Page 100 of The Vows We Keep
Iris:He’s going to be trained as a service dog.
Gwen:I got a box of ... cough ... *toys*
Rae:I love this almost as much as the puppy.
Me:Says the girl going to England
Rae:What did Niro do for you?
I can’t help but smile at Niro’s take on Valentine’s Day.
Me:He bought me seven vests to wear under clothes that are supposed to slow bullets.
Iris:Oh my god, he’s like Spark. I swear protection disguised as gifts is his love language.
Briar:That’s kinda swoony. We got each other half the wood flooring we need for the bedroom. Not the slightest bit romantic, but the house reno is taking forever. I gave him six boxes. He gave me six boxes and an IOU for a trip for two to Vegas next year.
Rae:That’s romantic for my brother! He once bought me a bathroom scale for Christmas.
I can’t help but laugh.
The scent of coffee reaches me, and I climb out of bed and tug on a T-shirt from Niro’s drawer. There are a pair of deuces on the front, but the fabric is so soft and worn and smells of Colton. It reaches my knees, so I don’t add anything else.
When I go down the stairs, I’m met with the most glorious sight. Niro is shirtless, wearing a pair of jeans, and spreading flour over the marble counter. I slide my arms around his waist and kiss his shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” I see the mixer in use, coated in flour. “You like it?”
“I probably should have waited to open this, huh? But it was there, and I kept fixating on it. Tried to do other things since waking up but couldn’t get anything started because I knew what was in it was for me. I debated not opening it about twenty times. Then debated coming to wake you up. Even walked upstairs twice. And then the next thing I know, I’d pulled the wrapping paper off, which made me feel bad that I didn’t wrap yours up.”
The words all come out on a long whoosh. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you like it. I was going to say you could exchange it if it wasn’t right, but I guess it’s too late now.”
He lifts his arm so I can slip around in front of him. “You look utterly fuckable.” His lips press down on mine.
“What are you making?”
“Cinnamon rolls.”
“Can I help?”
Niro grins. “Absolutely.”
“Let me go wash my hands.” I step over to the sink to wash my hands while Niro disappears upstairs. I wonder why until he reappears with a step stool and a condom.
“Up you go,” Niro says, after placing the stool in front of the floured marble, encouraging me to step on.
“Get the dough out of the bowl. It’s been rising,” Niro instructs. His words are breathy against my ear as his hands play with the hem of my T-shirt.
When his hard dick presses up against the ridge of my ass, I smile. “Seems like the dough isn’t the only thing that’s been rising.”
His gruff laughter reverberates through me. “Focus on rolling that shit out.”
“Are you going to help?”
His hands slide beneath the T-shirt, rising higher and higher until he cups both my breasts, his thumbs massaging my nipples. “What do you call this?”
“Not helping,” I reply, but I reach for the rolling pin.
“You want to make a long rectangle.”
I do as he says, but it’s hard to focus. One of his hands slides up to hold my throat gently, and the other slides between my legs. Maybe I should be concerned about body fluids around uncooked dough, but I can’t think of anything once he swirls the tip of a finger in my wetness, and then slides it inside me.
