Page 83 of A Not So Merry Rescue
She flips from her stomach to her side, keeping that same arm tucked under her pillow.
Mypillow.
“Maybe if you had the decency to let us get some sleep overnight, you’d have been up at your normal time. But no. It was ‘one more, Willa. You can give me one more,’ and ‘that’s it. Another one just like that. Come for me.’”
“Didn’t hear any complaints last night.”
So maybe that’s a lie. She wasn’t complaining, but I pushed her beyond where she was comfortable. Or at least, where her previous comfort zone was. The last round was hard and fast, yet she took it like a champ. I would think if she was truly uncomfortable, she would have said so. I hope.
“That was delirious Willa. Whatever she said and did, you can’t use against me today.”
“Okay, sure. Got it. Which Willa am I having this conversation with?”
“Hungry Willa. Also, needs coffee Willa.” She bats her eyes, her expression what my sister calls Shania’s “puppy dog face.” Do I have to mention I’m a sucker for it?
“Keep me company in the kitchen. Regale me with more tales about young Willa and growing up in North Carolina.”
“If I must.”
Not able to resist her lips any longer, I lean in and plant a kiss on them. A quick one, so she doesn’t yell at me for proper hygiene or anything.
“You must.”
She flops to her back, the blanket falling from where she had it tucked under her. She was adamant about sleeping in a T-shirt, but I convinced her one of mine was the best choice. Thank goodness it’s too cold for her to leave the bedroom wearing onlythat. I’d probably lay her out on the table and let her be breakfast.
Hmm. Even with clothes, it’s not a bad idea, though she’d still be hungry.
“What are your thoughts on cinnamon rolls?”
She moans, and my dick takes notice. Guess it’s not too tired from last night’s action. A few hours of sleep has it raring to go again. Not that we have much time today.
Unless we’re quick or take advantage of the buffer of time the dough needs to rise.
“Love them. Even know how to cook them myself.” She beams at her compliment.
“From scratch?” I tease, knowing her answer before she speaks.
Her expression sours. “Um, that would be no. You’re going to make cinnamon rolls from scratch? How long does that take?”
“The longest part is waiting for the dough to rise. Any ideas what we could do while we wait?”
She shakes her head. “I’m too sore already. I can’t take anymore. My vagina wasn’t built for all-night sexathons. Nope. No.”
“Get your head out of the gutter. I was going to suggest a movie. Lying on the couch, maybe cuddling. But I see where your mind’s at.” I climb out of bed, not able to face her and keep a serious face.
“Uh, sorry. A movie would be great, actually. A fire would be better.”
As much as sex is always on my mind—she wasn’t wrong—cuddling on the couch with her, under blankets, a fire roaring in the fireplace, has merit. I turn back around. “Are you in the ‘Die Hardis a Christmas movie’ camp?”
“Hardly.”
“Awesome.Die Hardit is. The dough’s going to take some time to prepare, then I’ll get the fire started. Want some fruit to hold you over?”
“Did we eat all the berries? Man, those were good.”
“Why don’t you check while I make the dough? Put together a plate of fruit. You’re up for that task, right?”
She nods, though I’m not convinced she has faith in herself. If I had more time with her, I’d make sure she gained more confidence in the kitchen. Though it definitely wouldn’t be at the top of the priority list.
