Page 26 of Silver Spoon Falls, Vol. I

RAZOR

I nudge the bedroom door open with my foot, balancing a breakfast tray in both hands.

The air is heavy with the promise of summer.

The coffee, a French roast Adalynn’s obsessed with, threatens to slosh over the rim of her favorite mug with every step, so I slide instead of walk, moving as carefully as a thief.

Inside, the room is cool and dark. The curtains, gauzy and white, diffuse the morning into a slow flood of light that crawls up the bed and pools across the comforter.

Adalynn sleeps on her side, hair spilled across the pillow in a tangle of dark silk.

She hogs the covers; her shoulder is bare, the kind of careless exposure that makes me want to press my lips against the seam of her skin and the sheet.

I pause, tray balanced on my knee, and just watch her sleep.

The tray’s loaded with her favorites. Two croissants, a raspberry danish, strawberries sliced into thin, precise medallions, and the coffee.

There’s also a pale pink linen napkin because she likes the feeling of nice things against her hands.

I set it all down on the nightstand. The mug clinks, and she shifts, mumbling, eyelashes fluttering but not waking.

I hover a moment, then lean in and brush the mess of hair from her neck, following the pulse line with my mouth, soft enough that she shivers.

She wakes slowly, her back arching against the sheets, hands finding my wrist and pinning it gently between her shoulder blades. “It’s too early,” she says, her voice cracked and cottony, thick from sleep.

I press another kiss against her neck. “It’s never too early for this.”

She laughs, breathy like a sigh, and rolls over, blinking the blur out of her eyes. “What time is it?” She squints at the tray, the breakfast arranged with what I like to think is a professional’s touch.

“Birthday time,” I say, pulling the sheets back so she can sit up. Her shoulder bumps mine as she slides up in bed, the sheet falling to her lap, and she looks at the spread like it’s an art installation. “Happy birthday, pretty baby.”

She goes soft around the eyes, a smile that’s almost shy. “You made croissants?”

“I made the bakery open fifteen minutes early for me. Technically, Francesca did. But I did the rest.” I hand her the mug of coffee, then wait for her to take the first sip. She does, with both hands around the mug, and lets out a low sound that’s basically pornographic.

“You spoil me,” she says, smirking.

“It’s my job.” I pick up a strawberry and press it to her lips. She bites, juice trickling down the side of her mouth, which I swipe away with my tongue. She groans and reaches up to tangle her fingers in my hair.

She gives me a look over the rim of her mug, all heat and tease. “Before we get too excited, where are the kids?”

“Ryker and Francesca have them,” I say casually, but I watch her face for the flicker of relief. “We have until noon. Hopefully.”

She sets the mug down, brings her hand to my jaw, and traces the edge of my chin with her finger. “What did you have to bribe your brother with to make that happen?”

I grin. “He owes me.”

She laughs again, full this time, a sound that breaks the morning open. “This is the best gift,” she says, and tugs me down to the bed so I’m level with her. “Just us.”

I’m about to answer when she pulls me in, wraps both arms around my neck, and kisses me.

Slow, decadent, like she has all the time in the world.

The tray wobbles on the nightstand, the coffee perilous, but I don’t give a shit.

I kiss her back, letting the room fill with the smell of coffee and strawberries and the sound of our breathing.

“I need you,” she says, the word hot against my neck. “Now.”

The rest of the world folds in on itself, all the trivia of breakfast and chores and what comes after.

She’s greedy with her hands, threading them into my hair, yanking my head down so our mouths crash together.

The kiss is deep, a little brutal, the kind that might leave marks.

I match her tempo, let her set the pace, because it’s her day and she’s never been shy about telling me what she wants.

She drags me down until we’re both flat on the mattress, the tray forgotten and teetering on the nightstand.

I bury my face in her neck, inhale the salt and citrus of her skin, and trace the line of her collarbone with my tongue.

She makes a low, urgent sound that rumbles into my mouth as I work my way down, teeth grazing the soft rise of her shoulder.

She tastes like sleep and warmth and sugar.

I slide my hand under the sheet, palm skimming her thigh, and she shifts her hips, baring more of herself to me.

The sheet’s a halfhearted barrier; she wants me, and she doesn’t care about subtlety. Not now.

She hooks a leg around my waist like she’s fucking claiming me, her calf flexing with the kind of power that makes my cock twitch in anticipation.

I’m helpless, honestly. Completely at her mercy.

She straddles me, thighs bracketing my hips, her heat pressing right up against my hard-on like she knows exactly what it does to me.

Her hair falls around our faces, soft and wild, and there’s this sweet, addictive scent clinging to it that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and never come up for air.

Her eyes catch mine, dark and hungry, and I know I’m done for.

Her hands are on my chest, palms flat, fingers moving over my tattoos like she’s reading them, tracing every line and curve with this reverence that makes my heart stutter.

She’s memorized all of them, I think. Every shadow, every mark.

The way she touches me is electric, sending shivers down my spine, and I’m already half gone just from that.

Then her tongue flicks at my ear, hot and wet, and her breath is a whisper that shoots straight through me and makes everything inside me tighten.

“Best birthday ever,” she murmurs, her voice low and wicked. Like she’s daring me to argue.

“I aim to please,” I growl back, sliding my hands up her thighs, fingers digging in. She’s spread wide over me, her heat soaking through my jeans, and I swear I’m about to lose my mind. “Today, you get whatever you want.”

She grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes me a little nervous—in the best possible way. “Dangerous promise,” she purrs, rolling her hips against me in a slow, torturous grind that has me seeing stars.

I watch her, hungry and just a little desperate, as she pulls my shirt over my head.

Her nails scrape over my skin, and I can’t help the sound that comes out of my mouth.

She slides down my body, leaving a trail of biting kisses over my chest and stomach, taking her time like she’s savoring every second.

Her hands are everywhere, tugging, kneading, exploring.

She’s so thorough, it’s almost like she’s trying to memorize me, too.

She makes a whole show of unbuttoning my jeans, her fingers slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine. Her nails drag along the zipper, and I swear I’m going to come apart before she even gets them off me.

“You’re such a tease,” I grit out, holding her hips like she might float away if I let go.

“And you love it,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin, finally tugging my jeans down my hips. Her hand wraps around me, and I groan, loud, because her grip is perfect. She swipes her thumb over the head, spreading the precum, and I’m gone.

“I do,” I groan. “I’m about to show you how much.”

She leans down, her lips hovering just millimeters above my throbbing cock, teasing the fuck out of me.

Her breath is hot against the sensitive tip, and I can already feel wetness beading at the slit.

She smirks, that wicked fucking smirk that drives me insane, and her tongue darts out to flick across the head.

“Ready to make good on that promise?” she purrs, her voice dripping with sin. Her tongue swipes again, this time slower, agonizingly deliberate, and I nearly lose my mind.

“Fuck yes,” I choke out, my hips jerking up instinctively, begging for more. She wraps her hand around the base of my cock, her grip firm enough to keep me from thrusting into her mouth, but not so tight that it hurts. Fuck, it’s perfect.

She doesn’t waste another second. Her lips part, and she takes me into her mouth, sliding down my shaft like she was born to suck cock.

Her mouth is fucking scalding, wet and tight, and her tongue presses against the underside of my dick in a way that makes me see stars.

She hums around me, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to my balls, and I swear I’m already teetering on the edge.

Her head bobs, taking me deeper with each stroke, her lips sealed tight around my cock.

She swallows me down to the base, her nose buried in my pubes, and fuck, she looks so goddamn perfect with her mouth full of me.

She pulls back slowly, her tongue dragging along the vein on the underside, and then she does it again.

But she’s just getting started, my fucking little minx.

Her free hand slides down my stomach, her nails leaving little trails of fire in their wake, and then she’s palming my balls, rolling them in her hand, and driving me fucking nuts.

I let out a guttural moan, my hands fisting the sheets as she takes me even deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate my entire length.

Then she pulls off with a wet pop, her lips slick with saliva and pre-cum. She looks up at me, her eyes hooded, and whispers, “You’re not done yet, baby.”