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I pick up my fork and break off a piece of the omelet. Spearing it, I bring it to her lips.

“Eat,” I rasp. Shae stares at me for a few seconds before opening her lips and closing them around the tines.

Fuuuuuck.

Shae chews, breaking into a grin. “I did my big one with that, huh?”

I nod, rendered speechless.

We continue swapping turns with the fork until she holds up her palm and gives the utensil back to me. I take the last few bites and recline on the low-backed stool.

“Come here, Shae,” I murmur. She takes lazy steps around the island, and I spin to the side to face her.

“Yes, sir?” she asks, her voice full of sarcasm.

With the tip of my index finger, I move a lock of hair behind her ear, running the digit down the side of her face until I get to her lips.

“Will you miss me today?” I ask, my gaze locked on her mouth. God, the things I want to do to that fucking mouth.

Shae’s lips part and she sucks in a breath, and looking a bit lower, I grin as her nipples poke out against the oversized shirt.

“What do you think?” she replies, her voice a whisper.

My finger travels down the column of her neck, skating between her breasts, before tapping right above her belly button.

“I think,” I say, wrapping my free arm around her back and pulling her close so my lips are near her ear, “you’ll miss the fuck out of me. I think you’ll be replaying the night in your head all day. I think you won’t be able to wait until we come together again, and you’ll be fighting your arousal while we’re apart. I think you’re going to want me to come back through that door just as soon as I leave.”

“That’s a lot of thoughts, Storm,” she says, shivering when I place a gentle kiss on her collarbone. “What makes you so confident?”

I trace more kisses along her jaw, breathing her in until we’re face to face.

“I know this, because I’m going to feel the exact damn way.”

When our lips meet, it’s like we both explode—our mouths desperate to connect and communicate the things we can’t say out loud, the things we don’t have words for.

She groans and slings her arms around my shoulders, and a sound rumbles out of my chest in return. Her scent—the fresh citrus of her body wash and conditioner—swirl around our bodies, and I lift her, placing her ass on the island in front of me.

“Storm!” she rasps, her voice going breathy when I bend to suck one of her nipples into my mouth through her thin shirt.

Her hands slide beneath the fabric of my tee, skating around my abs before she moves to my spine and pulls me flush to her body. Heat seems to radiate from the heaven between her thighs, acting as a beacon for my now-weeping dick.

“Fuck, baby,” I grind out, pulling back to run my hands up the inside of her thighs.

“Fuck is right,” she says, moaning. She spreads her legs wider. “Fuck me, Storm.”

You don’t have to fucking tell me twice.

I rip her shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind me, and my hand slides beneath the waistband of the barely-there underwear. All of her business is visible through the soaked seat of her panties.

When my fingers spread her lips, my middle finger gliding over her hard clit, she lets out a sharp cry. When two fingers push into her clenching channel, the heel of my palm pressing hard against her button, she comes.

She comes hard, screaming my name.Myfucking name.

“Storm! My god, Storm!” More wetness gushes from her, soaking my hand and the fabric trapping me against her body. I keep moving my fingers, massaging her G-spot and giving her clit consistent strokes.

When her legs begin to tremble, signaling that she’s right there, just on the cusp of coming again, a door slams, and we both jerk away from each other.

Fuck.