Page 110 of Recipe for Love

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“I love you,” I said.

Rowan blinked at me in surprise, which made sense. It was an unusual time for me to finally say it. But I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

I ran my hand down the stubble on his cheek. “I love the man you are,” I whispered. “Every single part of you. I love what you do for your friends. Your family. I love what you do for me. How you make me feel. I love you.”

Rowan gazed into my eyes. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Nora,” he growled, standing us both up so I was in his arms.

“I’m not a fuckin’ twenty year old anymore, but you’re making it impossible not to have my cock in you after hearin’ that.” He threw me on the bed.

My robe ripped open, exposing my naked body underneath it.

“But a body like that…” He leaned down to open my legs and expose my pussy. “A cunt like that.” His eyes found mine. “And you sayin’ you love me.” He took off his pants to show his cock, hard and ready. “I’m gonna have to fuck you until you pass out.”

Then he did just that.

ROWAN

There weren’t many times I was up before Nora. She had an internal alarm clock that defied belief. An energy, a drive that impressed the fuck out of me.

So, the mornings when I woke up, her still sleeping in my arms, knowing I could wake her up with my mouth or my cock, those were some of my favorites.

But I wouldn’t do that right away. I’d spend time just looking at her, tracing the shape of her lips, the freckles covering her nose. She was the most stunning woman in the fuckin’ world. And finally, last night, she’d felt safe enough to tell me she loved me. I knew she did. Nora didn’t hide how she felt about me. She showed me in about a million different ways.

But hearing the words out loud, it was something else.

There were things about her that I didn’t even know I could love in another person. Shit, things I had never even noticed about another human.

Like how she had some crazy skincare routine. With tools and stones and a lineup of products that probably cost a bomb because that was her. She liked fancy shit. Liked her routine. And I fucking loved lying in her bed, with her elegant fuckin’ sheets, hearing her bracelets clang together as she did that fuckin’ routine.

But the thing I loved most was how she’d come out, shiny, smelling good, looking angelic and fresh faced but with a tiny smudge of mascara underneath her eye. How it remained, after all the shit, I didn’t know. But I was so fucking thankful. I loved that little smudge because it was her. After doing that long, fancy routine and not being sparkly and perfect... Having a smudge to let me know that.

I loved that the first thing she did when she tripped over or bumped into something—she was clumsy as fuck, and although I was worried that she’d seriously hurt herself one day, that was another thing I loved—she laughed. That was her first instinct. Not to cry out in pain, even if she really was hurt. She laughed at herself. Because that was her.

Even her health shit… her worrying herself about a blood clot, brain tumor, a brown recluse spider bite. I fucking hated that she suffered, but I understood that was what made her who she was. I hoped that she might one day feel safe enough to feel that worry less and less, but I was more than willing to accept her as she was for fucking ever.

I watched her for a few seconds more, overcome with love and speared with a small amount of guilt. I got everything I ever dreamed of, yet my best friend’s life was a nightmare.

My gut clenched at just the thought of losing Nora.

No fuckin’ way would I let that happen.

Unable to stop myself, I laid my lips against hers.

Her eyes fluttered open, slowly, still clutched by sleep.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” I murmured back, my hand lowering to her pussy.

She inhaled sharply as her body melted into mine.

And then I started my morning how I planned on starting it for the rest of my life… fucking my woman.

Epilogue

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Recipe: Strawberry Cornmeal Layer Cake

From ‘Dessert Person’

NORA

It ended with a wedding.

Not ours, mind you.

Rowan hadn’t asked me yet.

Not that I was concerned about getting his ring on my finger. Don’t get me wrong, I was near giddy at the prospect of marrying the man I loved. But I wasn’t in any rush. I didn’t need it to be happy, wasn’t leaving ring catalogs around the house. A lot of women wanted the ring because they wanted their man to commit. Wanted to know that he was serious and wanted only her. That the man they were with had a future in mind. A shared future. Forever.


Tags: Anne Malcom Romance