I wish he could always be this happy.
“Good morning,” I murmur. His head whips toward me, a wide smile overtaking his handsome face. Arousal stirs inside me despite the fact that we spent the entire night fucking on every surface of my apartment… including the kitchen table he’s set for breakfast.
“Morning, baby.”
His voice is low and gravelly, the way it sounds when he’s just woken up. The sleepy syllables rolling from his tongue in his delicious accent that makes heat pool in my lower stomach.
“I hope you plan on disinfecting that table.”
He laughs. “Nah. I plan on havingyoufor breakfast on top of it.”
“As much as I would love that, I’m not sure that’s possible. You’ve practically rearranged my organs with the monster that you keep in your pants.” I wince slightly, and his brow immediately pinches in concern.
“Shit, are you sore?”
I nod wordlessly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. He sets down the spatula next to the stove and moves to the cabinets, calling over his shoulder, “Where do you keep the painkillers?”
“I don’t need painkillers, Cillian. I’ll be fine.”
Ignoring me, he begins to open each cabinet until he locates the one where I keep medicine and finds the Advil, pouring a few into his large palm.
“Here. Take these and drink some water. You need to hydrate, St. James,” he says, his voice soft and coated with worry.
I can’t help laughing. “You’re cute when you’re worried, but I don’t think anyone’s ever died from sex.”
“Just take the bloody things,” Cillian grunts, dropping them in my hand. “Let me take care of you, baby.”
I take the pills from him, and grab water from the fridge. I toss them back and drink almost half the bottle. Damn, I guess I was thirsty. “Happy now?” I ask.
He nods, a devastating smile curling his lips. “Very. Now I’m going to feed you. Then I’ll make your pretty little pussy feel better with my tongue. How does that sound?”
Glorious actually.
My stomach grumbles again, and he chuckles, turning back tothe stove as I sit down at the kitchen table and lean forward, placing my elbows on the top, watching him cook.
There’s something incredibly sexy about a man who can cook. Especially a man who spent the entire night giving you orgasms and then offers to give you another as soon as he feeds you the food he’s cooking.
I think I’d like to do this every morning.
The faint sound of ringing comes from down the hall, and Cillian grunts again. “Can you grab it for me? Probably Ais.”
“Of course,” I say, rising from the table and walking out of the kitchen. I go to my bedroom and find his phone on my nightstand just as it stops ringing. But then it rings again, and I see Aisling’s name on the screen.
“It’s Aisling,” I call to Cillian. “Should I answer?”
“Yeah, please.”
I swipe my fingers across the screen and hold it to my ear. “Ais, it’s Rory. Cill—”
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Mr. Cairney? This is Logan Marks from Prescott University Medical.”
My stomach plummets, and the phone shakes in my hand. Why is the hospital calling from Aisling’s phone?
“O-okay, just one second please,” I manage to say as I sprint back to the kitchen, almost running into the door as I carry the phone to Cillian.
He laughs when he sees me running, but then he sees my face and his own pales. “What’s wrong?”
I thrust a shaking hand at him. “It’s the hospital. Aisling.”
