Page 107 of When It's Us
I shrug, more than a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.”
He raised his eyebrows, the smirk turning into a small smile.
“Okay, maybe I did,” I say with a light chuckle. “I only want to understand you better.”
“Bold choice before you’ve even had coffee,” he teases lightly. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
He nods and turns toward the kitchenette and the coffee maker, before reaching up to take down two mugs.
My eyes stay glued to the glorious expanse of his bare back, the way his muscles move and flex, those two sexy little dimples right above the waistband of his boxer briefs. I swallow hard before I drool.
“You gonna stand there and look at my ass all day or are you gonna come have some coffee?” he asks, his voice deep, graveled with sleep but still tinged with humor, with his back still to me.
It’s like a trance breaking, the way his words douse me in heat. I cross the space, skirting around projects and the worn leather couch. Turning my back toward the counter, I let my eyes trail up his abs and chest before hoisting myself up to sit on the tiny countertop. He immediately moves to stand between my knees, handing me a steaming mug of coffee.
Quiet intimacy radiates around us as we both sip, and I watch him over the rim of my mug.
“Sleep okay?”
The corner of my mouth turns up a bit. “You mean after you fucked me into oblivion?”
His rich chuckle sends a shot of lust to my clit, and my nipples pebble against the soft flannel covering them.
How does this man’s laugh send my body into overdrive every single time?
He takes another sip of his coffee, and I watch the honey blond tips of his dark hair trail over his shoulders before he leans in.
“Is that what I did?”
“Mmm,” I hum with a nod, taking another sip.
My tummy does a little flip-flop as he watches me.
Does heactuallycare about me? At first it was just fun. Close proximity and me learning how to justbe. But now we weren’t forced to be together, crammed in his too small Vanagon, we don’t have to spend time alone together and yet…here we are.
DoIcare abouthim? The thought and its immediate answer hit me like a tidal wave.
I do.
Here I am getting tangled up in this reserved, yet self-assured man for more than his pretty face and giant dick, and I have zero idea if he feels the same.
I know I should tread lightly here, because this man could seriously fuck with my headandmy heart. Yet, Hutch has shown me a side of him that I was sure not many people got to see. I mean, sure, everyone sees the happy-go-lucky guy, the one always up for anything. But there have been glimpses of a different man under it all the last couple of weeks.
When we’re fucking he’s both demanding and sweet, filthy and giving. But there’s something else there too. A seriousness that isn’t immediately obvious. Like you kind of have to dig around a bit to find it. Like last night with his confession of the baby he lost.
Hutch digs around in the fridge and pulls out bread, eggs, and a half gallon of milk. “Scrambled or?”
“Whatever’s easy.”
I watch as he cracks six eggs into a bowl, adds a splash of milk and then whisks them together before adding them to the pan he set on the stove to preheat.
It’s warm in the kitchenette, despite the open space and the rain last night, and it feels cozy. Right. I shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t want to potentially spoil the quiet morning we’ve had, but I can’t help it.
“Can I be honest?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says, picking up his mug to take another sip.
