Page 202 of The First Time
Epilogue
Piper
It smells like coffee downstairs, but that isn't my favorite thing about waking up here. The artfully decorated Christmas tree, with its homemade ornaments and its rainbow string lights is a strong contender.
And that Kit's parents are upstairs in the guest room.
Our guest room. It'sourapartment now, even if I technically crash at my parents' place on nights when I stay at school late.
My favorite thing about waking up here isn't the tiny present under the tree, the one with the raspberry wrapping that perfectly matches my rolling duffel.
It's the sight of Kit. He's standing in the kitchen in jeans and a snug t-shirt, a cup of coffee in his hands, a smile lighting up his expression.
It's the way he still looks at me like I'm his favorite thing in the world.
I also like seeing that couch, the place where we had our first kiss and our first fuck, every day.
But nothing can compare to all the joy in his expression.
He moves close enough to hand me a cup of coffee and plant a kiss on my lips. "You look cute in those pajamas."
I do look cute in my hot pink flannel pajamas, but that's not why I'm blushing. It's the tone of his voice, the way it reminds me that he still doesn't sleep in pajamas.
That I'm only sleeping in these pajamas because his parents are staying with us.
Fuck, he's looking at me like he's thinking about ripping off my pajamas.
"Thank you." I take a long sip of my coffee. It's good black. I add enough cream and sugar to make it perfect. It's so perfect I let out a low, deep moan after my next sip.
He cocks a brow. "Should I be jealous?"
"Maybe." I take another sip. This time, I play up my moan.
Kit pries my fingers off my cup, one by one. He takes the mug and sets it on the counter. Then he's pulling me into his arms and planting a slow, deep kiss on my lips.
His tongue slides into my mouth.
His palms press into my lower back.
He's so much better than coffee.
I sigh as our kiss breaks.
He smiles, triumphant, and nods to my mug. "Careful with that thing. My parents are upstairs. And I know you're incapable of keeping it down."
Heat spreads over my torso. The man knows how to play me like an instrument. He should. He has his hands on me nearly as much as he has them on his bass guitar.
"I could try." I polish off my coffee. "But I doubt it's going to happen."
He brushes a stray hair behind my ear. "You're my expressive thespian."
"No one says thespian."
"Teenage boys say it."
"Because it rhymes with lesbian."
His smile widens. "They still say it."
