little time to unpack it, examine it, and figure this shit out.’
I don’t mind giving him some time, though, because I know what I feel, and I’m a bit more open to happy, lovey-dovey emotions. Okay, a lot more receptive, but he’ll get there.
I sit up, shaking out my wild and freshly fucked bedhead. “Okay, okay,” I reply. “I might be a little underdressed, though.”
Connor isn’t wearing anything fancy, just a T-shirt and athletic shorts, but it’s a heck of a lot more than the absolutely nothing I’ve got on. I gesture to my naked body, scanning my own skin. Oops, it looks like I’ve got a fresh hickey on my right boob and a few fingerprints on my thighs.
Connor looks me over too, seeming quite pleased with himself for the love marks he left behind. “Here,” Connor says, pulling his T-shirt off and offering it to me.
My eyes dance over his skin too, taking twisted pleasure in the fading pink lines my nails scored over his chest. I know there are matching ones on his back too. We were rough, but in an amazing way I’d love to repeat.
I inhale his T-shirt, moaning happily before pulling it over my head. I could wear this all day. I twist my hair up into its usual messy bun on top of my head, knotting it in on itself so it’ll stay without a ponytailer. Happy with my new morning attire, I get out of bed and follow him to the kitchen, where the delicious smells make my stomach growl instantly.
It’s just good rich coffee and sausage biscuits from the oven, but as we sit down with our mugs, his in the seven ways to kill you mug and mine in a plain white one, it feels perfect and homey. My legs are folded up inside his oversized T-shirt, so my knees are near my chin, making it look like I have watermelon boobs, aka big and long. I blow him a kiss over the rim of my mug.
“Good morning.”
Connor lifts one brow and takes a sip of his coffee. “‘Morning,” he growls. “Although if it had been your choice, it would have been afternoon.”
I can’t keep the smile from my lips, especially after last night.
“What?”
I take another sip of coffee, then pick up my sausage biscuit. “You like me,” I brag. “No man shares his Jimmy Dean unless he likes you.”
“Meh, you’re all right,” he deadpans. “I guess.”
I take a huge bite of my sausage biscuit, chewing noisily. When Connor doesn’t groan in disgust, it only proves my point, and I grin . . . after swallowing my mouthful. “You don’t like many people, you said so yourself. But you like me.”
The declaration is strong and proud because I’m completely certain. And also, wiggling happily in my chair, making my knee-boobs dance. Because I know for damn sure he likes my body.
I’ve never felt sexier than when he looks at me.
“Don’t get a big head about it,” he says with a little snort. “And that chair’s pretty janky. You might want to stop that.”
“Too late,” I tell him, hopping from my completely solid chair and sitting down in his lap uninvited, crowding into his space. He throws his hands wide, making a sound of surprise as he holds his coffee out to keep from spilling it on me. But as soon as his coffee’s secure, he wraps his arms around me and we settle into something comfortable, both of us with our mugs, me in his arms, with my bare ass pressed against his soft cock in his shorts. “What work do you have to do today?”
“Prep work,” he says in a roundabout way. “And you?”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“I thought your book was going well?” Connor asks. “The writer’s block gone?”
“Oh, it is,” I tell him, running my fingers through his hair, “But you have no idea how good yesterday felt. And not just the sex. You know what I really want to do?”
“What?”
“What if we stay in bed all day—naked, of course—and order food in, watch a movie, and take a nap. Just have a day of total chill.”
It is a great idea, and we both know it. I can see the temptation in Connor’s eyes, though he scowls. “Poppy,” he says in a warning tone, “we both have goals to meet.”
“Connor,” I reply, copying his tone. In my own brighter voice, I tease, “Did I mention that ‘watching a movie’ is code for fucking? Out of curiosity, for