“Who gave you permission to get out of bed?” He grumbles with a yawn, his big hand moving against his chest, scratching through the hair.
Definitely sexy.
“I wanted to fix you breakfast, before I had to leave,” I tell him, giggling as he wraps his arms around me and snuggles into my back. He kisses my neck, biting it tenderly enough that tiny chills of excitement run through me.
“Who said you can leave?” he grumbles, his hot breath exciting me further.
“I have to get to work sweetheart.”
“Take the day off.”
His hand moves up to palm my breasts, squeezing them gently. My knees weaken as I try to concentrate on stirring the scrambled eggs so they don’t burn.
“It’s one of the busiest days at the bakery,” I try and explain, my voice soft and full of need. “I have to work. I should have already left, but I wanted to make sure you ate breakfast before you got lost in your work.”
“How do you know I get lost in my work?” Eb asks me, surprise lacing his voice. He stops massaging my breasts, but he keeps his hand on them—possessively.
“Because you left the bed at three this morning to go work on your computer.”
“You were awake? I thought I wore you out enough with round three that you were dead to the world.”
“I was awake, but I figured you wanted to work, so I just went back to sleep. Now quit teasing me, so I can get your breakfast on the table before I leave.”
I’m almost sad when he does as I ask, and leaves me to sit at the small table in the corner of the kitchen. I put his food on a plate and slide it in front of him. He stares at it a moment and I start to panic. Did I mess something up?
I hate cooking, it’s true. Cooking is nothing like baking for me. Baking for some reason I find pretty and it feeds my creativity. The same will never be said about cooking—at least not for me. Still, I’m not horrible at it. I didn’t fix anything extremely difficult. It’s just bacon, eggs and toast. So his silence makes me feel unsure.
“Where’s yours?”
“I don’t really eat breakfast,” I shrug uncomfortably.
“So, you just fixed breakfast for me?”
“I thought it would give you energy so you could work and do what you needed to do today on such little sleep.”
“You’re saying you were worried about me.”
“I guess. Eb, it’s just breakfast. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want. I promise you won’t hurt my feelings.”
“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around you, Joy.”
“Your mind? I don’t think I understand what you’re saying,” I respond quietly. It was just one night of sex—really amazing, great sex—but still, it was just sex. Did I step over some invisible barrier that Eb has? I’m not really experienced in relationships based just on sex.
Crap, I guess what we are doing can’t be called a relationship.
“Last night you came into my room to rescue me?”
“You could have been murdered. I didn’t know. You really should make sure you always lock your door.”
“Wait. You thought there was a murderer in my room and all you had to defend yourself was a… tin of cookies?”
“I…” I stop talking, because that is kind of crazy, but there wasn’t a lot to choose from on his desk.
“What did you think you were going to do? Send him into a sugar coma with the cookies?”
“Of course not. I was going to throw the tin at him or something. I don’t know. I was scared. I don’t exactly think clearly when I’m scared.”
“If you were scared then why in the world did you come inside the house?”
“You could have been dying!”
“So you were rescuing me, you fucked me so good my balls are sore this morning, and now you’re fixing me breakfast, even though you are late for work. Do I have all that right, Joy?”
“I fucked you?” I ask, my eyes widen with shock.
“Until my balls were sore.”
“I don’t know how to respond.”
“That’s okay, I don’t want you to talk anymore,” he says, grabbing my hand.
“You don’t?”
“No,” he says pushing his plate back on the table and then practically manhandling me by lifting me up on the table.
“Eb! What are you doing?”
He blows out a harsh breath through his lips and pushes his shirt that I’m wearing up to my hips. His shirt is so long on me that it falls low on my thighs. When cool air hits the inside of my thighs, I stop moving and arguing. He’s not looking at me, but I am him and I see it.
Desire. Need. Hunger.
His fingers hook into the straps of my panties on my hips and he pulls. I lift my ass slightly to help get them off of me.
“Fuck. Your little cunt looks even better this morning.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask Eb, but I know. I know and I’m wet just thinking about it.
“I’m going to eat my breakfast. Spread your legs for me Joy. Spread them wide for me baby.”
“Yes…” I hiss the word, drawing it out because as I pull my legs apart, he lifts them over his shoulder. A moment later his tongue slides against the lips of my pussy, his mouth latches down against my clit and he groans as he sucks it and teases it with his tongue. His fingers bite into my ass and he pulls me even tighter into his mouth.
I fall back, close my eyes and let him eat his fill, all while praying he never does.
Chapter 15
Eb
It’s time I admit it. I’m in deep shit with Joy. There’s no other way to say it. I like her. I really like her. Hell, I’ve been spending every night with her for two weeks and I’m not bored. I’m not looking at other women and I find myself looking forward for the time when she comes home. That alone is disturbing. For the first time in my life, I’m thinking about my place being home…with a woman.
She’s a witch and has put a spell on me. I’d say she put one on my dick, but I like being with her even when I’m not fucking her.
When she called earlier to say she wouldn’t make it by for dinner that she was finishing a rush Christmas order for the hospital alone, because Tina was sick, I wasn’t happy. I should have used the evening to write, and fucking relax. I tried. The house we empty, it was too damn quiet and I missed Joy.
I missed her.
Christmas Joy is a witch and I’m in deep shit.
Instead of panicking however, I’m bringing Joy dinner. Like a… boyfriend. I don’t remember ever being that in my fucking life.
“I’m sorry we’re closed,” Joy says, not even bothering to look over her shoulder when I walk through the front doors of the bakery.
Several things hit me at once. First, Joy’s ass looks delicious in those tight black things she calls leggings. They cling to every damn curve of her body. The only thing I don’t like is that red, Christmas sweater she’s wearing that covers her ass. Still, she’s bent over so at least the cheeks of her ass are visible and it’s a spectacular view. Joy’s ass is definitely cock-salute worthy.