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Quietly, I close the door and put all of the locks back in place. Leaving the lights off, the light of early morning peeking through the windows enough to let me see, I pull open her fridge. She’d gotten groceries at some point, and discomfort slithers around inside me at the idea of her going around the city alone, knowing he’s out there, too. Quickly I survey the items in the fridge, and make a mental note to reorder those things and have them delivered to her in a few days.
At her stove, I pull out her saucepan, digging through her cupboards quietly to see if she’d purchased any pans yet. If she got groceries, maybe she got other things, too. But after finding a bundt cake pan and a mini rolling pin and not much else, I decide to make do with what I have. Using the broiler in the oven to toast bread, I scramble eggs in the bottom of the saucepan, stirring constantly to evenly distribute the heat. I make us each a cup of coffee, and slice up the blueberries and strawberries in her fridge, butter the toast, and plate everything.
“Good morning,” Scarlett greets through a yawn, her voice thick with sleep. She appears in the kitchen, also no longer naked. In an oversized hoodie, her bare legs are exposed, long blonde hair twisted into a bun on the very top of her head. She smiles, coming my way until we’re toe to toe. She loops her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my chest.
“Good morning,” I greet, letting my eyes close. Morning with her feels like I’m watching a movie, one where the main characters are so in love that you get irrationally jealous. I want this forever, and I want to wake up with her on Saturdays, I want to sleep in with her on the Friday after Thanksgiving, I want to wake up in the middle of the night to check that the door is locked and come back to bed… to her.
She kisses my bare chest, then brings her hands up, cupping my face. After she flashes a smile, she tugs me to her, pressing her mouth to mine. Her hands slide around my head, pulling me even closer as the kiss intensifies. I moan into her mouth, feeling this kiss everywhere, wanting to put space between us.
“I was thinking we could eat breakfast and talk,” I say as she rocks to the heels of her feet, blotting at her bottom lip.
“Yeah?” she peers at the two plates full of food then looks back at me. “Cohen, how did you do this?”
I scratch at the back of my head, not wanting attention for making breakfast. “Do you normally eat breakfast?” I prod, realizing that if she has no cookware and has been here for two months, she’s likely not feeding herself. Not well, at least. I don’t like that. Then again, I haven’t treated myself much better.
She pinches a bite of scrambled eggs, tipping her head back to drop it into her open mouth. I hold up a piece of plastic cutlery from the counter. Her cheeks pink as she finishes the bite.
“You’re probably grossed out that I just did that instead of using the fork,” she guesses as I come to her side, poking her eggs with the plastic tines.
I bring the fork to her lips, and our eyes tangle in silent heat for a moment. She swallows hard, the noise like a spark between us. Her lips part, and I slide the eggs inside, my chest rising with pride at the way she closes her eyes, savoring it.
“It only makes me want to feed you myself,” I reply, my voice unusually husky, bearing both depth and lightness, reminding me of… how I felt waking up with happiness in my heart and a purpose in my soul. I tip my head toward the couch. “Let’s sit.”
We sit hip to hip, and I have her hold the plate as I drag her legs into my lap. Setting the plate on her legs, I collect another bite, and feed her. She chews as my hand slides up and down her calf.
“I swim in the mornings, before work. I don’t know if I told you that already,” I say, pushing the eggs around as I procure another bite for her.
Her tongue licks at the corner of her mouth. “You did. You told me when we had coffee.”
I nod, bringing my eyes to hers, bringing another forkful to her lips. “I…” I start, not realizing until this moment just how supremely dark my actions have been. In my mind, in all that water, with no noises or humans, it made sense. She opens her mouth and cleans the tines, keeping her eyes on me. “I would hold myself under, hold my breath for as long as I could, and stay down as long as I could stand the burning pain of not being able to breathe.”
“Cohen,” she whispers, taking the plate from my lap to lower it to the floor.
I turn my head away, embarrassed but also determined. If I find sympathy and sadness in her eyes, I may break. “I didn’t want to kill myself, but I didn’t know how to live either.”
“You told yourself you didn’t deserve to live because she didn’t,” she whispers, seeing my broken reasoning so clearly.
I nod, forcing the rock of emotion down to my belly, making room for words. “I never wanted to escape that sinking, choking feeling until now.” She reaches out and takes my chin, twisting my face to hers.
“You deserve happiness. Do you understand me?” she says, tone unwavering, focus on me unrelenting. “We both do. Together.”
“Together,” I say. “Is that what we are now?”
“Lie back on the couch,” she whispers, placing the plate of food on the counter. When she returns, she straddles me, knees pinned around my hips. She grabs the bottom of her sweatshirt, smiling at me. The sunlight swims around her head, specks of dust glowing as they dance. The house smells like breakfast, and her warm body on top of mine feels like home.
“Hands up, behind your head.”
I do it, and in return am greatly rewarded with her satisfied smile.
“I’m going to talk, you’re going to listen, and you’re going to look,” she rasps, then yanks off her sweatshirt, tossing it to the floor.
Twisting my head, I look at the crumpled sweatshirt, seeing it for what it is. I face her again, still just looking into her eyes. “I respect you, Scarlett. It’s why I keep my eyes on yours, it’s why I’m not pushing you. I want you to be comfortable, and ready for me. I don’t want to get physical too soon and damage things. I care about you far too much for that.”
Leaning forward, she takes my face in her hands, something I’ve grown to need because it feels so fucking good. Being cherished by her feels like being knighted, something holy and special only for me.
“Look at me, look at me and let me see how much you want me, even if we’re not ready,” she rasps, releasing my face. She rocks up, and my eyes follow her hands as they pull down my chest and over my belly, then come to her thighs around me.
Against her center, my cock rises, eager and fat, and I can’t stop him. But I don’t want to scare her or trigger her. “Scarlett,” I husk, “you’re beautiful and I haven’t... It’s been a long time.” I don’t know what else to say or even what I’m trying to say, but she seems to understand.
