Chapter Nineteen
Laurel
Lying in bed at 6pm on a Sunday evening with the most gorgeous man, tired, satisfied and comfortable, was obviously the very best Sunday that Laurel could have hoped for.
The first time she had come was, well, it was nothing short of amazing. She’d never had a guy go down on her while she was standing up before and never, ever, had that type of soul-destroying orgasm before.
Nate could do that all he wanted.
And when they’d had sex the second time, her on top and him using his fingers on her clit, her nipples. Yep, they could do that again.
Then on her knees in the shower, the brutal passion of his hands in her hair.
That could also be done again.
‘I’m hungry. Are you hungry?’ Nate asked, tracing lines across her back with his fingers.
‘I could eat.’
Damn straight she could, and she reached up to kiss him. He kissed her like he could gain all his sustenance from her lips and tongue, but she could hear hunger rumbling in his stomach.
‘Okay, I get it,’ she said. ‘Shall I cook?’
He screwed up his face. ‘Shall we order something?’
‘What are you saying about my cooking? You’ve never even had my cooking!’ She smacked him playfully on the shoulder.
‘What I’m saying is…’ He rolled on top of her and pinned both of her hands to the pillow. ‘I can’t do this if you’re cooking,’ he said, tickling her ribs.
‘Okay, okay,’ she said, breathless from laughing. ‘Okay, okay, Chinese or pizza? That’s the choice.’
He tilted his head in thought.
‘Pizza, but not with pineapple.’
‘Urgh, I’m not a heathen,’ she said, pushing him off her and rummaging in one of her drawers for a pair of knickers and an oversized t-shirt.
‘Where are you going?’ he whined as she headed for the bedroom door.
‘If you want something to eat, Dr Daley, I have to find my phone and order it.’
Quite frankly, him sitting naked in her bed, hair tousled from her fingers, with a sloppy, satisfied smile quirked on his face, nearly made her think screw it and head back to bed with him. But then his stomach rumbled again.
‘We didn’t have lunch, did we?’
‘No, I think we were a bit,’ he grinned deviously, ‘distracted.’
Distracted indeed.
Laurel’s phone had spilled out of her bag across the table when she’d thrown it, desperate to hear Nate’s words again. His phone was on the table too, flashing.
‘Nate, you’ve got messages and stuff,’ she called and heard movement from the bedroom.
She’d order the pizza first, then check her own messages, no doubt from Rebecca pleading for an update on Laurel’s social engagements.
Arms snaked around her waist, and lips found her neck.
‘If you want pizza, let me order,’ she said, but tilted her head so he could get better access to her sensitive pulse.
