Page 80 of Run to Me

26

JENSEN

Propped on an elbow, I rest my head in my hand and wait for Maisy to awaken. I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than her in my bed. Her natural face, free of makeup. Her curls fanning out across the black satin pillow. Thick lashes kissing her freckled cheeks. Pouty, lush lips parted slightly, her soft breaths flowing in and out. The urge to trail my fingers along every slope, line, and curve of her face consumes me. But I keep my hands to myself to keep from waking her.

Her cell phone buzzes for the millionth time, and I snag it off the nightstand. I’m not sure how it ended up in my bedroom, but it’s been lighting up with messages for the past hour—group chats and individual texts from her California crew. Apparently, she’s popular among her friends. Needed, according to some of the partially displayed messages.

I scroll through the endless notifications but stop myself from opening the texts and invading her privacy. The tracking app comes to mind, but I sweep the nagging guilt aside. Now that she’s promised to stay, I promise myself I’ll quit looking at it. Not seeing any urgent texts requiring her attention, I return her phone to the table and resume my watch over the sleeping beauty beside me.

The morning sunlight slips through the small gaps in the blinds, and her eyelids flutter as the new day pulls her from the depths of slumber. To my pleasant surprise, she snuggled against me all night. I tried to sleep on my side, but woke to find myself on my stomach with an arm draped across her waist.

Lying on her back, she stretches her arms and legs out straight before rolling toward me and curling into my chest. “Good morning,” she says with a lazy grin on her lips.

“Good morning, beautiful.” I graze my knuckles along her jawline, relishing her soft skin and the fact that she’s still in my bed. “I’m sorry if I crushed you last night after all.”

She hums, the sound raspy and thick with sleep. “Crush away. I haven’t slept that good in ages. How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to know your friends are morning people.”

“Sorry,” she says, wincing. “I got my phone in the middle of the night out of habit. Marcus hates when he can’t reach us, and I forget that won’t be an issue anymore.”

A hint of sadness touches her eyes, but she blinks it away and reaches for her phone. “Geez. They’re busy this morning.” She scrolls through the messages, and there’s surprise in her voice when she says, “You didn’t read them.”

“Why would I?” I’m grateful when she dismisses my rhetorical question and tosses her phone aside. I grab her hip, and tug her against me to bury my nose in her hair. “Please tell me you still don’t drink coffee, because I don’t have any.”

I’m not a coffee drinker. Aside from the occasional soda, I avoid caffeine and other stimulants. My brain doesn’t need any extra help to work overtime.

“I only drink it when I’m jet-lagged and if it’s 90 percent milk and sugar.”

“Sweet tooth.” I suck on her throat, careful not to leave a bruise, and she rocks her hips in response.

“I’m a sweet person.”

I roll her onto her back and kneel between her legs, peeling off her panties. “Are you?”

A contented sigh escapes her when I push her shirt over her breasts and plant open-mouth kisses across her smooth stomach. I swirl my tongue around her belly button, but don’t move any lower while massaging her inner thighs.

“You’re such a tease,” she says, squirming under my touch.

I chuckle at the huffing noise she makes, frustrated with herself for throwing a little fit and appearing needy.

“What do you want for breakfast?” I swipe my tongue along her seam to get a taste of her arousal. “I have fruity cereal and healthy cereal.”

The most adorable scowl appears on her face. “Focus.”

“I’m focused on breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.” I lightly graze her thigh with my teeth, and she shudders, her pelvis lifting from the mattress in search of more. Rather than give her what she craves, I roll off the bed and say, “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

A growl and the sound of palms slapping the mattress follow me to the kitchen. Satisfaction rests on my lips as I set the dishes, cereal boxes, and milk on the island.

Maisy handles her business in the bathroom and glides into the kitchen with my notebook tucked under her arm. The T-shirt she borrowed last night hits just above her knees, the sleeves falling well past her elbows.

“You should bring some clothes over here for when you stay the night.” She averts her eyes, a sign I’ve said the wrong thing, and climbs onto a stool. So I change the subject and gesture at the breakfast spread. “Fruity or healthy.”

She crinkles her nose at the box of oat and almond cereal. “Fruity.”

We dig into our breakfast as she flips through the notebook, studying my horrendous drawings with poorly veiled amusement on her face.

“Is this you doing a cartwheel?” she asks, squinting at one particular sketch.