Page 72 of Cloud Storm

“I was checking out the rewards, you can’t blame a man,” he says smirking.

“You’re cocky, Suit.”

“At your service, my queen. I also have a good co…”

“Enough,” Roselynn calls over from the front counter. “You’re being disgusting, you know? You completely forgot you’re not alone.”

This time it’s my turn to roll my eyes. If we’re talking about being disgusting … She can’t keep her hands to herself when her husband is close. This is a good reversal of roles if you ask me.

“Let’s continue this at home,” Lancelot suggests and I agree, finishing my tasks for the day at the speed of light.

Home… I can’t help but wonder what he really meant, but I’m too afraid to ask.

With a tray full of muffins and more cupcakes and a bag holding our dinner, we walk hand in hand to Market Station. We walk slowly, there’s no hurry, nobody is waiting on us. We stop on every corner to kiss, incapable of keeping our hands to ourselves.

He looks perfect as ever, with his designer jeans and carefully starched shirt. Me? Well, I’m still me, with my compression leggings and I’m sure I have flour on my face and T-shirt.

And that cologne he wears on a daily basis. In the past few days I’ve discovered it’s something called Straight to Heaven. Yup, it sends me directly to the clouds, the scent made my panties melt instantly. The effect it has on me might be illegal in some countries.

My body tingles, and I want to skip instead of walk. I’m so happy right now.

I never thought being in love could feel this way.

Wait. You, fucking wait.

Am I in love with the Suit?

He’s no longer just the Suit, he has so many facets. He’s caring, and funny, and so freaking sexy. And the way he touches me. The way he makes love to me…

That fudging word again… love.

I look up at him and discover he’s watching me, smiling. And my nerves spike. It’s too soon. Way too soon.

There is a four letter word that begins with an L crackling in the air around us. No, it isn’t love. It’s lust.

At least it should be.

Damn you, Suit. Damn you and all your superpowers. I want to run and hide under my blankets. Alone. And at the same time I want to stay here with him, laughing and talking about silly things.

Later, when we’ve showered and are once more in bed together, Lancelot’s stomach begins to rumble with hunger and mine makes the chorus, and as if on instinct, we get up to go to the kitchen.

This gal shall not live by sex only. We need sustenance.

“You should wear my pajamas more often,” he says, slapping me on the butt. “They fit you much better than me.”

He walks around, wearing a pair of pants very similar to mine and an old t-shirt, barefoot and with messy hair. I never have seen him so irresistible.

I want him again. However, I need to remember he has to rest. And eat.

He feels so good in the mornings, with his body bracing mine, wrapping me with his warmness. It’s the best way to wake up.

Ever.

The night falls on the city when we finish dinner. I’d prepared a chicken stew with vegetables while we were at the bakery finishing some preparations for tomorrow, and I don’t think it’s that good, cooking is not my specialty—baking is a whole different thing—but Lancelot says it’s great and the compliment is appreciated.

The doorbell rings and he gets up to answer it, grumbling about inconvenient visitors and etiquette rules. The door opens and quiet reprimands are heard. I go out to see a blonde girl, slim and perfectly groomed, hanging from Lancelot’s neck and hugging him hard.

Behind her are two men.

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