Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“It smells amazing,” I say, and I mean it. I drift closer, the cold of the tile floor stinging my feet.
Thomas sets the spatula down and pours black coffee into two thick mugs, hands big around the ceramic. He pushes one toward me across the kitchen island.
“I wasn’t sure how you take it.”
“Black is fine,” I say, lifting the mug with both hands. The warmth goes all the way to my bones.
We stand there, him on one side of the island, me on the other, both pretending this is a normal morning. The silence is comfortable, and strangely peaceful. I sip my coffee, watch the swirl of oil on the surface.
After a minute, he plates the sausage, then cracks eggs into the pan. He moves with a kind of grace I wouldn’t have expected—a man used to precise actions, never wasting motion. He glances at me, once, then again, like he’s checking for glitches in the matrix.
“Are you okay?” he says, suddenly serious.
I look up. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Really?” His blue eyes rake over my face, searching.
“I’m great,” I say, and a real smile breaks through. “I mean, I’m a little sore, but in a good way.”
He smirks, relief lighting up his whole body. “Yeah, about that. Sorry if I was…” He trails off, uncertain.
“You were perfect,” I say, and I mean it.
He grins, and it’s the most honest expression I’ve seen on him yet. “Good. I’d hate to have to take you to the ER on our first real date.”
I laugh, the sound bright and a little wild. “God, can you imagine what the doctors would say?”
“Probably ask to see my size,” he says. “Or if you needed an exorcism.”
I set my coffee down, steadying myself on the counter. “What if I did need an exorcism? What would you do?”
Thomas grins and leans in, bracing his arms on the island. The muscles in his forearms stand out, pale against the dark marble. “I’d lay hands on you. I’d cast out the demon myself.”
The words hang in the air, and for a second I think he might actually do it, right here, right now. But instead, he turns back to the eggs, the moment dissolving into the pop and sizzle of the skillet.
I watch him plate the eggs, toast some bread in a pan, slice fruit with a knife so sharp it whispers through the air. The domesticity of it makes my chest ache. I want to freeze time, or maybe rewind it and do last night again, but slower.
When he’s finished, he brings the plates over and sets one in front of me. He sits down beside me, close enough that our knees brush under the counter.
We eat in silence at first, me demolishing the eggs, him attacking the sausage. The food is perfect, salty and hot, and I realize I’m starving. I eat too fast and have to stop, catching myself before I look like a total animal.
He watches me, a half-smile on his face. “You don’t have to be polite,” he says. “You can inhale your food. I like it.”
I grin, mouth full, and keep eating. After a minute, I ask, “Do you always cook for your one-night stands?”
He shakes his head, slow. “Never. You’re the first.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Liar.”
He holds up both hands, mock-serious. “Scout’s honor. I usually call them an Uber, so they vacate. Or, if I’m really lucky, they call an Uber themselves, and I don’t even have to do anything. I don’t make a habit of…” He trails off, eyes flicking to mine. “Of getting attached.”
I stare at my plate, the words sparking in my head.
“I see,” I say, and I’m not sure if it’s true.
He nudges my thigh with his knee. “You know, you’ve given me a few gifts since I met you. Last night was the latest gift.”
I look up, confused. “What is it?”
He reaches under the island and pulls out a scrap of fabric: my panties, the lace bunched in his fist. He holds them up, grinning. “A souvenir. For my collection.”
I snatch them from his hand, cheeks blazing. “You’re such an asshole.”
He laughs, deep and genuine, and for a second, I want to crawl into his lap and never leave. Thomas’s eyes dance.
“Sweetheart, I’d have to launder these with bleach before I gave them back to you because you know what I’ve been doing with them, right?”
I stare at him.
“No.”
He smiles devilishly.
“I’ve been using them to jack off, so by now, they’re crusted with my semen. I love it, sweetheart. I hold one pair to my nose to breathe in your cunt fragrance, and wrap the other around my cock as I pull my pole. It’s sheer heaven as I come like a hurricane on the panties themselves.”
“You’re so dirty!” I squeal, cheeks flushing as my nips peak. “Oh my god!”