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Her next moan reaches down my throat and stokes an inferno, and as she gasps my name, I know I only have seconds.
I wrap my arms around her as she shudders and bury myself deep before I’m turned inside out, heaving fire into her depths.
It’s never been like this before.
My balls have never wanted to wring themselves dry in any woman more, and the way her face screws up, the way she clenches my cock, it drags me into a willing insanity I never want to leave.
For a second, we lie still, her head still buried in my shoulder before she looks up and gives me a wry smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Rory.”
I kiss her again with my entire soul, feeling like the luckiest prick alive.
“With mornings like this, why bother with the rest of the day?” I twine my fingers through her hair. “Whatever else you make me, Junie, don’t make me lazy.”
“You? Impossible,” she flings back, smiling ear to ear. “I don’t care what you are, just as long as you’re happy.”
* * *
It takesall day to sort out Junie’s apartment and work situation.
For the first time in ages, she’s taking a few days off to get everything settled. I had to threaten her pushy rat of a landlord with a lawsuit when he tried pinning the blame on her, and she spends the rest of the day collecting her stuff and getting it organized.
It takes me roughly as long to persuade her to stay with me without acting like I’m delivering a damn miracle.
Not just because I want to keep her in my bed—I do, selfishly—but because it makes the most sense.
Having her with me plays into the ruse, and it’s still close enough to the Sugar Bowl for her to commute easily by rideshare.
“I’ll cook tonight. It’s the least I can do,” she says at the end of the day. Her hair’s piled on top of her head and all I want to do is pull it back down so it cascades down her shoulders. “I’ve gotta do something to repay you, right?”
“You don’t need to do shit.”
She levels me a long glare that’s marred by the luscious way her eyelashes curl. There are so many things about her face I’m only just noticing.
“You can stop now. I know it’s not all roses having me around. Iheardyou calling a guy to spot clean your carpets.”
“And I told you I can afford it, didn’t I?” I stare back at her.
“Wonderful. BecauseIcan afford to cook for you. I also have to keep my hands busy when I’m not at work.” She rolls up the sleeves of her plaid shirt and puts her hands on her hips, standing akimbo as she surveys my kitchen. I lean against the island and watch the way she opens the fridge, surveying the ingredients inside, and wrinkles her nose. “Okay, dude. Who just has lobster lying around?”
“I like lobster in salad and eggs when the urge strikes. No imitation, it’s sourced straight from a fishing company in Bar Harbor. A friend of a friend in Maine hooked me up.”
“Yeah, well, who doesn’t? But you don’t find real Maine lobster in my Missouri fridge.” The way she looks at me makes it impossible to keep my smile pinned down. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You are. Asshole.”
“The lobster’s free, you have to pay extra for nice. Those were the terms I spelled out when we started,” I tell her.
Amusement flickers in her green eyes, lighting them like emerald suns.
“You were an even bigger dick then,” she says, taking out the lobster. “The question is, was that you or is itthis?”
“I guess I should just be thankful you think I’m more than a dick now. Not that I minded this morning when you were busy worshipping said dick.”
She points a lobster claw at me. “Notas muchof a dick. Let’s not get carried away here.”
