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“Want you to come with my tongue in your hole, sweet pea.”
Snap.
My third orgasm breaks me, and I float off the bed into a million tiny, glittering pieces of dust.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Harley
I open Charlotte’s fridge, and I’m greeted with the same level of luxury as I saw in her bedroom.
Cheeses I can’t pronounce. Whole milk and cream. Full-fat yogurt. Organic everything. Farm fresh eggs. Enough fruit to make an Edible Arrangement.
Bonus points: she’s asleep after a long afternoon that bled into night that bled into morning. That gives me plenty of time to cook.
I whip up a batch of blueberry pancakes with homemade whipped cream, a side of what the package says is parma ham but looks like bacon, and some super fancy fair trade coffee.
Even after all that cooking, Charlotte is still snoozing away. I keep everything warm and let her sleep, but I can’t resist snuggling next to her in bed.
She earned her sleep.
Me? Everything that happened with us yesterday, last night, and this morning has me keyed up so high that I found it impossible to sleep.
It was more than just the sex. She and I connected on a level I’ve never felt with anyone before.
“Mmm, did you make coffee?”
I move her hair out of the way as I spoon up behind her, covering her nape with soft kisses. “Sure did.”
She pushes back against me, and suddenly, I feel like I’m lying here with my wife. I can see our future together as clear as day.
“And,” I continue as I pepper her throat with kisses, “I made pancakes and bacon.”
She lets out a long, dreamy sigh. “Marry me.”
“K.”
Charlotte laughs at this, but she has no idea that I’m serious. Someday. It’s happening.
“First, breakfast,” I say.
She rolls over and cups my cheek, just staring.
“What?” I ask, self-conscious as she stares at me, her cheeks dented from the blankets and pillows.
“You’re pretty.”
I scoff. “I’m not pretty.”
She nods. “Yes, you are. You’re prettier than me. What will people say?”
I shrug. “They’ll say, ‘There goes that super-macho not-at-all-pretty stud with his wife who’s way out of his league.’”
Charlotte playfully slaps my shoulder. “Shut up!”
I gesture to the kitchen. “Come on. Breakfast time.”
“I don’t know if I can use my legs after what you did to me.”
