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“Is that right? I don’t think I’ve heard of this exercise. I guess you’ll have to show me.”
“Oh, I’m a very good instructor,” he said as he stood up, still holding onto me. “Let’s get started right away.”
I laughed as he carried me up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
In bed, we swapped one form of soreness for another.
The following day, I woke before the sun rose. It’d been a while since I’d done that, so it was a little unnerving and disorienting to find the room dark. I was still cuddled up with Cole from the slow, tender sex we’d had right before collapsing into sleep. I could feel the subtle press of his half-erect penis bunting up against my backside.
While I roused more, I thought about the coming day, taking quiet inventory of the tasks on the docket. I looked over to the nightstand, thinking groggily about how dry my mouth was and how I could go for a drink. The glow from the digital clock reflected on the whistle, and the gravity of what it represented crashed into me.
Cole was going to claim me today.
Remembering that was more energizing than coffee or an energy drink. My stomach was so tight with anticipation, it felt like I couldn’t quite get a full breath in.
I lay there, trying to calm myself down for a little while. I gave up when dawn started to leak into the room. Six in the morning was an appropriate time to wake up and start making breakfast, right? Maybe if the meal was more involved. Like muffins or something.
Yeah, I’d make muffins for Cole’s meeting.
I slid out of bed, doing my best not to wake Cole. When I was sure he wasn’t going to roll out of bed with me, I walked over to the closet and pulled on a silky robe, tying it quickly before tip-toeing down the stairs. Once I started the surprise breakfast, he might hear the commotion and join me, but he seemed pretty knocked out as far as I could tell. He hadn’t budged an inch when I got up. With hearing like his, he’d long gotten used to sleeping through benign sounds like coffee makers, sink faucets, and the clanging of pots and pans.
I looked up a recipe for zucchini muffins and started cross-checking it against the ingredients in the house. Luckily, we had just about everything, and making the muffins would keep me busy for the next hour or two.
I got to work, using a box grater to shred the zucchini. I had enough zucchini for a double batch. From there, it was fairly straightforward to mix the ingredients and get them baking.
But once I got the first batch in the oven, I found myself devoid of tasks to occupy my mind. As I washed my hands, I was reminded of Cole’s lethal-looking claws when he showed me the partial shift on his arm, the velvety feeling of the short fur covering his skin, the sensations in my body when I imagined how it would feel to have those pointed fingertips pressing into the soft parts of my skin.
I exhaled sharply and shut off the water, patting my cold hands against my hot face. I didn’t need to be messing with myself this way. I didn’t need to leave myself open to these flustering, overwhelming thoughts. Not when there was still half a day before I’d be able to make good on them.
So instead, after cleaning up and pulling out the first batch of muffins to cool, I started preparing some food from the fridge for dinner.
And when I ran out of tasks to do there, I made Cole lunch.
And when I still had more time to kill, I made a fresh breakfast.
I was just getting ready to watch a video on making whipped cream with a bowl and whisk when Cole appeared in the kitchen doorway dressed in a suit and tie, leaning rakishly against the threshold like some kind of businessman-turned-delinquent. I was so surprised to see him there that I yelped.
“You’re up,” I said, my voice embarrassingly breathless. “Good morning. You were so quiet.”
“Was I? Did I sneak up on you?” he asked, a predatory edge to his smile.
I swallowed, my core tensing. “A little bit.”
He chuckled, pushed himself off the wall, and approached me. The metal mixing bowl I held shook. Thankfully, I hadn’t put anything in it yet or it would have splattered all over the floor.
“What have you been up to this morning? I was lonely when I woke up,” he said, sliding a lock of my hair through his fingers.
“Oh, well…I was feeling restless, so I thought it would be good to get a start on breakfast,” I said.
He looked at the counters around us, almost every surface covered with food either meant for breakfast or a later meal. Chicken marinated in soy sauce and chili oil. A bowl of chopped broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots was ready to be stir-fried for dinner. Two plates held a mountain of zucchini muffins. Finally, there was a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast that I’d meant to take up to him in bed.
“Were you planning on making enough food to hold us over until next month? Or…”
My body blazed with embarrassment. “I m-made muffins for you to take to the meeting.”
His smile grew wider, and he kissed the top of my head. “This is a lovely little preview of what it might be like to have you as a wife,” he said. “Not that I’d ever expect you to stay home unless you wanted to, but it’s very sweet, baby. You didn’t have to do all this, but I love that you did.”
I didn’t think I could be more flustered than I already was, but I was proven wrong. “Your wife?” I sputtered.
