It’s Sunday morning. There’s no rush.
When I negotiated the terms of our steamy night, it never occurred to me I’d be desperate for more.
Fuck.
I push the thought aside and focus on the now.
I’m still in her bed and that’s all that counts.
I drop a flurry of kisses on the top of her head, relishing her warmth.
She nuzzles her face against the roughness of my stubbled cheek.
“Morning,” I say.
“No, not yet,” she complains.
“Hey, where’s my morning kiss?”
“You’re such a demanding tyrant,” she says. Still, she extends her neck. It’s a soft and gentle kiss, but enough to stir my cock.
“Better. Morning, Dom.”
“Morning, Rod.” Her voice is so groggy.
“Come on. Wake up, sleepyhead.”
I pull her closer to me.
“Hmmmm, your beard feels so manly,” she says, her eyes still closed.
“You like it?”
“I like it a lot. It’s well-trimmed and well-groomed. You were a pretty boy before. Now, you’re ruggedly handsome.”
I chuckle.
“You know where my beard would feel even manlier?”
That gets her attention.
She lifts her body and pins those ocean blue eyes on me. “I’m afraid to ask.”
Her pillow-rumpled hair makes me smile.
“You’re right. Talk is cheap,” I say, sliding from underneath her.
“Where you going, Wolfe?”
I don’t answer.
She narrows her gaze.
“You look suspicious. You don’t trust me?”
“Everything about your demeanor suggests I shouldn’t.”
I laugh.
