Page 95 of Make Me Yours

My mouth waters.

I lean down and brush my lips over the swell, savoring the softness of her skin. When she shifts beneath me, I take her nipple into my mouth and suck gently. Her body arches inresponse, and a moan tumbles from her lips. The sound is sweet music to my ears.

I swirl my tongue around the sensitive peak as her fingers thread through my hair.

“Steele…”

I lift my head just enough to look at her. “Morning, lucky charm.”

Her eyes flutter open. “That’s certainly one way to wake up.”

With a grin, I brush my knuckles down her side. “Just trying to set the tone for the day.”

Still smiling, she stretches, her body pressing against mine in a way that has every part of me straining toward her.

“I think I’m gonna like this arrangement,” she murmurs.

I press a kiss to her collarbone, my lips lingering, allowing the moment to draw out.

“You’re not the only one.”

If I have it my way, she’ll be waking up like this every morning with my mouth on her skin and my heart in her hands.

She stretches again, and her palm drifts between us, brushing against my abs before slipping lower.

When her fingers wrap around me, I groan. She strokes me once, the movement slow and sweet. My hips jerk at her touch.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I rasp, smacking a kiss to her lips before rolling out of bed, leaving her blinking.

“Wait. What are you doing?” she asks, pushing up onto her elbows, her hair wild and her voice still husky with sleep. “I thought…” Her cheeks flush as the sentence trails off.

That we’d have sex.

It’s written all over her face.

And damn, if that doesn’t make me smile.

“I was gonna make us breakfast,” I say, tugging on a pair of gray sweatpants.

“Now?” she huffs, clearly annoyed to be left high and dry.

I hide my grin and head for the door. “What’s wrong? You said you liked this arrangement. Is there a better way to wake up than having your titties sucked? Plus, I’m going to feed you. I think you’re really making out here.”

“Steele.”

“Join me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

She groans into the pillows as I leave, and I can’t stop the quiet laugh that breaks loose from me.

Such an impatient little thing.

She has no idea how difficult it was to walk away.

I adjust my hard-on and make my way to the kitchen before pulling out all the necessary ingredients for blueberry pancakes. They’re her favorite. The kind she used to make after late study nights in college when she needed comfort food. Back then, she’d dance around her tiny apartment barefoot, hair in a knot on her head, singing off-key to old Taylor Swift songs.

I was in love with her even then.

The batter’s just about done when footsteps pad across the hardwood.