Page 33 of Knocked up By the Minotaur

Chapter 13

Grace

I wake up slowly, feeling comfortable and warm and lazy.

The mattress beneath me is decadently soft, the pillow against my head huge and fluffy with a smooth, silk covering, and I flutter my eyes open to stare at the bright shaft of sunlight slicing across the ceiling.

I’m naked in Oli’s bed, and I can hear him breathing deeply beside me, still peacefully asleep. I roll onto my side, languidly gazing along the planes of his equally naked brown body, with the sheets tangled around his ankles. He’s on his stomach, one leg bent up, and one big arm shoved under his pillow, squishing it to his cheek and making the soft lips on his slightly elongated muzzle squish up cutely.

The planes of his strong back are highlighted by the shadows cast in the early morning sun, his round, velvet ass pert and biteable, and I grin as I imagine his reaction if I were to bite him awake. Judging by our enthusiastic shenanigans last night on the kitchen bench, then in the living room, then in the shower, I get the feeling there isn’t anything I could do that he wouldn’t like. I reach out a hand to smooth down the short fur along his back and over that round tush of his and feel a wave of affection wash through me as I consider the merits of snuggling into his side and going back to sleep. And then my grin falters.

Oh. Huh.

That’s not a good sign.

I roll onto my back again, lips pursed, and my good mood dims. Wave of affection, huh, Grace? What’s next, holding hands? Ridiculous pet names? Jealousy over other women?

And then I throw my hands over my face, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes to hold back a dismayed groan. Great, all of that has already happened.

Shit, shit, shit, I knew I was like this and still, for some reason, I threw caution to the wind last night and let myself get carried away with the world’s most charming playboy.

God, if you’re up there, I am not your strongest soldier. Please, stop sending me your most irresistible battles.

I swing my legs off the bed and sit up, trying to keep as quiet as possible. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It was only one night, and that’s all it ever has to be. Things haven’t gone too far, I can still pack this all away and continue on as if nothing has changed, so long as I don’t get anywhere near that amazing, incredibleknot of his that does unspeakably delicious things when he—

I stand abruptly. Nope! None of that.

“Morning, beautiful.” Oli’s voice is deep and husky with sleep, and I bite my lip as the mere sound of it sends a flutter through my stomach.

“Morning,” I reply without looking back, instead searching the room as if I’m going to find my clothes in here, even though we took them off way before we made it to the bedroom last night.

“Lie back down.” I hear him shifting around on the bed, and now I definitely can’t look at him in case he’s flipped over to display his gorgeous… front side. “It’s early on a Saturday morning, we don’t have to get up yet.”

I spot the ensuite and make my way over. “I should probably head back to Lucas,” I say, still not looking over at him. “He doesn’t really spend time away from me.”

“All the more reason to give yourself a break. Why don’t I take you for breakfast?”

I pause at the doorframe, because my son is a good boy, but his never-ending energy is certainly a handful. And breakfast is a safe activity. Right?

I finally turn back to look at Oli, and I’m hit in the face with his Adonis body—thick, chiseled pecks, sculpted six pack, and that god-gifted pole between his legs, which is half-hard with morning wood and laying enticingly against one strong thigh.

“God, you’re handsome…” I sigh forlornly, and his mega-watt grin at my admission practically lights up the room, making him doubly attractive.

“Says the Aphrodite standing in my bedroom,” he murmurs, and the way his eyes trace over my bare skin sends a shiver down my spine. “Come here.”

I take one step towards him, before frowning and turning on my heel. Jesus, Grace, get a grip, you little hussy!

“Breakfast,” I cry as I head for the toilet. “Let’s just go for breakfast.”

***

We park on a side street and stroll towards the Silver Spoon, a quaint little diner I’ve been to a few times with Ella, whose obnoxiously loud troll chef serves the most homey and incredibly comforting food. I’m still in my heels and the gorgeous dress Oli bought me, but the temperature is dipping so he lent me a cashmere pullover to wear on top, which has the added benefit of almost entirely covering the clearly evening dress I’m wearing beneath, since the man it belongs to is so much bigger than me.

Despite the cooling weather the skies are blue and the sun is bright, and as we turn the corner I catch sight of Brad with a take-away coffee in his hand, walking on the other side of the street, and my brain blanks out for a second.

Is it odd that I’d almost forgotten about him?

Quickly, I slip my hand in Olistaire’s big palm, and lean my body against his side. Stupendously incredible sex or not, I still need this man to help me get rid of my little problem.

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