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While she went to make use of his master bathroom, he stripped down to his boxer briefs and turned down the bed, plumped the pillows. So he wouldn’t take her side preference, he waited until she returned. He’d never shared his bed, so he usually gravitated toward the middle. He could accommodate a change in habit for tonight. Maybe longer, if it was for her.
He was in a marshmallow mood, for sure. Might be a good idea for him to be the one to embrace some silence, rather than risk saying things aloud he shouldn’t.
She emerged with her hair brushed out, her face soft and younger-looking without makeup. She slid into the right side, but moved to take part of the middle. The smile she had when she gestured for him to join her there said she understood. “So, never been married or lived with anyone either, hunh?”
She shook her head as he slid into the bed and came to her. He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about being held in his arms, but she relaxed into his hold with a sigh that lowered her body more deeply into the angles of his.
Sometimes the wordwowwas the only one that fit. He wasn’t sharing that incredibly idiotic thought, but it sure felt true, with her in his embrace. “You like the TV off or on?”
She motioned that she kept it off to sleep. And glanced at the lamp on the night table. He was closest to it.
Shit.He’d forgotten. So caught up in the pleasure of her sleeping with him, he’d ignored the reasons it would be better for them to sleep in separate rooms.
No, he could do it. He turned toward it, put his hand on the switch. Then he couldn’t go further. He dropped his palm to the night table, his heart rate suddenly elevating.
He was not going to do this. Not in front of her. Not in front of anyone. She touched his shoulder, a question. He tried again, failed again. Then he spoke gruffly. “I’ve been keeping it on.”
Like a child.
The pressure of her hand brought him back to lie next to her. No judgment in her eyes, only understanding, as she settled back in his arms.
It didn’t seem to bug her. She closed her eyes, her breath soft on his chest. But it was going to be difficult for her to sleep like that. She’d have to eventually turn away from him, and though he was pleased to spoon, she seemed to want to lie like this.
He wanted it to be her choice, not a requirement because she had a light shining in her eyes. He could leave on the bathroom light. Or switch on the TV and leave it on mute. But the flickering might bug her.
Screw it. He tightened his arm around her back, reached over and switched off the lamp, so abruptly he almost knocked the damn thing off the table. Fortunately he could see enough of the silhouette to confirm it rocked in place and then steadied. He told his thundering heart he could switch it back on anytime. And to stop being such a pussy.
Her touch drifted over his chest, back and forth, her breath on his neck. He wasn’t alone in the silent darkness. She was here, resting against him the way a woman did when she felt secure and safe.
His heart rate evened out. He could handle this. She put a hand on his face, her lips brushing his jaw. Approval. When she did turn over, she nestled her bottom against his dick with a few teasing strokes, enough to get him going again, and went peacefully to sleep. A true Mistress.
Was there anything more pleasurable than waking up and finding the gorgeous man who’d satisfied her sexually—without even putting his cock inside her—was making her breakfast?
“In the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant” might be considered sexist thinking, male-to-female, but “in the kitchen, barefoot and wearing nothing but jeans,” was a suitable female-to-male answer for it.
Blinking sleepily, she came to stand at his side at the stove. He was making fried green tomatoes, transferring the finished pieces to a metal rack over a paper towel. He’d already finished the bacon, laid out on a separate paper towel. When she glanced at the tomatoes, he gestured with the spatula. “Go ahead and try one, but be careful. They’re probably still hot.”
She nibbled a breaded tomato, and her brows lifted. “Good,” she mouthed, then typed. “I’ve tried making these from tomatoes Vera brought from her garden. They’re always soggy or the breading is too thick.”
“It takes practice. You’re probably giving it too much flour. It requires a really light coating to keep it crisp, not soggy. See, like this.” He dropped one into the flour, turned it over and then lifted it smoothly out of the white stuff with a near translucent covering. “Now the egg wash, then the corn meal.”
When he laid the prepared tomato slice in the pan, it sizzled and increased the familiar Southern fried breakfast scents in the kitchen.
“You’re very self-sufficient,” she typed. “And you take good care of a guest.”
He nudged her, smiled. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
Me, too.
They held gazes, then he slid his arm around her waist. “If you don’t mind, Mistress, I’ve gotta kiss you.”
Her lips curved as his pressed to them. She still wore his shirt, nothing beneath it but her panties, so when she leaned into him, his fingers trailed along her bare thigh. He lifted his head. “And taking care of you is part of what works for me. Thanks for letting me do it. Makes it even more of a gift. How do you say bacon in sign language?”
She held up forefinger and middle fingers for both hands, brought them together in a point and then wiggled them apart in a horizontal line. His brows raised. “Is that wiggling supposed to be the pigs running away from the farmer?”
She grimaced, but shook her head and mouthedsizzle.
“Oh, the oil jumping in the pan. Got it. Fuck, I swear everything you do and say could make me think of sex. No matter how you say it.” He pointed to the skillet. “Form the word skillet with your lips like you just did. Then show me the sign for it.”
