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I nearly sigh in contentment when she lifts a hand, threading her fingers through my hair.
“Why did you wake me up?” she rasps, letting her eyes drift shut.
“I wanted to see those beautiful eyes before I leave. And maybe steal a kiss or two.”
Her eyes pop open. “Why are you leaving?”
Resting my hand over her hip, I squeeze. “I wasn’t sure what time your dad gets up, and I figured you might not want me here when he does.”
Her sleepy eyes watch me. “I want you here.”
If that doesn’t about kill me, I don’t know what will. “You do?”
She yawns. “Always. I don’t want to hide us.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“Good.” She smiles and presses her face in the pillow.
“I’m going to go make breakfast. What does your dad like?”
“No,” she whines, peeking at me with one eye. “Don’t leave. You’re nice and warm.”
“I’m also a growing boy who’s starved.”
She threads my fingers with hers under the covers and draws my hand to her thigh, positioning it between her legs. She’s soaking wet.
“I’ve got something you can eat,” she says in a raspy voice.
“No.” I pull my hand away and kiss her bare shoulder. “First I feed you; then I eat you.”
I hop off the mattress before she can use her seductress ways on me. I pull my jeans on. “You didn’t tell me what your dad likes for breakfast.”
“Don’t worry about him. He usually doesn’t get up until ten, and it’s only—” She cranes her neck to look at the alarm clock. “Five,” she moans, flopping her head back down on the pillow. “Sharon will make him breakfast when she gets here.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Just hurry back; it’s cold in here without you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mo is sitting up in bed waiting for me twenty minutes later when I return with a bowl of scrambled eggs and a plate of jellied toast. The sheet is tucked around her, but I can see the outline of her breasts and the tight peaks of her nipples.
“Gimme.” She holds out her hands, taking the bowl and plate.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Milk would be good.”
I head back to the kitchen and pour each of us a glass of milk, taking the time to add chocolate syrup to hers because I remember how much she loves chocolate milk.
“Your milk, madam.”
She takes the glass and looks down at it, her eyes smiling when they find me. “You remembered.”
I can barely understand her words with the food in her mouth, and we both laugh. She covers her mouth and swallows before taking a drink.
“I told you before,” I remind her, “I remember everything.”
