rise in question for a heartbeat before his expression falls and his hand comes up to his face. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, he sighs.

“Let me guess: you don’t usually eat breakfast.”

I hate that he’s right. The way he says it, it sounds like a groundbreaking felony I’m committing on a daily basis.

“I’m just not hungry in the morning.” I defend myself, remembering the weird feeling in my stomach whenever I try to eat breakfast.

The growling in my stomach that practically echos into the silence following my excuse is deafening.

Damn it.

Derek eyes me with exhaustion and shakes his head.

“You’ll have to eat breakfast,” he says firmly.

I snort, and cross my arms in front of my chest.

“Or what?”

His lips split into a grin, and he leans onto his forearms on the counter.

I was right earlier. In this position I can look right down his shirt all the way to the waistband of his joggers. Rows of abs that create an upside down bumpy road I want my fingers to follow

“Or,” His laughter draws my gaze back up to his face. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and he even has the audacity to wink. “I won’t drop you off at the shelter today. Which, by the way, opens in about half an hour.”

My eyes widen, and I frantically search the room for a clock.

This can’t be right.