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“How do you feel about breakfast?” he asks as he pulls his pants on. I eye him appreciatively but shake my head to dispel the dirty thoughts.
“Sexy breakfast?”
He laughs, a deep and throaty sound that brings butterflies to my stomach.
“Let’s start with breakfast-breakfast and work our way up, kay?”
I make a mock sound of disappointment.
“I suppose,” I say through a sigh. He leans down and kisses my cheek with a chuckle.
“I do feel like I need the biggest cup of coffee known to man, though. Like, right now,” I tell him through a yawn of my own.
“How about I cook us something? You got eggs?”
I shake my head. “I might have some cereal or something, but that’s probably about as good as it gets. Let’s go out. Or even better, let's order in. Then I don’t need to put pants on.”
Killian’s eyes roam up and down my body, still naked from the night before. The corner of his mouth turns up.
“You got a deal. But next time I’m getting groceries and cooking for you.”
I hum happily as I hug the cup of steaming liquid under my face.
“Sweet nectar of the gods sustain me and bring me to life,” I mutter to the coffee and Kill snorts out a laugh.
“I always thought liquor was supposed to be the nectar of the gods.”
“Nahh, fuck that. It’s definitely coffee.”
He laughs and we sit in silence as we work through our delivered goodies.
“How can you eat that shit so early?” I say with a crinkled nose as I watch him pour syrup on a pile of pancakes. I look down at my own breakfast sandwich and bowl of fruit.
“Maple syrup makes Canadian boys strong, eh?” he tells me with a wink.
“Canadian?”
He nods through a mouthful.
“Yup, born and raised. Moved down here with my mom when I was about ten or so.”
“A Canadian who loves maple syrup. That’s a bit cliche, don’t you think?”
He raises an eyebrow and winks. “Almost as cliche as a killer stripper.”
Despite the lightness of his tone, the room seems to darken with his words. We both sit silently, not acknowledging the shift for several minutes.
“Tell me something else about you,” he says finally.
“Like what?”
“Anything,” he replies with a shrug, “Tell me about your favorite place you’ve traveled.”
I feel the corner of my lip turn up. If he knew my travel map was largely determined by my sexual conquests, he might not be asking that. I decide to give him a break and not bring it up.
“I think, Mexico,” I answer after a minute. “Seems a bit cliche, but the people there are lovely, the food is amazing, and the shopping is out of this world. I could sit on those beaches happily for the rest of my life.”
“Mexico,” he says thoughtfully, “I’ve never been anywhere outside of the US and Canada.”
