Chapter Six #5
"Do you like anything in your pancakes?" he asked, looking down at the giant bowl of batter that was likely enough for an army, not just the two of us.
"Not fruit," I declared, wrinkling my nose. "Sometimes chocolate chips when the urge hits. But I liked it plain. With lots of syrup."
"Butter?"
"Nope," I told him with a head shake as I moved toward the coffee machine where he had already set out a mug for me with sugar and cream.
"Hey," he said, voice low as I moved in beside him, making my head turn to find him watching me, a little smile pulling at his lips.
"Good morning," he told me putting the spatula on the counter, reaching for me instead, a hand to my hip to turn me, the other at the side of my neck, holding me there as his lips pressed down on mine.
I decided right then and there that if my future didn't involve sweet, lingering morning kisses and pancakes, then, well, I wanted nothing to do with it.
"Good morning," I told him back, what felt like an epically goofy smile on my face when he finally pulled away, leaving me a little unsteady, having to press my hand into the counter to steady myself when he reached for his spatula again.
"Get your coffee and go relax," he demanded, nodding his head toward the couch.
Maybe manners dictated that I should have offered to help, but the idea of being able to sip perfect coffee first thing in the morning and watch a man make me breakfast was a stronger desire than following the rules of polite society.
Curled up on the couch, I did just that.
Watched.
The way he scooped batter into the pan with a spoon like I did, messy and imperfect, instead of the way my parents had always poured it into a measuring glass to make it clean and effortless.
The way his muscles shifted under his skin as he moved around as he reached, poured, flipped, plated, dropped a clean dish towel over the plate to seal in the heat, poured syrup and heated it.
I was so distracted by his movements that I didn't realize he was done until he turned to walk toward me with a plate, syrup, and utensils.
"Orange juice? Or are you good with the coffee?"
"The answer is always yes to orange juice," I told him as I took a deep sniff of the plate, a move that made him grin.
A moment later, he sat down beside me.
My butt shifted so I could drape my legs over his. I rested my plate on my thighs. He rested his plate on my legs.
He flipped through the channels, I grumbled when he settled on the news.
And it was easy.
Natural.
Normal.
There was none of that after-the-first-sex awkwardness.
Everything just fell into place.
"Ugh, turn it off," I demanded, head falling back against the armrest rather dramatically.
"Not a fan of politics, huh?"
"Not in the current climate," I told him. "I just don't like the news in general. It's all fear mongering and pseudoscience. I don't know how anyone can watch it first thing in the morning and go into their day with a positive mindset."
"I can see that. But it is seven a.m. It is this or daytime talk shows."
"Which just rehash the news. With added drama."
"Exactly," he agreed.
"You know what has no drama in the morning?"
"What?"
"Saved by the Bell reruns."
"Noted," he agreed, flipping to the channel as he took my plate, piling it with his on the coffee table, then reaching for me.
"Come here," he demanded, grabbing my hips, pulling me to straddle him.
"I think we missed our appointment," he informed me, fingers sinking into my ass, dragging me closer.
"I think you're right," I agreed, sealing my lips over his.
The desire was just pooling in my belly when Padfoot chose the exact wrong moment to trot over to the front door and whine. And whine. And whine.
"Shit," Kingston grumbled, pulling away, glancing over at the dog who clearly needed to take a walk.
"Someday, you will have a fenced yard and can just let him out," I told him, taking a deep breath, sliding off his lap.
"I don't want to leave you here all alone," he told me, eyes watching me.
"I'll be fine," I told him, waving a hand. "I am going to wash these dishes," I added, climbing off the couch, grabbing the plates, taking them toward the kitchen, reminding my body that it would just be ten minutes or so until I could have him back, get another hit of my new addiction.
"Ten minutes," he promised, going down the hall, coming back in a tee and sneakers, grabbing the leash to hook it on Paddy's collar, then opening the door, setting the alarm, locking and closing the door behind him as he left.
It was a long ten minutes, I decided when all the dishes were washed, dried, put away, and there was still no sign of Kingston and Padfoot. On a sigh, I moved into the bedroom, gathering an outfit, making the bed, busying myself.
I was just moving from the bathroom where I deposited my outfit to climb into later—preferably after an epic sex session that would make my already sore thigh muscles even more achy—when I heard the beep of the alarm, a sound that made a smile pull at my lips, made my belly shiver in anticipation.
But then the beep didn't stop.
It didn't stop.
Because whoever was in the apartment didn't know the code.