“Are you cold?” he asks, frowning. “I can get you a shirt.”
My eyes flick over to my crumpled, sweaty t-shirt from yesterday that’s lying on the floor. As much as I want to tell him that I’d rather get back into bed, I don’t have time. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
Erik stands up and hands me a folded black shirt from a drawer underneath his bed. It’s a bit baggy once I slip it on, given that working out is a core part of Erik’s job, but it works.
“Sorry if it’s a bit big,” he says.
I scoff. “Are you apologizing for being buff?” I ask, giving his firm biceps a light squeeze.
Bad idea. Touching Erik anywhere gets me so damn turned on, and I still have to go home to work. That doesn’t stop me from running my hands along his arms, savoring the addictive sensation of his smooth skin under my fingertips.
We’re both silent as Erik puts his hands on my waist and leans in, touching his forehead to mine. I stretch my body up and plant a light, spontaneous kiss on him, and he keeps smiling through the whole thing.
How much I like Erik already is almost terrifying, but holy hell, I don’t care. If I’m interested in someone, I try to move things along fast, and that’s what I intend on doing with Erik. If I don’t shoot my shot, another lucky guy will.
“How long do we have before you leave?” he asks.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “My laptop is at home and I have to log on at 8:30,” I say. “I want to stay longer, but I can only stay for a quick coffee. I’ll get carried away if we have sex.”
“Okay then, one coffee it is. Do you take milk or sugar?”
“I normally add cream, but milk is fine.”
“Yeah, sorry, I don’t have any cream.”
“I’m sure we can get cream from somewhere,” I reply, staring at Erik’s crotch and biting my lip with exaggerated seduction.
He hisses through his teeth. “Youjustsaid that you don’t want to have sex. Why do you have to torture me?”
“Hey, I want it, I just don’t have time.”
“Fair enough,” Erik says, and I step over to him. How good this man smells is so fucking unfair, and the last of my willpower evaporates.
“How long will the coffee take?” I ask.
“Five minutes, but I can turn the stove up to make it go faster.”
Keeping my eyes on Erik, I reduce the heat on the burner and smirk, drawing a surprised huff out of him.
With a low growl, I slip his sweats down, he yanks my shirt off, and by the time we’re done with each other, the coffee still isn’t ready.
Erik hands me a cup after the pot finishes boiling. “Here’s your coffee,” he says.
I accept the steaming cup from him. “Cream served on the side?”
His face is still tinged with an adorable flush, and the color deepens, making my heart squeeze.
“Do you want anything to eat?” Erik asks, snapping us out of our silence.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.” I pause. “I’m curious, though, what’s breakfast like in Sweden? Do you guys eat, like, danishes?”
Erik barks out a laugh. “Don’t say that.” His tone is light and his eyes are crinkled at the corner, which makes me smile as well.
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask.
“So,” Erik starts, “there’s a silly little rivalry between Sweden and our lesser southern counterpart.”
“That counterpart being Denmark?”
