Page 30 of Made Over by Meredith

“I was working,” Meredith told me as she plodded around me to close her laptop and fold up the fluffy orange blanket on the couch.

I placed the donuts on the small round table I assumed she used as a kitchen table. “I got you Boston Cream.”

She stopped mid-stride, staring at me and then the box of donuts and coffees. “Why?”

“Because I know they’re your favorite?”

“Claire?”

I shook my head. “Jimmy.”

She rolled her eyes, mumbling, “That fucking guy.”

“I knew Claire wouldn’t tell me. Or would spoil the surprise.”

Meredith blew out a breath and fixed her sweater on her shoulders, then, as if realizing what she wore, dropped her attention to her bare legs. My focused zipped right to her hard nipples.

“Listen,” she started, pulling her cardigan tight around her, “I don’t know what you think this is or whatever, but?—”

“But we need to have a discussion,” I said, interrupting her by wrapping my hands around her hips.

The tiny little gasp she let out was pure lust, and I didn’t expect to lose my cool so quickly, but I backed her up against the wall near the staircase. “And I’m willing to have the discussion over breakfast or while you’re naked. It’s totally up to you.”

She huffed a laugh that morphed to a moan when I ducked my face to her throat, sucking on the skin over her pulse. “Aiden.”

I hummed. I loved how she said my name like that.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you.” I met her gaze. “We need to talk.”

“This isn’t talking.”

“You’re right.” I tipped my head toward the table. “So, make your decision. Talk over food.” I jutted my chin to the steps behind her. “Or in your bed.”

“I don’t know what you think we need to talk about, but you’re not?—”

I bent and wrapped my forearms around her ass, heaving her over my shoulder. She shrieked, hanging upside. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not usually so indecisive, so I thought I’d help you out.”

“Aiden!”

I swatted her thigh, and she smacked my butt in return while I carried her upstairs.

“Put me down!”

I marched down the short hall to what I guessed was her bedroom and tossed her down on the bed. She bounced, her hair flopped to the side, her mouth hanging open like I’d shocked her delicate sensibilities.

“We have to talk about last night,” I said, my hands on my hips as I watched her scramble back on the bed.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“No?” I planted my hands on the end of her mattress, curling my fingers into the comforter. “Not about how I made you come so hard, both of us were literally dripping?”

She shook her head. “That was…a mistake.”

I yanked the blanket toward me, taking her with it, and she shrieked, her arms and legs flailing. “It wasn’t a mistake. I don’t want to hear you say that again.”

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