A warm shiver sparked my insides with just the memory of it. The exquisite, lingering pleasure from being completely bare and intimate with someone I trusted so damn much. It was world shattering.
“How many girls have you made midnight pancakes for?” I asked, still trying not to grin at him like a lust-starved girl.
We’d had the numbers discussion months ago before I’d finally dropped all my walls and let him in—not just into my pants, but into my heart. I couldn’t deny it. I cared about him. More than I likely should, especially when I continued to drop hints and plans for adventures long past the divorce due date, and he never did.
I shoved those worries down, focusing on teasing my husband about his sex appeal. “Do models even eat pancakes?” I joked, knowing he’d dated his fair share of Swedish beauties in his past.
It didn’t matter who he’d been with before, not really. Not when I couldn’t stop the glow I felt radiating over every inch of my skin. Two months of nothing but open communication, honest understanding, support, and the best—no, literally the best sex I’d ever had—had practically turned me into a pixie sprinkling my happy dust all over Reaper Village.
Axel cocked an eyebrow at me, scooping a ladle full of batter and pouring it onto a skillet sizzling with melted butter. Setting the bowl down, he grabbed the spatula on the other side of the stove, then turned to me.
“One girl,” he said. “One boy,” he finally answered my teasing question.
My eyebrows rose at that. “I never would have pegged you for experimenting with your sexuality,” I said, but could see where Axel was like this mythical sexual being—who wouldn’t want to explore with him? “But I totally understand. I regret not being more open in college. More of any sexual exploration, really. I worked too hard, even back then, but it got me to where I am today twice as fast.”
Axel laughed and flipped the pancake.
“I think I would have paired well with a girl like Echo,” I said, rambling now as I patiently waited.
He whirled at that, his eyes sparking with a new wave of lust I was certain we’d fucked out of each other earlier. Nope, that was heat pooling between my thighs. Damn, I was instantly ready for him, and it hadn’t even been twenty minutes since he was last inside me.
“Echo is your type?” He mused, sliding the pancake on a plate and starting another.
“Well, I sort of realized recently that I’m incredibly turned on by strong, capable people who are one-hundred-percent themselves. A few tats don’t hurt.” I crossed the distance between us, trailing my fingers over the ink that decorated his left arm. The muscle was taught underneath his smooth skin and touching him like this, openly and free and whenever we wanted, was a new kind of bliss I hadn’t realized I needed.
He slid the second pancake onto the plate, but instead of starting on another one he set the spatula down, and snaked his arms around my hips, hefting me up and up until we were eye to eye. A thrill raced through my core, my heart rate kicking up as we were close enough to share breath, but he made no move to kiss me.
“So, what you’re saying is Echo is the female version of me.” A satisfied smirk shaped his lips.
“Maybe,” I crooned, wiggling against him.
“Too bad for Echo I don’t share.” The primal tenor in his voice made my toes curl.
“Same,” I said with equal demand.
Axel trailed the tip of his nose over mine, along my jaw, and over the seam of my neck, inhaling like he could smell his own scent on me. I’m sure, after the last two months, our scents were now permanently merged—I certainly smelled him on my skin even after a long shower.
I wet my lips, the anticipation for his kiss threatening to break me—but I didn’t move. Part of the game was the waiting, and oh, how sweet the reward was.
Axel slowly, deliberately slid me down his body before setting me back on my feet. He set the plate of pancakes on the island next to where the syrup sat and nodded toward it.
“Eat,” he commanded.
And damn me if I didn’t park my butt on a barstool and dig in.
“These are amazing,” I moaned around my fork.
Axel chuckled as he cooked the rest of the batter. “My mormor’s favorite.”
“Mormor?”
He smiled, his eyes softening. “Grandmother,” he said before pointing at the pancake cooking in the skillet. “I would make them for her...before she passed. And my brother used to make me put chocolate shavings in the batter. Dark, not milk.” A whimsical look flashed in his eyes. “But Tage stopped asking for sweets when he was thirteen.” He shrugged.
Mormor and his brother.