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My retort dies on my lips, and my mouth drops open in shock.
“Now get over here and fucking kiss me. Yes, my dick is hard, but it’s morning and you’re naked and hot, that doesn’t mean that all I’m thinking about is bending you over and fucking you. You’re my girlfriend, so sometimes a kiss is just a goddamn kiss.”
Relief overwhelms me, and I throw myself at him. The moment I’m close enough, he hauls me into his arms and slams his lips against mine. Unlike the soft, gentle kiss from before I ruined things with my insecurities, this kiss is hard, dominant, and punishing, and I love it. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kiss him back, loving the growl of approval that vibrates against my mouth. His hands find my ass, and he picks me up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his hips as his hard dick nestles against my sex.
Grinding myself against him, I wait for him to slide his cock into me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he ends the kiss and holds my gaze, a smirk playing at his lips. “Hell no, Princess, 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, Penelope, 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, he opens the closet and grabs a pair of gray sweatpants from the dresser, sliding them on, and hiding his hard dick from my sight.
Completely confused, I watch as he turns to look at me, his eyes raking over my nakedness. “I don’t understand. Are you serious?” I ask.
Ignoring me, he opens the dresser again and pulls out a black T-shirt. Striding over to me, he unfolds the T-shirt and drops it over my head, holding the fabric 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, then turns me in the direction of the bathroom and slaps me on the ass. Once I’m done, he grabs my hand and pulls me from the bedroom.
Baffled and a little horny, I let him tow me into the boat’s galley. Lifting me up onto a stool at the island, he presses a quick kiss to my lips, then turns and heads for the refrigerator. Opening the door, he leans down to look at the contents.
“What do you want for breakfast? I’ve got eggs, bacon, and 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. “Princess, 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 and twisting on the stool.
“Stop,” he snaps in that tone that makes my muscles freeze into place.
Gentle hands encircle my waist as Hawthorn 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?
“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. Yesterday, Izzy, she mentioned?—”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I blurt loudly.
“Penelope.” 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.
“Hawthorn, 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, but his eyes are a little haunted, and the humor has faded from them. “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 where I’m sitting.
“Omelets,” he announces brightly, turning back to the refrigerator and grabbing a block of cheese.
