Page 101 of Roommate's Guide to Love

“Okay, well we’re diving into that later,” I say, as I need to get back on track. “But it was none of those things.”

I take a breath, and for a second I consider making a joke and weaving my way out of this. But then I feel Porter’s hand at the tip of my chin, his thumb lightly stroking my skin. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Somehow, just his touch and a simple look is all I need.

“I didn’t want this moment,” I begin. “Well, not this exact moment. This is great. Perfect. Ten out of ten. But what I didn’t want was the next morning. You looking at me in the morning light. I didn’t want to take the risk that when you woke up the next day, that you’d regret what we did the night before.”

“Quinn…I nev?—”

I hold up my finger to his lips. “You never, and I mean ever, did anything to make me think that. This was all me and my self-doubt creeping into my head. You did nothing wrong.”

I let my finger slip away, but not before he takes it in his hand to bring it to his mouth. “I hate that you felt that way. Please know, that when I asked you to stay, each and every time, it’s because I wanted this moment. And maybe some morning sex.”

I laugh, thankful that he’s helping me keep this as light as possible. “I’ve actually never had morning sex.”

“Really? Does that mean…”

I nod. “Even if I was dating someone, I never spent the night. I was always gone before they woke up. Because even though I’ve learned to love myself, and most days I’m confident with my life and body, there are times where I’m still Big Girl Banks. And when those thoughts creep in, usually when I’m naked and in the light of day, I go back to high school, where I lived with the belief that guys like Porter McCoy really didn’t want to date girls like Quinn Banks, let alone sleep with them.”

Holy shit. I said it. The thing that scared me the most in the entire world. The thing that always kept me at an arm’s length from any man I ever dated.

What held me back from falling in love with the man lying next to me.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Porter says. “And if there’s ever, and I mean ever, any time those little nuggets of doubt creep in, you just give me the signal. I’ll make it my personal mission to remind you that I’m obsessed with your body, and it would be my honor—nay, my duty—to remind you that you’re by far, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

I lean in for a kiss that becomes heated in an instant. I mean, how can I not? I’m lying here in a bed with a hot as hell man who hasn’t been able to keep his hands off me since we fell into this bed together, who last night told me he loved me and just made me feel completely at ease with my deepest, darkest confession?

Oh shit. I almost forgot that he told me he loved me.

Porter loves me.

Me. Hurricane Banks. And while that’s shocking enough on face value, it’s not as shocking as me knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I love him.

I love how he has embraced instant fatherhood. I love how he bites his lip and squints a little when he’s trying to figure something out. I love how he might come off as the flirty, and sometimes a little broody, bar owner, but in reality he’s sponsored more Little League teams and festival booths than anyone in this town. I love how he’s kept his father’s legacy alive at The Joint while also making it his own place. I love that he somehow knows when I need words of encouragement, or if I just need silence to figure something out.

And I especially love how he’s now deepening the kiss, rolling me to my back for the all the mornings we’ve never had.

“So long,” he mumbles as he starts kissing down my body. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

“No more.”

I let myself and lay back, the sun now directly shining into the bedroom, as Porter’s tongue begins to do what it does so well. I throw one arm up lazily over my head as I let the other one comb through his hair, making it messier than it already is.

Could this be it? Could each day be like this? I mean, I’m not demanding that Porter eats me out every morning—though I wouldn’t be complaining—but could lazy and romantic mornings like this exist? I feel like they could.

Wait, is this what it would’ve been like? If I would’ve stayed, if maybe just once, is this what the morning would’ve been? Porter’s tongue taking its time as he licks and sucks while I lay back in complete bliss? Part of me thinks that yes, the act would’ve been here. But the emotion? The love? I don’t think Quinn from eight years ago would’ve been able to handle this. Hell, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it last year.

No, everything happens for a reason. And maybe Mrs. Metcalf was right. Maybe my fairytale is just starting.

Though I never read the one where the prince ate pussy like it was his last meal. I would’ve for sure read that one.

I moan and let my hips writhe against his mouth as he starts teasing my center with his fingers.

“Fuck yes,” I whisper.

He doesn’t speed up his efforts, instead making sure he’s hitting every spot just right. And holy shit is he. The feel of his fingers now inside me, the flick of his tongue against my clit, it’s all too much.

I feel my orgasm start to build up and I reach back for the bar on this headboard, begging it to come through me. And just as I feel it in the pit of my stomach, it immediately curls back into me with the telltale sound of Grace’s small cries.

“No, no, no!” I yell, begging my orgasms to come back. “I’m so close.”

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