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She turned those wide eyes on me and I felt the staccato of her heartbeat in my temples.
“You don’t like it?”
Her voice was small, sad. I felt the quick swirl of her anxiety in the pit of my stomach.
“No,” I ground out, and I felt her hurt as though it were my own pain. “I like it too much.”
She blinked once, twice. Then a small smile played on her lips. Pleasure spread across my limbs—her pleasure—and I felt as though she was trying to drug me with it. She was well pleased.
I accepted the mug she held out to me, filled to the brim with steaming coffee. I let the warm liquid slide down my throat, soothing the catch that didn’t seem to dissipate.
In the distance, I could hear Ella cooing to the chickens on the way to the house. She was probably bringing over some vegetables she’d pickled yesterday since I knew she always spent the last week of the month doing her pickling and canning so that none of the harvest was wasted. Nothing ever changed on this Star.
A plate of runny eggs and toast was set in front of me and I had a moment to ogle the gentle swells of Twyla’s breasts, plainly visible as she leaned over a little to set my plate down.
“You have about ten seconds before Ella walks through that door,” I commented, reaching for the butter on the table.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“You have about—”
My laughter followed her as she dashed into the service room like her ass was on fire.
Ella found me like that seconds later, a wide grin splitting my lips. She stopped and stared as though she didn’t know what to make of me. She looked around the room, confused.
“Everything okay, Cee? You’re normally not so...happy in the morning. Or ever.”
I shook my head and dipped a slice of thick toast into the runny yolk.
“Just fine,” I said around a mouthful. “Never better.”
