Breckin.
Somehow, I can’t see Brendan cleaning. Biting my bottom lip, I glance around again. Neither of them are here. Outside the window, the sun hangs high in the sky.
They’re probably at work.
But, that doesn’t make complete sense. Breckin works from home, I thought.
A whiff of strong coffee floats through the air, drawing my attention to the doorway. A muffled noise from the kitchen filters through.
I sit up straighter. My heart speeds up. I stand up, ready to go find him, the gray blanket falling back on the bed. My achy body protests as cool air laps my bare flesh.
Yeah, I probably shouldn’t stroll out there naked. Just to be on the safe side. No point in sending mixed signals. Or any signals at all right now. I need some major recovery time after last night. Which means clothes.
Biting my lip again, I search around for my underwear. Which might actually be here, if Breckin hadn’t taken them before we even left for dinner. Huffing, I look for anything that might work.There’s a closed suitcase and a bunch of stacked up boxes, but I really don’t want to snoop.
In the far corner, a suitcase lays open. Shrugging, I make my way to it. Items lay strewn in it, a few folded, others balled up and just stuffed inside the simple, black case. Finding a white T-shirt near the top that looks folded enough to assume it’s clean, I tug it over my head.It’s definitely not snooping if it’s out in the open.
The garment falls to the middle of my thighs. “Eh,” I sigh, “it’ll do.” At least it covers all the important bits.
I stroll out of the makeshift room into the kitchen, freezing just past the doorway as my mouth drops open. Food lines one counter, individual plates with every dish imaginable.
Breckin sits at the island typing on his laptop. Wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a white hoodie, he’s the picture of relaxed. Not exactly what I figured a fancy architect would wear. But, I work from home, too, and my attire isn’t any better. Half the time I don’t even change out of my pajamas.
Picking up a small coffee cup with one hand, he takes a sip, still typing with his other. I hover near the entranceway for a few minutes, watching while he works. His lips silently move as he reads something on his screen. I squeeze my thighs together, remembering everywhere those smooth lips were yesterday. Picking up an electronic tablet beside his laptop, he then scribbles something with a stylus pen before bringing his attention back to the computer and taking another sip of his coffee.
It’s mesmerizing, watching him so concentrated. But, I feel like a little kid, sneaking down the stairs to watch television well after my bedtime. Maybe Brendan’s right, there is something thrilling and dirty about watching, that thrill of getting caught. My body warms at the thought.
“Hey,” I state as I take another step into the room, needing to break the growing tension between my legs before my body gets any ideas it can’t handle.
He jumps up, spilling a few drops of his dark drink on his sweatshirt as he spins around. “Asra, hey. Good morning.” He stumbles back into his stool as he sets his cup down. It tips a few times, splashing more of the hot drink on the counter before he steadies it. “I didn’t wake you, did I? How did you sleep?” He wipes at his shirt, his gaze gliding over my body several times before landing on my chest.
I glance down and cringe. Maybe I should have put on more clothes. Or maybe I should have gone with a different color, anything other than see-through white. But, that look in his eyes dispels all of my insecurities. It’s the same one from last night, the one that screams he wants me. Me.
“Good morning.” Smiling, I close the distance between us. Standing on my tiptoes, I place a small kiss on his lips. “I slept great. Thank you.”
Reaching out, he wraps his hands around my waist in an embrace so gentle, I barely feel it. “How are you feeling?” His eyes glide down my shirt to the apex of my thighs, letting me know exactly what he means.
“I’m good. Um . . . A little sore.” Truth is, my vagina’s waving her white flag. And my rear, well, it’s right there with her.
He nods. “Are you hungry? I, um . . .” He glances over his shoulder toward the long counter.
“You made all that?” My eyebrows raise, following his gaze to the rows of dishes, each containing a different item.
“No, I bought it all.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I had it delivered. I, um . . . I didn't know what you wanted, so I got a variety.”
Circling around the island, I shake my head. “What’d you do? Order the whole menu?”
“No, not all of it.”
“Just half?”
Pancakes, French toast, Belgian waffles, bacon, sausage, hash browns, there’s even a giant, gooey cinnamon roll and bowl of fresh sliced fruit. My stomach growls, my mouth watering as I take it all in.
Coming up behind me, Breckin wraps his arms around my waist and kisses the back of my head. “Choose whatever you want, Sweetheart. It just arrived about ten minutes ago, everything should still be hot. I was going to wait a few more minutes to wake you up, let you sleep a little longer . . . Are you sure I didn’t wake you up?”
“Completely.” Turning, I reach up and kiss his cheek.
He smiles, but it doesn’t light up his face. “What can I get you to drink?”