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I wait for him to slide his cock into me as I grind slowly against him, but he doesn’t, instead he ends the kiss and holds my gaze, a smirk playing at his lips. “Hell no, baby, you don’t get my dick.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Until you get that this,” he says, motioning between us with his chin, “isn’t just about sex, I’m not going to fuck you. I like you, Priss, and I thought we had this figured out. But apparently not, so until we do, until you understand that you’re my girl and I’m your guy, my dick is persona non grata.”
Pressing a soft peck against my lips he unfurls my legs from behind his back and lowers me to the floor. Turning his back on me as he grabs a pair of gray sweatpants from the dresser and slides them on, hiding his still raging hard dick from my sight.
Completely confused, I watch as he strides back over to the dresser and pulls out a black t-shirt. Closing the distance between us he drops it over my head, holding the shirt patiently while he waits for me to push my arms through the sleeves. The shirt is soft and smells deliciously like him, but it’s huge on me, swallowing my frame from my neck to almost my knees.
Smiling even wider he winks at me, grabs my hand, and pulls me from the bedroom.
Baffled, and a little horny, I let him tow me along into the boat’s galley. He releases my hand once we reach the kitchen and heads for the refrigerator, opening the door and leaning down to look at the contents.
“What do you want for breakfast? I’ve got eggs, bacon, some sausage links.” Twisting around he looks at me. “I could make pancakes?”
“I’m not really hungry,” I say, twisting my fingers awkwardly in the fabric of the shirt.
Sighing, he stands up fully and turns to face me. “Baby, you need to eat, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You hardly ate anything last night, plus, I like to eat and I’m not going to have breakfast while you don’t.”
“You can eat, and I’ll go get dressed,” I say, pointing in the direction of the bedroom, my feet already turning to leave.
“Stop,” he snaps in that tone that makes my muscles freeze into place.
Gentle hands encircle my waist and I’m lifted off the ground and placed back down onto the cold granite counter, as Carson pushes to stand between my legs. Tapping my chin softly with his thumb, he waits silently until I look at him, his eyes soft and full of… concern?
“Priss, why don’t you eat?”
“I do eat. You’ve seen me eat,” I say with as bright a tone as I can muster.
“I’ve made you eat, there’s a difference. Tally yesterday, she mentioned—”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I blurt loudly.
“Carrigan.” His tone is a warning and an entreaty all at the same time, but for the first time I completely ignore him and shake my head adamantly.
“Carson, I’m not going to talk about that,” I say, my voice shaking but lined with steel. I won’t tell him; I won’t tell anyone. I just won’t.
An emotion that I don’t understand flashes across his face, and he reluctantly nods. His shoulders sag a little and he leans forward and presses a soft kiss against my lips. “Will you eat with me?” he whispers.
“I—"
“Please.”
“Okay,” I nod.
His lips claim mine a little harder, it’s a thank you and a reminder that he’s in charge all at once, and I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and clinging to him like he’s the only thing holding me upright. Sometimes I think that maybe he is.
Reluctantly he pulls back, his eyes a little haunted. “Breakfast,” he says with a decisive nod, as he turns back to the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs, some thick slices of bacon, mushrooms, and a few other things that I can’t quite see from my spot on the counter.
“Omelets,” he announces brightly, turning back to the refrigerator and grabbing a block of cheese.
“Egg white?” I ask hopefully.
The look of disgust on his face makes me laugh.
Grabbing the carton of eggs, he holds them to his chest protectively and shakes his head at me playfully. “You’ll hurt their feelings, even eggs know that the yolk is the best bit,” he says in mock indignation.
A giggle bursts from my lips and he smiles at me. “My omelets are the best, prepare to be amazed,” he boasts, grabbing a huge pan and some other things before setting to work.
