Page 57 of See You Next Winter
“Sure, I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Oh, you’ll believe it. You’re getting non-stop, 24/7 romance for the rest of this trip. Starting now.”
“I don’t know if I can have sex again yet,” she winces. “That was fucking intense.”
“I was not talking about sex. That’s on you, dirty girl.” I press a kiss to her forehead and peel back the covers. “Go open the front part of my backpack.”
She climbs off of me and pads across the floor, bending to unzip my bag. Inside I've stashed three packs of Red Vines, the candy she got immediately hooked on when she came to visit.
“Oh my God,” she squeals, clutching them to her chest. “I love you so much.”
Her back snaps up straight, eyes widening as they lock with mine. We’ve never said those words before, and to hear it tumble out, raw and unfiltered, is fucking incredible.
“You’re welcome.”
I’m dying to say it back, but not like this. I will soon though, and I know the perfect spot for a declaration.
Chapter 43
Kayla
While I stretch outlike a cat after the best sleep of my life, Ryan’s voice flows through the chalet, singing away in the shower. I can’t tell if it’s some country song or if he’s putting on an accent, but all I know is he’s here.
He’s here.
His arrival last night was a complete surprise. My body went into shock when he grabbed me in my room, but as soon as I heard his voice, I knew I was safe. Ryan played his role well, and I leaned into the fantasy and took everything he had to give. The tender ache between my thighs is a reminder of that.
Falling asleep in his arms afterwards would have been all the comfort I needed to recover from the adrenaline rush, but he went even further witha warm shower followed by a candlelit massage that was so good I cried happy tears.
I expect him to crawl back into bed with me, but he heads downstairs, and the singing continues with a backdrop of clattering pans and cupboard doors opening and closing. Eventually, curiosity gets the better of me. I pull on one of his t-shirts and pad downstairs to the main part of the chalet.
In the kitchen, I find him wearing nothing but tight black boxer briefs, and a Christmas apron he must have found in the cupboard. He cracks eggs into little ramekins, and tops them with cream from thefridge and lots of fresh black pepper. Next to punnets of fresh berries and yoghurt, warm baguettes are waiting to be torn open and slathered with jam.
I’m only staying in the house for a couple of weeks while my parents have an electric carport installed, so I haven’t bothered stocking up on groceries. He must have snuck out early to go to the shops down the hill.
“What’s going on here?”
His smile is miles wide when he looks sideways to find me standing in the doorway in his t-shirt. He makes no effort to pretend he’s not checking out my legs as his gaze dips lower and lower.
“Breakfast, Bunny. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Ravenous,” I tell him, coming up behind him, and admiring the view of his firm ass and strong thighs. I stroke my fingertips down the length of his spine, and when he ignores me, I run my tongue all the way back up, giving his glutes a firm squeeze.
When he removes my hands, I reach up and rake my nails through the strands of hair at the back of his neck instead. He shivers, and tries to swat me away, so I go for gold and slip my hand inside his apron, and down the front of his underwear. He’s already hard, like I hoped he might be. If I had a dick, it would never go down when he’s around.
His focus remains on grating a wedge of local hard cheese on top of the eggs, but I want all of his attention, and I want it now. At his side, I drop to my knees and shuffle between him and the under-counter cupboards. There’s not a lot of room, but it’s no hardship to press my face against him, to reach underneath his apron and cup him firmly.
“Enough!” he squeals, hoisting me up to sit on the counter and pointing a playful finger in my face. “Stop distracting me.”
“Why won’t you let me touch you?”
“I don't think it’s very romantic to let your girlfriend blow you on the kitchen floor before you’ve made sure she’s well fed.”
My stomach drops like we’re flying over the lip of a vertical drop rollercoaster. He might have turned me brainless from all the orgasms, but I don’t remember any conversation about putting labels on this thing.
“Are we playing house now?” I slither off the counter to fill a glass of water.
“We sure are,” he says, returning to his cooking. “I told you last night, for as long as I’m here, you’re getting the full Ryan Richmond boyfriend experience.”
