Poppy
I wanted to go hiking the next day, but it was snowing.
So…bed it was.
I really couldn't complain.
I woke to John's hands on my thighs, his lips trailing kisses up to my core, spreading me open. I moaned in the early morning light, and he lifted his head—tenting the blankets, a lazy smile on his face.
“Bad weather for a hike,” he murmured.
“Mmhm.”
I didn't say another word.
Couldn't, really, because his tongue found my clit and everything else ceased to matter.
We stayed in bed until about noon, at which point we finally hauled ourselves down to the kitchen for coffee. The coffee was still brewing when my phone lit up on the counter.
My mom was calling.
…like she did every Wednesday, and I’d completely forgotten.
“Everything okay?” John asked from where he was pulling mugs down from the cabinet—shirtless, with a pair of grey sweats slung low on his hips. I was never going to get used to that sight.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s just my mom—normal weekly update call, but I forgot it was Wednesday because I’m not at work.”
He set the mugs down. “You should answer it.”
“But it’s Facetime.”
His eyes darted toward me. All I had on was one of his shirts, an old and worn Guns couldn’t help it, because he was pretty and shining and perfect and I just… stood there. Thinking.
He wasn’t old. He was okay. He was healthy.
We were going to be together for a long, long time.
Something in me settled at that…breathed into it, relaxed.
He was fine.
Eventually he dropped and slowly turned around, totally unaware that I was there. When his eyes found me, he looked a little sheepish, like I’d caught him in a weird habit.
“Sorry,” he said, talking before I could get a word in. “I’m—you’ll get used to it. I do a quick circuit every morning, prison thing.”
I smiled softly and shrugged. “Don’t apologize. I was enjoying the view.”
He relaxed too.
"Prison thing?"
"Routine keeps you sane in there," he said. “You don’t have much else, so you build structure. Every morning, same thing, same order.” He grabbed a towel from the rack next to the door and dried his hands on it. “Never quite shook it. Other women…they thought it was a little weird.”
“I don’t think it’s weird.”
He looked at me.
"I mean it." I stepped forward and put my hands on his chest, felt his heart rate coming down under my palms. "I want to know all your weird habits. The circuit every morning. The same breakfast. The cast iron pan." I looked up at him. "I want all of it."
He covered my hands with his.
"How'd it go?" he asked. "With your parents."
"My dad went upstairs to process."
"And your mom?"
I thought about that. “We should go to Lawrence soon,” I finally said. “Wanna come home with me for Christmas?”
He grinned, then leaned in to kiss me…and he murmured against my lips:
“I would love to.”