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11
Sofia woke up feeling surprisingly warm and cozy. Surprising because she hadn’t been this warm in the single bed in the guest bedroom before, nor had she found it particularly cozy. And were the sheets a different color this morning? Ohhh. Understanding hit and a slow smile spread across her face.
This wasn’t a single bed, and she wasn’t in the guest room. This bed was a California king, and the warmth at her back was provided by the man that the bed and this bedroom belonged to. Ian. She mouthed his name and he twitched, his arm tightening around her to pull her closer to his furnace-like heat. It was kind of like having a human-sized heating pad—which was rather nice, actually, given how sore she felt. The second time they’d made love the night before, she’d ridden him, too caught up in pleasure to realize the workout her upper thighs were getting. Her muscles felt bruised as she stretched. Ian pulled his arm from her and turned, first onto his back, then his other side, facing away.
It was as if he’d felt she needed to stretch, to ease her cramped muscles, and was giving her space. But it was a pity—she’d been about to thread her fingers through his, to hold his hand with both of hers, to shelter in the strength of his body. She wanted to luxuriate in the comfort of his arms, and the early morning light filtering in would have allowed her to trace some of the swirls and curves of his full sleeves of tattoos, which fascinated her more and more as she hadn’t gotten to indulge herself in exploring them yet. The designs and the meanings behind them, what they represented to Ian, called to her, gave her the itch to learn them, like unfolding a map to Ian’s past and how it had shaped him.
Well, that could wait for another opportunity. Moving stealthily and slowly, Sofia turned onto her back, then side, so she was spooning Ian. It was a shame he hadn’t preferred to lie on his back, so she could stroke a gentle finger over his face, learning the feel of his beard and mustache. Although, she’d gotten pretty well acquainted with the feel of them on her skin last night.
Sofia blushed, recalling some of the places she was bound to have beard-burn on today—not to mention marks from his teeth and the sucking pressure of his mouth. She could still feel the scratch of his whiskers on her inner thighs, when he’d laid her on her back to feast. And then, when he’d turned her over… Sofia pulled her head away from Ian’s, on the pillow, in case the heat flooding her face penetrated his skin.
His skin… He had a nice back, she decided, tracing the muscles of his shoulders. It was broad but not muscleman-wide and tapered a little to his waist. She frowned when her fingertip encountered a scar. About an inch long and half an inch wide, it felt deep. This legacy of his service to his country made her pause. She had no idea what Ian had been through, but she knew that he was finding the transition back to civilian life tough. That was one of the first things he’d told her about himself. And she could see for herself how difficult he was finding being a full-time parent to a teenager.
Sofia slipped from the bed, determined to help in whatever way she could. And if all she could do at the moment was make him breakfast in bed, well, she’d make the best damn breakfast in bed she could, pamper the man a little. And maybe after, they could both relax a little in the large tub in the bathroom…
Planning, she pulled Ian’s discarded tee and her panties on and managed to leave the room without waking Ian, which she took as a good omen for her ideas.
In the kitchen, Sofia pulled a face at the box of store-bought pancake mix and instead pulled out ingredients that she’d made sure they picked up while grocery shopping. Humming as she worked, she soon had stove and waffle maker heating while she whisked eggs and milk into flour and baking powder. They had maple syrup, which also went well with bacon.
As soon as Sofia took the first rasher of bacon from the container, she gagged. It wasn’t even cooking, but she could swear the smell of the fat and meat was in her nostrils and that she could hear the nauseating sound that would be made by the spitting of the frying slices. Even thinking that made her heave again.
Okay. No bacon.She turned the stove off. Breathing slowly in case the waffles set her off too, Sofia spread a ladleful of batter into the center of each waffle grid, pleased when she closed the lid with no problems. A sweet start to the day it is, then.
She hurried as much as she could, not wanting Ian to get out of bed before she joined him again, but Ian was already coming out of the bathroom when she got to the top of the stairs with her laden tray. He quickly stepped up to take it from her.
“Hey!” she scolded, indignant. “Get back into bed for your breakfast this second, mister!”
“Breakfast in bed?” Ian looked from the tray to her.
“Well, duh! After a night like we had? Has to be. There are rules about things like that.”
“There are? Well, I could never break a rule,” Ian replied gravely, before his face cracked into a smile and he kissed her.
He settled her down in bed before taking his place by her side. “This looks amazing, Sofia. Thank you so much. So we have waffles with sliced banana, a scoop of ice cream, and chocolate sauce. And also waffles with sliced peaches, a scoop of ice cream, and maple syrup.”
“Uh-huh,” said Sofia, cutting into hers. She was starving.
“But what if we want banana with maple syrup? Or peach with chocolate sauce?” Ian teased, taking a huge bite.
“Well, we wouldn’t, because that would be plain wrong.” Loving his playful side, Sofia pretended to shudder.
“Hmm.” Ian considered. “I know a way to mix the flavors.”
His solution involved kissing her, surging his chocolate-tasting tongue into her mouth to chase the peach and maple syrup from hers. It was delicious and heady, and Sofia’s hand flew to the back of Ian’s head, keeping him at her lips to deepen the kiss and taste more. It’s his taste, she realized, savoring something masculine and spicy beyond the fruit and sweetness of their food. It was a flavor she was quickly becoming addicted to.
Still kissing him, she pushed her plate from her knees to rest on top of the blankets to the side of her, and Ian copied her. A second later, she was in his lap, one arm around his neck and the fingers of the other playing in his chest hair.
“No fair.” Ian pulled his mouth from hers to say. “Why do you get to touch me when you’re covered up? And another question. Did you bring the jug of syrup up with you?”
“No. Why?”
“Because I want to taste it from your body. God, Sofia, the thought of laying you down and pouring it onto your breasts…” He swallowed.
“But I’d get all sticky,” Sofia mock-protested.
“No, you wouldn’t. I’d clean you off.” Ian licked his lips. “And then…” He bent to whisper in her ear, making Sofia’s eyes pop open.
She was just about to whisper back a naughty suggestion of her own when a voice outside the door called, “Dad? You yell at me for being lazy and you’re still in bed?”
