Page 115 of Big Dick Energy

Her cheeks flushed pink; she still wasn't used to me calling her that, which only made me want to say it more. “You don't have to make it sound so dramatic.”

“Davidson, you're debuting a plus-size collection in Paris. The fashion capital of the world.” I leaned forward, holding her gaze. “That's not dramatic. That's revolutionary.”

She was quiet for a moment, processing. “When you say things like that, I forget why I spent two years hating you.”

“Because I was an arrogant man-child. Still am. You've just built up a tolerance.”

“Like immunity to poison.”

“A very attractive poison.”

She laughed.

“Brooke and Matt are good with Ricky?”

“Matt's already promised him bacon every morning. He's going to come home with expectations we can't meet.”

“After Paris, I have to come back to Florida. The podcast has a fan meet-and-greet that Sunday, and Brooke and I have a guest interview we've been planning for months. So I'll handle that, and then...” She looked up, her gaze meeting mine. “Then Sunday evening, I’ll catch a flight to Ireland. To you.” She was talking faster now. “I talked to Marcus, and he can handle everything here. Brooke and I can record from anywhere with decent Wi-Fi, and I thought I could work from there. Be with you. Instead of us being apart for three weeks.”

“You'd do that?”

“It's not ideal. I'll have calls at weird hours, and I might be distracted when you're trying to work…”

“Davina.”

“...and I know you'll be busy filming, so I don't expect you to entertain me, I just thought…”

“Davina.”

She stopped.

“Come to Ireland. Work from there. Take calls at weird hours. I don't care.” I stood and rounded the table. “Having you there would be everything.”

“You're sure? I won't be in the way?”

“You could never be in the way.” I turned her stool to face me, my hands on her thighs. “The thought of three weeks on the other side of the ocean has been keeping me up. And you've found a way to be there?”

“Most of it. I'll miss the first week, but…”

My lips captured hers as my hands slid into her hair, and I pressed my body between her thighs. She made a small sound, and her fingers dug into my shoulders. The laptop became meaningless. The only thing that mattered was the way she opened for me and the small gasps she made when I finally pulled back.

My hands traced down her neck, over cotton, settling on her hips. I could feel the heat of her through the fabric of my shirt.

“You have no idea,” I said against her lips. “What you do to me.”

A slow smile curved her mouth. Her eyes dropped. “Then show me.”

I lifted her off the stool. She let out a surprised sound that became a low laugh as I set her on the granite counter. The croissant tumbled to the floor. Ricky saw his chance, snatched his prize, and trotted out with a satisfied grunt.

I stepped between her legs. Her knees squeezed my hips. I watched the pulse flutter at the base of her throat and traced it with my thumb.

“I love you,” I said, my heart pounding, praying she loved me too. Praying that this was real.

Her smile softened. “I love you too.”

Then her gaze dropped to where I strained against denim. Her tongue touched her lower lip.

“Let me,” she whispered, her hands already at my belt.