Mia
Sunday Morning
My body hummed from a sleep so deep that even Theo’s pottering couldn’t wake me. He dropped a pan, cursed, and as my eyes fluttered open, he kept searching my small kitchen, shirtless, for ingredients, pots, and utensils.
I sat up, stretched, and enjoyed the view.
His body was enough to make me sigh heavily, and reacting like that to him made me feel like a horny, melodramatic thespian.
Gem would have been so proud.
I still couldn’t believe we were here. In fact, I planned to dissect every moment up until this point as soon as I stepped in my shower. There had to be some logical, non-universe-related reason for this.
But as the warm water ran down my skin, all I could do was groan. My muscles were so stiff.
It didn’t take long for the heat to work its magic, but as my joints relaxed, the raw, tender ache between my legs throbbed. I slid a finger inside myself and hissed. Maybe Theo was right. Maybe we needed to slow this down.
But how was I supposed to be okay with taking this slow when he’d just given me the most satisfying night of my life?
I wanted more of that today because today was all I was going to get. After this, we were drawing a line in the sand. He had to go back to life as Theo Hudson: father, businessman and, for fuck’s sake, doctor, while I had to get back to mentoring his daughter.
All the orgasms from this weekend would be tucked away as memories, and they couldn’t be anything more than that.
Scrubbed and warm, I wrapped a towel around myself and walked into my small living space.
Theo sat at the small round table I’d inherited from Lilly’s elderly uncle, already eating a forkful of eggs. As soon as he saw me, he eyed the plate of eggs, toast, bacon, and sausages by his arm before refocusing on his own meal.
“Is this a classic English fry-up?” I teased as I slid into the seat next to him.
He shrugged. “Was I meant to make something else?”
“Thank you, you big grump.” I nudged him with my elbow. “Pizza last night, and now this? You’re spoiling me.”
His fork paused on the way to his mouth as he snorted. “If this is what you think spoiling is, you need higher standards.”
I twisted my lips to the side, picked up my fork, and poked him. “I do have high standards, thank you very much.”
He raised a brow. “Oh yeah? And what are they?”
A soft guitar riff drifted into the studio, and I recognized the bars of my favorite Def Leppard song. “An appreciation for eighties rock is a bit of a must.”
He looked away and shook his head. “That isn’t a standard. That’s just good taste.”
His tone pulled a laugh right out of me. He was so grumpy in the morning, and it was hilarious. “What would you call a standard, then?”
I speared a sausage and chewed it, adjusting the towel wrap on my head as I relaxed back into the chair.
“Standards are about how you’re treated.”
I watched him as he chewed another mouthful. “And how should I expect to be treated the morning after a night of great sex?”
“You tell me.”
I frowned at him, unsure of what he wanted me to say. I took in the loaded plate in front of me, then looked over my shoulder at my spotless kitchen.
“I can tell you this–I’ve never had anyone cook breakfast for me and then leave me with nothing to clean.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to clean after me.”
I poked his hard, muscled arm. “Well, I’ll consider that my new morning-after standard, then.”
He hmphed and shook his head.
“Hey. What’s going on with you?”
He scraped eggs onto his toast. “Nothing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. I forgot you’ve got resting grump face.”
“I don’t have resting grump face.”
“You do at–” I glanced at the clock hanging above my sofa “–seven in the morning.”
He rolled his eyes, then shot me a smile that was so goofy, eggs flew out of my mouth. I laughed.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“You almost made me choke.”
“Twice in twenty-four hours can’t be good for you.”
Oh, cripes, he meant the blow job I gave him last night. I laughed so hard I had to push my plate away or risk wearing it.
He ate the rest of his meal with a small smile, then took both of our empty plates to the kitchen.
“I can do that,” I offered as he filled my sink with sudsy water.
He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do after–” he nudged his chin at the double bed, now perfectly made up “–that.”
I shifted in my chair, holding my towel close to me. “How long has it been for you?”
He went back to washing my dishes. “Eight years.”
My mouth dropped, and I almost bulldozed ahead without thinking, about to tell him how insane that was, when he cut in and said, “I don’t want to know how long it’s been for you.”
Confused and still a little stunned, I asked, “You’re not curious?”
“No.”
I stared at him, not sure of how to take that.
“I don’t want to think of you with anyone else.”
And just like that, my chest dissolved into something warm and fluffy. “Aw, would it make you jealous?”
He scoffed. “The fact that Mike treats you makes me jealous.”
A small hiccup wedged itself in my throat, and my heart pounded against it, wanting to jump out of my mouth to land at Theo’s feet.
And wasn’t that just a little too dramatic?
He just admitted he felt a little jealous. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, was it?
“Why don’t you go back to treating me then?”
The way he shook his head made me wonder if I should’ve been offended.
“I can’t. There’s no way I could put my hands on you again without wanting more.”
Nope. Definitely not offended. I was glad I was already sitting because this man was making my stomach flutter and knees melt simultaneously. He really was quite talented.
“Is that a bad thing?”
I waited as he dried the last dish, setting it aside before letting the water drain. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest.
“We already said we can’t let anyone find out about this, didn’t we?”
I frowned. “We did.”
“Which is why it can’t go any further than tonight.”
Ah. “Because people would notice.”
“I’m surprised they don’t notice how I feel about you already.” He studied his feet as he lifted his broad shoulders. “If I could, I’d take you home and tell Kira–”
“Hey.” In a panic, I cut him off, stood from my chair, still holding my towel to me.
Did he? Was he about to?
Nope. Nope, nopity nope nope nope. We were not going there.
I went to him, put my hands on his chest, and waited until he looked at me. “Let’s just focus on today. Okay?”
He stared at me but gave me a tight nod. The music was louder here, and as another Def Leppard song played, I looked for the source.
Theo lifted his phone from the counter and tapped his screen. “I left my playlist on.” He paused the music, and I was outraged. I gave him a grunt and pressed play.
He raised a brow at me, and I said, “This song is iconic; it’s my favorite. Haven’t you seen the dance Demi Moore does to it in that stripper movie?”
His frown deepened. “What dance?”
My mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?”
“No?” He gave me a funny look that said, Why would I watch a movie about a stripper?
“So you’ve never seen this move?” I stepped back from him and whirled around, whipping my head in a circle until the towel wrap flew off and landed on the ground.
Theo smiled. “Uh, no. Can’t say that I have. But that’s a good look for you.”
Strands of damp hair whipped my face as I twirled back to face him. “Oh yeah? What about this?”
I clamped my thighs together, bent my knees, and dipped low, bouncing up and off the ground until my ass wiggled in the air.
He burst out laughing. “Are you twerking?”
I jerked upright, held my towel to my chest, and stuck my tongue out at him. “Teachers don’t twerk, Mr Hudson. That was an elegant dance move.”
He laughed harder, then reached for me, prying my hands from my towel and arranging me so my body was flush with his. “This is an elegant dance move.”
He stepped me back, then forward, twirled me, and held my waist as he dipped me in a low, wide arc, all while I squealed and giggled in his grip.
When he righted me again, I felt breathless. Almost weightless. “You dance, too?”
His nose brushed against mine. “Yep. But don’t tell anyone. I might lose credibility if anyone found out.”
I locked my arms around his neck and lifted onto my toes until my mouth finally reached his. After the soft slide of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth, my skin felt fevered. I bit his bottom lip playfully before whispering, “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He groaned. The thick press of his erection slid against my stomach. “Nothing about what I want to do to you is safe, Mia. Not a single fucking thing.”
He bent, wrapped his arms around my thighs, and lifted me up and over his shoulder. I let out a high-pitched sound of surprise, and the next thing I knew, I was naked on my bed again.
Two hours later, after Theo came inside me from behind–the man really had a thing for my ass–I was in a breezy blue dress patterned with flowers.
It was my favorite because not only was it adorable, but it was also comfortable.
The skirt flared around my waist and hips, gently swishing against my thighs as I walked, and on a freakishly steamy day like today, I needed something that breathed.
Theo slid his hands along my bare shoulders and pressed his lips to my neck. He was wearing his trousers and button-down shirt, and despite the wrinkles that came from being on my floor all night, his clothes looked painted on.
“How am I supposed to pretend that I don’t want to fuck you every second we’re out in public?” he whispered into my skin, and, against my better judgement, I pushed my ass back into him.
“You did a good enough job the last time we were at the bookstore.”
He laughed. “I couldn’t even look at you once I saw that vibrator on the ground. All I could think about was pushing you up against a shelf and fucking you with it.”
I turned around and eyed him. “Oh, come on. No one would believe you wanted me back then.”
Only the corner of his lip lifted as he said, “I wanted you so fucking bad, and I hated it.”