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Theo
We made love, as cheesy as it sounds, but there isn’t another word for it, not at all. It wasn’t sex, and it was far too intimate to be fucking. Well, maybe the third or fourth time could be considered fucking. Those were more porn than promise, but neither of us had any objections. I’d fumbled through the first time lighting her up and thanked God endless years of foreplay without payoff had actually done me a shitload of good. Laney’s moans had directed the rest. And some of the direction had come from her sweet, yet filthy mouth which I’d kissed a thousand times last night. And it’s a night I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
“Morning,” she says softly from the entrance of the kitchen.
I turn to see her looking around the house for other signs of life.
“We’re alone until tonight.”
“Yeah?” She asks sheepishly.
“Yeah, have a seat, I’m making French toast.”
“Smells so good.”
Her cheeks go hot, a crimson blush settling over her skin as she makes her way toward me.
“We were both sober last night,” I say, pulling her to me when she gets close enough, running a finger along her cheek. “So, what’s with the blush?”
“I don’t know.”
I lean down and take her lips, and she kisses me back with urgent fervor. Feeling her unease, I kiss her thoroughly before I pull away and catch her eyes. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“This doesn’t have to be weird.”
“You’re making it weird.”
“You’re uncomfortable. I don’t want that.”
She looks up at me with anxious eyes. “Then you shouldn’t have left me in bed wondering if you were freaking out.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I wanted to fix you breakfast. And clearly, I’m not freaking out.”
She nods toward the platter of toast. “You made an entire bread bag of French toast for two people.”
“Watch me eat half.”
“You’re sure that’s all?” She asks, her eyes darting around.
“Laney,” I turn off the burner, leaning against the cabinet and pull her to stand between my legs. “I will never, ever regret it. Ever.”
“K.”
“I wanted it to happen. Have wanted it to happen for a while now.”
“Me too,” she says, finally meeting my eyes.
“I want to do it again,” I tell her honestly and her face lights up with a grin. “Often.”
“Me too.”
“Good. That’s settled. Now, powdered sugar on top or no?”
“Yes, and then some,” she says tucking a napkin in my T-shirt before sitting down with a raised fork. “Let’s do this.”
Laney
