Time to get a move on.
I should at least take a jog around the block or something, run off some of this tension, though the orgasm certainly helped.
Or did that make it worse?
11
posey
Don’t think about it.
Just stir the batter.
Batter.
Baby batter.
Oh God.
I almost had it in my hand—what was I thinking giving Duke Colter a hand job? In my own bed! Not only am I going to have that memory every time I close my eyes to sleep, but my room is also going to smell like him for the rest of the week.
I make a mental note to strip the bed and start a load of laundry, anxious to get his DNA off my bedding.
I love sex.
The thought of it with someone I care about actually makes my mouth water and my boobs sensitive—is that weird?
But getting intimate with a guy I barely know?
I don’t know how to feel about it.
I don’t usually do casual sex—and yes, yes, I know—his penis wasn’t inside my vagina. But it was still intimate and maybe even more so? We kissed.
His tongue was in my mouth!
His fingers were…
I whip the batter harder, furiously, causing a good amount to spill out of the bowl and onto the floor.
Better the floor than my shirt.
I have no way of knowing if Duke is still lounging in my bed, but I have no plans to march up there to find out.
The griddle is heated, so I spoon on some liquid pancake, watching as it bubbles to life. It’s a buttery pan and gonna be so delicious. I add pecans, then take a spoon full of butter once the pancakes brown and run that along the edge, watching as it sizzles to life.
Flaky, buttery pecan pancakes.
My favorites.
Not that I have an appetite; my stomach is in knots. But I needed something to do with this nervous energy—it’s not as if I was going to take a jog around the block or something!
I don’t hear Duke enter the kitchen so much as I feel his presence.
He stands behind me for a few quiet seconds before I realize I’m standing in front of the coffee pot, and he’s waiting patiently with a mug in his hand.
Oh God.
I’m a mess.