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I admit I never thought a woman would look sexy in my clothes, but fuck me running because I never want to see Peyton in anything but my clothes. None of it snug on her frame or exposing skin other than arms and above the collar.
Just damn.
Reaching out, I fist the shirt near her belly and tug her until our bodies are flush. Drop my lips to hers, clutch the back of her neck and kiss the hell out of her. Then cut the kiss short before I get carried away.
“Really need to leave the bedroom and feed you,” I mutter, my lips still on hers.
Slender arms wrap around my waist and pin me to her. “Probably right. Although, I’d rather stay exactly where we are.”
“Ugh,” I huff out, grab her hand, and stumble out of the bedroom. “C’mon. Time to eat.”
Peyton plops down on a stool at the breakfast bar as I get to work in the kitchen. I pull out all the ingredients for French toast, bacon, and sliced fruit. Within minutes, the scent of maple and cinnamon fill the room as I flip the bacon one last time and add the final pieces of French toast to the pan. When the last piece turns golden brown, I plate it, add fresh fruit and bacon on the side, and top the French toast with powdered sugar and whipped cream.
“A girl could get used to this,” Peyton states as I set a plate in front of her and hit the brew button on the Keurig.
“Is that so?” I set down our coffees, park on the stool beside her and kiss her temple. “Good to know.”
Breakfast with Peyton gives life a new definition of comfortable. With her, I am more at home than I have been in years. I don’t second-guess myself or wonder what comes next. There are no absurd expectations or the need to be someone I am not.
With Peyton, I get to be myself. Not the guy who put up a front and bedded any willing woman because he felt empty and sad. I haven’t been me in so long, haven’t felt comfortable in my own skin with anyone else, and I love how she has guided the old me back into the light.
All too soon, our plates empty and Peyton prepares to head home before work. I don’t let her change back into her clothes—the idea of her out in the world in my tee and sweats is a major turn-on.
“Talk to you later.”
“Damn right you will,” I say as I frame her face and kiss her one last time. “Have a good night at work, hellcat.”
Peyton gets in her car, backs out, and drives off. I walk back into the house, go back to my room, and plop down on the bed. Hints of her coconut mint scent hit my nose and I close my eyes.
It may be too soon—what the hell do I know—but I more than like Peyton. But because I have been burned, I still fear the word that comes with the next level of emotion. So, I ignore the anxiety-inducing four-letter word and just think of her. The woman with golden hair and violet eyes. The woman who has bewitched me in every way possible.
* * *
Poorly sang rock music pierces my eardrums in an attempt to ruin yet another classic. As great of an idea as karaoke was for Roar, I may have to suggest some songs stay off the list of options. Peyton, on the other hand, snort-laughs her ass off next to Shelly and Cora. The sound equal parts disturbing and adorable as fuck.
My hand on Peyton’s thigh under the table gives a gentle squeeze. Turning to face me, her laughter pauses a beat as my favorite smile lights her face. A smile that screams happiness and affection and gratitude. This single glance spreads heat through my chest. Gives me a sense of weightlessness. Fulfills me in an unfamiliar way, but one I don’t want to end.
“You seem all too happy these people are trashing classic songs,” I tease.
Peyton play smacks my bicep and shakes her head. “Not happy. Plus, I can forget their rendition, if I choose to. But c’mon.” She waves a hand toward the stage. “You can’t tell me this isn’t hilarious to watch.”
I narrow my eyes at her, then shift my gaze to the makeshift karaoke stage inside Roar. Karaoke always seems to bring in the oddest mix of people. Every age group and a wide array of music. Current and classic and everything in between. The man with the mic to his lips right now, he slaughters “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin. Every muscle inside me cringes, but I suppose it is for entertainment.
“Whatever.” I shrug. “Gonna go work in the office.” I lean closer, so only she hears my next statement. “Join me in a bit.”
“Yes.” She inches back. “I’ll hang here a bit longer, do rounds then be there.”
Pressing a kiss to her temple, I rise from the chair and excuse myself. “See you guys later.”
I don’t rush to the office. My stride is a hair slower than usual as I nod and smile to patrons on the way. I make my way inside the office, shut the door, and drop down in the chair behind the desk. Get to work and don’t fret over when Peyton will join me. Although most have inferred we are a couple, we don’t need people believing either of us slacks off on the job.
In the middle of ordering, the door opens and in walks Peyton. Hair half up in a messy bun with the rest trailing down her back. Black dress slacks snug on her thighs, her sculpted ass partially visible under the tail of her mint-green top. A top that allows me an occasional view of her cleavage.
“How’s it coming along in here?” Peyton asks as she saunters over.
“About done.” I spin the chair to face her, lean back and tilt my head as I bite my bottom lip. “Things good out there?” I avert my gaze to the door momentarily with a nod.
“Mmhm.” She braces herself on the chair arms, slips a leg between mine and closes the space between us.
When our lips meet, I sit up straighter. Snake my arms around her waist. Awkwardly lower her to my lap; the two of us a fumbling mess of limbs. She shifts her leg and scoots forward as I do the same. My hands slip up the back of her shirt and press her impossibly closer.
It would be so easy to strip her bare and take her on the desk. Swipe my arm across the oak and send paperwork flying. Fling pens to the floor and bend her over. Slap her ass and take her from behind. Press her cheek to the grain and tug the loose strands of her hair as I pummel her over and over.
God, would it be easy. Which is why I won’t go through with it.
Much as I would love to fuck Peyton every waking minute of the day, we need rules. Rules that include behaving—minus the occasional kiss—at work. If rules aren’t set, we will spend every Wednesday and Thursday in this office doing R-rated acts. Ani may be Peyton’s friend, but she would not be too pleased to pay us to make out or fuck like horny teens on the clock.
I break the kiss and lean back into the chair. “We should work.” The jut of her lower lip and batting lashes is adorable as hell. And damn, it begs me to break every rule put in place. “I’d much rather kiss you all night, but—and I can’t believe I’m the one saying this—we should behave.”
She leans back, a smirk on her lips and a knowing look in her eyes. “Who knew?”
My brows bunch together. “What?”
“That Micah Reed would choose to be the responsible one.” She rises from my lap, gives me a chaste kiss and adjusts her top as she starts for the door. Twisting the knob, she stops and looks over her shoulder. “I like it.” The corners of her mouth kick up. “A lot.” Then she waltzes out the door and leaves me to finish the office work. Alone.
For a solid five minutes, I stare at the door. Not in the hopes she will walk through again. The opposite, actually. Because Peyton Alexander is nothing like I expected. She is next level. A commanding force, but also a woman who will submit when asked. An exquisite creature who captivates me at every turn. She keeps me on my toes and surprises me with each step forward we take. She has me dreaming of possibilities.
Of next steps and the years to come. With her.
