Page 7 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
Stella’s sheets smell like the perfume she wears. That intoxicating scent. Whatever it is, I want to smell it for the first time again and again. I stroke her arm as she stirs in her sleep. It seems to comfort her. She’s the littlest spoon I’ve ever slept next to, and sometimes, she kicks in her sleep. I don’t mind the bruised shins, though. I haven’t slept so soundly in years.
But the sunlight cracks around the edges of her blackout curtains and she stretches, before she feels me next to her. She tightens up, then sighs and relaxes again. Her soft voice murmurs, “Good morning.”
“Did you forget you had company?”
She giggles, “Maybe.”
“Been a while for you, too?”
“Yeah, definitely. Too long.”
I smirk, “Well, you’re pretty short. I was worried.”
It takes her a second, then she gives a little snort and giggles again. “Truth be told, you almost bottomed out.”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Nothing that wouldn’t be fixed by pancakes. You game?”
I roll her onto her back and ask, “Stella, seriously, tell me if I hurt you. I don’t?—"
She smiles languidly and shakes her head. “I’m the good kind of sore, I promise.”
I can breathe again. “Well, that’s fair, I suppose. I think I wrenched my back last night trying to keep up with you.”
She laughs hard and smacks my arm, “Liar. You’re obviously way more fit than I am, I’m sure keeping up with me was no problem. You practically had to do all the work.”
“Not when I was on top. You were a maniac. I’m not even sure how you move your body like that, but I guess that’s probably why you’re sore.” I get another giggle out of her and it’s the best way to start my day.
She yawns, then asks, “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Come on.” She sits up, and her naked back is a sight to behold. She has those low back dimples just above her ass, and I want to dig my thumbs there, while I grab her hips and take her from behind. It’s like her body was made for sex. Truthfully, there isn’t an inch of this woman that I don’t enjoy. Stella catches me staring, smiles, and says, “I’ll make pancakes.”
“I thought maybe we could hit the diner.”
She wiggles into flannel pajamas and says, “I like to cook, Jordan, and I haven’t really had a chance to do it much lately. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I just didn’t want you to think you had to cook for me.”
Her smile lights up the room. “It’s my pleasure. Meet you downstairs. Hopefully, the dogs haven’t torn everything up.”
After I dress, the pops of bacon sizzling tell me we’re having more than pancakes. Coffee is heavy in the air, and I hope it’s not one of those flavored ones. When I get to the first floor, the dogs are chowing on Sugar’s food. She says, “I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t even think about feeding Sugar, and Max joined in.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. Sugar, don’t let Max take all your food, darlin’.”
The yellow lab wags her tail at me and watches my little man eat out of her dish. She seems happy for the company.
I ask, “Can I do anything to help?”
“Nope, almost ready. Coffee?”
“God, yes.” I nod, and she sets me up. “That’s a fine cup of coffee.”
She laughs, “Thank you. It should be. Kona is damn expensive.”
“I’m usually a Folgers guy myself, so?—"
