Chapter 55
Aida
Waking up with a warm, sleepy Cal next to me is pretty special.
I surface on my stomach, face turned into the crook of one arm.
One of his huge hands is stroking my ass slowly, which I’m pretty sure is what woke me up.
And when I let my eyes flutter open, it’s his face I see in the soft morning light.
‘Hey,’ I murmur, those first cloudy seconds of bliss yielding to an almost instant flare of panic, because I haven’t woken up with a guy who is not my ex or one of my sons for a very, very long time. And I’m pretty sure my just-woke-up look isn’t as cute as the ones I used to pull off.
His smile, though. His smile tells me all is well. It tells me he’s pretty happy to have me in this huge, orgy-sized bed of his.
‘How’d you sleep?’ he whispers, his hand trailing from my ass and up my back. His touch feels so good. Casual, but sure.
‘I slept great,’ I tell him, curling onto my side, and it’s true. I totally wiped out.
‘Good,’ he says. He pulls me into him, and I tuck my face under his chin. His morning wood settles against my stomach, his hairy leg wrapping around mine. And so we remain as he falls easily back to sleep.
I guess I must drift off, too, because the next thing I know, Cal’s disentangling himself from me and getting out of bed, and I groan feebly at the loss.
‘Hey,’ he says softly. ‘Stay there. I’m getting you some coffee.’
The C-word has my eyes flying open, and he laughs. ‘Yeah, baby. Give me five and I’ll get you caffeinated.’
He’s gone a lot longer than five minutes. I use his palatial slate-grey wet room to brush my teeth, wash my face and steal his robe, and I’m inhaling the Washington Post on my phone—an ancient, engrained habit—when he reenters the room.
And what a sight. I immediately forget about the op-ed that had me so engrossed, because Cal, dressed in only a pair of tighty-whity Calvins and bearing a heavily laden breakfast tray, is a sight to behold.
He’s so fucking gorgeous, still tan and buff as hell, that inked serpent winding down his side.
He’s ridiculous, and right now he looks good enough to eat.
‘Well, hello there,’ I say, throwing my phone onto the comforter and staring hard. ‘What’s all this?’
‘This’—he moves around the bed towards me—‘is a little breakfast for my beautiful guest.’
I pull my legs up to my body and hug my knees so he has a flat surface for the tray. When he lays it down, arm and chest muscles flexing, it’s clear he’s been a busy boy.
There are two huge cups of coffee with hearts drawn onto their perfect crema.
I start salivating on the spot. There’s also a fruit platter, the thin slices of strawberry and kiwi and cantaloupe arranged just so in sweet little fans, smoked salmon and lemon wedges, and buttered sourdough toast in all its craggy, holey glory.
I know the latter is for me because my living god right here doesn’t let grains pass those gorgeous lips of his.
He places the tray toward the foot of the bed and climbs back into his spot next to me. I lean over and kiss him lightly on the lips.
‘This is more than a little treat. This doesn’t happen when you’re a mom, so… thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. You deserve to be spoilt. Besides.’ He pulls away and clears his throat. ‘It’s all part of my audition process.’
I laugh a little at the earnest look on his face. ‘What audition process?’
He doesn’t break eye contact. ‘To be your boyfriend.’