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“New rule, no giving a fuck about how our families know each other, okay?”
“You can’t just make up rules,” she says, her tone adorably exasperated.
“Yes, I can. I can make up any rules I want, and you’ll follow them because you like following my rules. You like that I have rules for you, and you like that I praise you when you obey them. Don’t you?”
“Good night, Oz,” she says, avoiding answering.
“Good night, Little One, sweet dreams.”
She’s still asleep when I wake up a few hours later. Working as a firefighter, I’ve gotten used to having interrupted sleep and long days. I’m tired, but not enough to fall back asleep when I have my woman in my arms.
Part of me wants to stay curled up with her, warm and comfortable. My dick wants me to roll her to her belly and slip inside of her, but I don’t want to take her in her sleep. I want her to know that I’m fucking her. I want her to feel every hard inch of my dick as I push it into her hot, wet cunt, then feel it as I pump my cum into her.
Her hair is a mess, tangled and scruffy after our playtime last night, but I don’t want her perfect, I just want her. The newly familiar need to take care of her surges to the surface, and I carefully untangle myself from her, covering her with the comforter before I slip out of bed, pull on some boxers, and head down to the kitchen.
Pulling the ingredients for pancakes out of the refrigerator, I grab a mixing bowl and start cracking eggs into it. I don’t really understand the sense of pride I feel at cooking for her, but I relax into the feeling, refusing to question something that feels so right.
Putting some bacon into a skillet, I smile to myself as the smell starts to permeate the air. Flipping pancakes on the griddle, I set the coffeepot to brew and chop up strawberries until I have a stack of pancakes, crispy bacon, rich plump strawberries, and two mugs of coffee—one black, one drowned in creamer, the same way she made it for herself the first morning she was here while we were on video chat.
Placing everything onto a tray, I carry it upstairs, pushing through the door into the bedroom, only to find the bed empty.
“What the fuck?” I growl, putting the tray on the bed and storming into the bathroom. I’m not surprised to find it empty too, but it does nothing to quell the anger that’s barreling through me.
Stomping across the landing, I throw open the door to the bedroom she’s been using and find her sitting on the end of the bed, wearing a bra and panties.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand.
“Getting dressed,” she says, her eyes wide with fear.
“Why are you in here?”
“Because this is where my clothes are.”
A little of my ire cools, but instead of relaxing, I march to the closet and throw open the door, finding it empty. “Where’s your stuff?” I snarl.
“In the case.” Her eyes dart to the small case that’s leaning neatly against the wall.
“Why haven’t you unpacked?” I know I sound like an asshole, but I expected to find her sleepy and sexy in our bed, and her not being there has riled me up, and now I have nowhere to direct the fear and anger I felt at finding her missing.
“Because I’m only here for a couple of nights.”
“Fine.” Grabbing the case, I haul it easily out of the bedroom and across the hall to my room, throwing it down onto the rumpled bed and unzipping it.
“What are you doing?” she asks, appearing in the doorway, now dressed in a pretty red dress that goes all the way to the floor.
“Get undressed,” I demand.
“What? Why?”
“I left you in bed, naked and well-fucked. I made breakfast and came back upstairs, and you weren’t where I expected you to be. I told you, you sleep in my bed now.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” she says, her eyes wide.
“Take the fucking dress off, unless you want me to rip it off. Did you shower too?”
“No, not yet,” she admits carefully.
“Why not?”
