Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(86)

“I guess I assumed… if you felt any of what I did last night… Shit.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck, the uncertainty on his face out of step with his usual self-assurance. “I’m not doing a good job of this, and you’re right. I can’t assume anything, so I’m saying to you very clearly I want to make love to you as many times as humanly possible. I only want to do it with you and I would appreciate it if you would consider only doing it with me.”

My heart melts around the edges. This supremely confident man, who has achieved more in forty years than most will in a lifetime, humbling himself this way humbles me.

And that is no mean feat.

“I’d like that, too. Both of those things, but,” I say, holding up a hand before we skip past some important steps, “we have to tell Zere.”

We stare at each other and the implications of what we’ve done suck some of the air from the room.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” he asks. “Do you want to? Should we do it together?”

“Not together. I think I should talk to her alone first, but let me think about it some.”

He nods, leans in, and drops a kiss on my lips. Splaying one big hand over my throat, he moves to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth. He tastes minty. I do not.

I pull back and ask, “You found the spare toothbrush?”

“Yup.”

When I stretch the sheet falls around my waist, and he’s looking at my breasts like they’re drenched in syrup and butter. “Now who’s ogling?”

“Guilty.” His voice is husky. “When can we fuck again?”

I guffaw at his blunt question. “Wow. Just put it out there, huh?”

He crawls over me, settling between my legs. He presses into me and my breath whooshes out, the pleasure stealing me even with the sheet between us. His hands crawl under my hips and he drops his mouth to one breast, sucking and licking in rhythm with gentle squeezes of my ass.

“Food,” I moan, pulling his head up because two more seconds of this and we’ll be going at it again. “Somebody crashed my Soft Girl Sunday and I never got to eat.”

“I should feel bad, but I don’t.” His smile is tender and affectionate. “I saw eggs and stuff.”

“You been up snooping around my place?”

“I’m an early riser. I’ve been up for like two hours.”

“A morning person?” I huddle back into my pillow and tug the sheet over my head. “This isn’t gonna work.”

“Oh, yes it is.” He snatches the sheet back down. “Can I make you breakfast?”

“Yes, please.” I can’t hold back the grin that breaks through the last shreds of my reserve. “And thank you.”

I haven’t felt like this since maybe tenth grade. Kind of giddy. Like everything is fresh and new and blossoming. I became jaded with men early on. Cheating on me in high school and college. Leaving when it became clear I refused to compromise my desires for their own. They showed me over and over again that most of them couldn’t be trusted or relied on, and many weren’t secure enough in their own shit to deal with how secure I am in mine. It’s not that I’m naive again, but that I feel safe enough with someone to allow myself these feelings. To allow myself to hope.

“I’m gonna shower,” I tell him. “While you serve me.”

He gives me a wry look. “You’re pushing it.”

“Am I?” I ask coyly.

His smile fades to a soft affection. “No.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me down onto his lap, caressing my hip through the decadent silk of the sheet.

“Can I ask you something and you promise not to freak out on me?” He dusts kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

“Do I need to focus to answer this question, because that’s not helping.”

He chuckles and pulls back, but keeps me in place. “When is your aunt’s surgery?”

I frown, slightly thrown by the change in conversation. It’s been easy to forget the outside world existed for a few hours, but my responsibilities come rushing back.

“In two weeks. I’ll move in with them a little before the surgery to get settled and get a sense of their routine before Aunt G goes in.”

“And you’ll be doing what until then?”

“Working.” I shrug. “The usual.”

“Could you work from anywhere? Or do you need to physically be in Atlanta?”

“Where do you physically want me to be?” I ask, an involuntary smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“With me,” he answers simply. “Spend a week with me at my place in Malibu. My dad has a house up the beach. You met him briefly, but I’d love for you to get to know him. And I can teach you how to surf.”

“Surf?” I give a breezy laugh to cover up the fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Um… not sure about that. I didn’t realize your father lived so close to you.”

“He used to live in Vegas, but after my mom passed,” he says, his expression shadowing, “he was in a really bad place. We both were, so I got him a house not too far away. A walk up the beach actually. We needed to be close, but also needed our own space. It seemed like a good solution.”