Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
LIANA
Iwake up to the smell of coffee.
Then I notice the sunlight streaming into my room, and the memories from last night stream into my mind. I immediately roll over to find Julian, but he’s not there.
My heart pounds faster, but then I hear clanging in the kitchen and him cursing.
Aw, he was trying to stay as quiet as possible.
I smile with tears in my eyes. The sheets are still warm on his side, and I bury my face in the place that smells like him—like lemons, sweat, and the faintest ghost of last night’s sex.
My body is sore and loose and humming with something that is definitely not just post-orgasmic bliss. I feel different. I feel safe with him there.
I lie there for a few seconds, listening to Julian humming softly. I slowly get out of bed, my body sore as fuck.
My hair is a disaster, and my mouth tastes like last night’s wine. I brush my teeth in the bathroom, splash water on my face, try to finger-comb the worst knots out of my hair, and give up.
Julian is standing at the stove with his back to me, and he is shirtless.
His shoulders are broad and tanned, the muscles in his back shifting as he flips something in the pan.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that sit low on his hips, and his hair is damp, like he’s already showered, dark brown with those sun-streaks catching the morning light.
He turns, spatula in hand, and sees me. His eyes go soft. The dimple appears, just a hint of it, and he looks at me like I’m something he’s been waiting to see all morning.
“Hi,” I say. My voice comes out small.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he says, and my stomach flips. He sets the spatula down and turns fully toward me, and god, he is devastating. The lean cut of his waist, the trail of dark hair that disappears into his boxers, the way he stands with the easy confidence of an alpha.
He picks up a plate from the counter. Scrambled eggs, golden and fluffy. Crispy bacon arranged in a neat fan beside them. A piece of toast, buttered.
“I went out,” he says, smirking as he sets the plate on the small round table. “You literally had nothing in this kitchen except a lemon and half a stick of butter. You were out like a log.”
My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. My palms are sweating. It’s now or never.
“I think I love you,” I blurt.
The words come out in a squeak. I wince. He blinks.
“What was that?” he says slowly.
I try again, quieter. “I love you, Julian.”
He stares at me for a full second. Then a slow, crooked smile takes over his face, starting at the corner of his mouth and curling up until his whole face is glowing. He sets down his mug. He leans across the table, grabs my face in both hands, and kisses me so hard I nearly fall out of my chair.
“That’s good, because I love you more than anything,” he says when our kiss ends.
Blushing, I jump up and wrap my arms around his neck, and he stands, picks me up like I weigh nothing, and spins me in a slow circle in the middle of my kitchen.
“It feels good to finally say it,” I say.
He sets me down gently. Presses his forehead to mine. His eyes are so close I can see the flecks of gold in his irises.
“If you ever stop loving me, I will make your life a living hell. I will haunt your dreams and buy all your favorite flowers out from under you so you can never have them for your shop again. You understand me, Lia?”
I giggle, choking on the tears that have just started to prick at my eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s the worst threat I’ve ever received.”
He kisses my nose, my cheeks, my eyelids. He kisses every part of my face until I am giggling and gasping for breath. Then he sits down, pulls me onto his lap, and holds me there with one arm across my waist.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against my skin. “My Lia. My gorgeous girl. My omega.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper back, and then I kiss him on the mouth, properly, and he kisses me back.
His lips are warm and soft, as he slides his tongue against mine.
I can taste the coffee on him, dark and sweet, and his eyes, when he pulls back, are glowing.
Literally glowing with the faint alpha gold rimming his pupils, and it makes my pussy clench.
He picks up the fork. Loads it with eggs. Brings it to my lips.
“Open,” he says. The eggs are fluffy and rich, seasoned with something I definitely did not have in my kitchen, and I close my eyes as I chew, leaning back against his chest. His heartbeat is steady against my shoulder blades.
He cuts a piece of bacon with the edge of the fork. Brings it to my mouth. I open. The bacon is crispy, salty, and perfect. I hum around it, and he kisses the curve of my neck while I chew, his lips soft against my skin.
“Good?” he murmurs.
“So good.”
He feeds me another bite of egg. Another piece of bacon. His free hand has settled low on my hip, his thumb rubbing slow, possessive circles into my skin. His breathing changes, and I can tell where this is going as I feel his bare chest behind me.
His knees move. He nudges my thighs apart with his own, spreading me open on his lap, and I gasp with the fork still in my mouth, feeling helpless.
“You’re going to keep eating your breakfast,” he says, low and rough. “You’re going to be a good girl and finish your plate. Okay?”
“Okay,” I mumble around the eggs.
His hand slides down from my hip to between my legs, cupping my pussy instantly. I am already wet, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest into my back.
“Already wet?” he says, and I flush hot. “Fuck, Lia. You’re soaked. I’m going to wake you up properly.”
He brings the fork to my mouth with his other hand. I take the bite obediently, cheeks burning. His middle finger slides between my folds slowly, and I make a small, soft sound around the eggs.
He pushes a finger inside me. I tighten around him and gasp as slick seeps onto his thighs.
“Mhm,” I groan as he feeds me another bite.
“Shh, you can take my finger. You took my knot twice in your little pussy,” he whispers. “Are you still sore, baby?”
“Just a little bit,” I say, even though I am, because I don’t want him to remove his finger.
He works his finger in deep, slow, in time with the rhythm of feeding me. I take another bite as he pumps his finger in and out of me. His thumb finds my clit and circles it, light and maddening. Slowly, he adds a second finger, stretching me, and I squirm against his lap.
He holds me in place with the arm across my waist.
“Keep eating,” he says, and his voice has gone rough.
I do. I am panting between bites now, my chest rising and falling fast, and he alternates between feeding me and bringing me closer to the edge with his hand between my thighs. His cock is hard against the small of my back through his boxers, and his breath is starting to go ragged in my ear.
“I’m going to do this for you every morning,” he whispers. “Every single morning. Your pussy is so wet, I’m going to make you squirt all over me.”
His thumb moves on my clit in slow, tight circles while two of his fingers are inside me, and I am trying to swallow another bite of egg.
Suddenly my thighs begin to shake and tremble as my pussy clenches hard, releasing a stream of slick high into the air.
“Oh, oh.. Oh!” I scream as my slick squirts all over the floor and on his lap.
“Wow, yes, squirt all over me, baby,” he growls as he fingers me harder, pushing deeper inside until every drop of slick is drained out of me. He works me through it gently, his fingers slowing, his thumb easing off, until I gasp softly and slump back against his chest, boneless.
He kisses my temple. Sets the fork down. Brings his fingers up to his own mouth and sucks them clean
“Oh, that was…” I say, gasping for air, unable to speak. “Julian, my god.”
“You’ve earned a shower,” he says, chuckling into my ear.
We abandon the half-finished plate of eggs on the table and stumble together into my tiny bathroom.
Once he has me under the shower, I’m pressed against the tile as he slides into my asshole from behind, stretching me wide since my pussy is so sore.
“Oh Julian,” I moan as he pushes deeper into my asshole as the hot water beats down over us. My hands are on the tile wall as he pounds into my butt, his balls slapping furiously against my skin.
“Yes, oh yes,” he growls as he continues to fuck my ass, keeping my legs spread wide with his foot.
After our very hot shower in more ways than one, we head downstairs together.
I flip the small chalkboard sign hanging on the door hook from CLOSED to OPEN. Then I grab the standing chalkboard from beside the whiskey barrels and rewrite it in my looping handwriting: yellow ranunculus, white anemone, sweet pea, peonies. After I finish, I blow the chalk off my fingertips.
“I got the door,” says Julian, propping the door open, letting the spring air filter through the shop. He goes behind the counter without being asked and starts refilling the buckets that need water, his movements smoother than they were yesterday.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as I check the cooler shelves, and something inside of me is happy that he’s here with me.
Our first customer comes in at nine on the dot.
By ten, the morning has settled into a steady, warm rhythm.
Small sales. Friendly chatter. A woman buying a single stem of ranunculus for her kitchen table.
A man in a suit picking up a pre-ordered bouquet for his secretary’s birthday. Julian charms every single one of them.
He wraps. He bags.
He tells an elderly lady with a cane that the peonies bring out the color in her eyes, and she blushes so hard her friend has to steady her by the elbow.
He gives an enormous discount to a young father who has come in with a toddler strapped to his chest, buying a single peony for his pregnant partner.
“Thirty percent?” I hiss at him over the register after they leave. “That’s basically free.”
He kisses my cheek, his lips warm against my skin. “You can dock it from my pay,” he says, grinning, and my stomach flips.