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Chapter Eleven

Melanie

Waking up the next morning, I stretch out my arms and legs, smiling at the pleasant ache all over my body, reminding me of the night before. It’s been a long time since Max took me with such passion, and while I’m wondering what brought it on, I don’t want to spoil the morning with serious conversation over the reason why.

For now, I’m content to just bask in the after-sex glow, and just enjoy the day ahead. As I head downstairs to make coffee, I notice that Edward isn’t up yet. I decide to let him sleep.

Despite his assurances that he’s fine, I could tell how tired he still was. Even after having a nap shortly after getting here yesterday, he wasn’t quite himself.

He seemed pretty out of it last night during the movie. Distracted and barely able to focus. Truthfully, he should have just gone to bed after dinner, but I could tell he sensed how disappointed I was that Max had to rush off to work so soon after he’d gotten back. I know we have the whole summer to spend with our boy, but it was important to me to welcome him home properly.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I realize that Max has already left this morning—his shoes and laptop are gone, and so is his car. I’m guessing he’d either had a very good evening which is what put him in the mood for making love, or he had a really rough evening and wanted to take his mind off it. Either way, I woke up feeling better than I have in a long time.

Sunlight streams through the kitchen window, and I press the button on the coffee maker to get it warmed up. It’s late morning already, I must have been more tired than I realized, although it could be attributed to getting fucked half senseless last night. Memories flash in my mind as I relive each moment, and I close my eyes so I can remember it more clearly.

Losing myself in the remembrance of pleasure, my skin warms and heat floods between my legs as a slight dampness builds in my panties. The scent of coffee slowly fills my nose, the sweet, yet also bitter smell permeating in the air brings me back to the present. The sound of chair legs scraping on the linoleum floor snaps me fully out of the daydream. I smile at the sight of a sleepy, somewhat bedraggled Edward, sitting on his chair and yawning.

“Coffee?” I ask, gesturing at the machine on the countertop .

“Please,” he responds, his voice low and heavy with sleep.

My heart warms at how much he reminds me of his father first thing in the morning. They could be twins with how similar they sound, and I chuckle quietly to myself as I pour him a mug of coffee and add the creamer.

He takes it from me and has a mouthful. I wince, because it’s still boiling hot, even though he doesn’t seem to mind as he takes another sip. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome.”

I take a seat at the table and quietly sip on my coffee. Reaching for a slice of the toast I’d prepared for us both, I butter it generously and have a bite. I chew slowly, watching Edward in silence as he follows suit, but he polishes his off before I’ve even finished half a slice.

I shake my head, a small smile turning up my lips. Some things never change, I think happily as he proceeds to eat another three slices of toast and clears his plate, while I’m still working on my second slice.

He gets to his feet and walks around the table, stopping to give me a kiss on the cheek as he goes to leave the room.

“That was delicious, thank you. ”

I chuckle. “It was only coffee and toast.”

“You made it—therefore it was delicious,” he states matter-of-factly.

I shake my head at how impossible he is. “Oh, hush.”

I know he’s only being kind because he loves me, but it warms my heart that he tries so hard to show how much he appreciates what I do for him, even the trivial, mundane things like toast and coffee for breakfast.

Once I’m done, I stack our plates and slide the chair out from under the table. I check my phone. I’ve not heard from Max this morning, but that’s not unusual when he’s working. He likes to focus completely on the job at hand, and he’s a firm believer in keeping work life and personal life separate from one another.

Deciding to put on a load of laundry, I head upstairs to grab the hamper. I drag it down to the laundry room, dropping the detergent pod into the empty machine, I then lift the lid. Edward’s and my dirty clothes from yesterday are lying on top, and everything underneath belongs to him. I peer down into the basket with a frown and try to put my finger on what’s bothering me about it. Laundry isn’t complicated, but something isn’t right .

Then it hits me—Max’s clothes aren’t in the upstairs hamper. Shaking off the odd feeling, I check the hamper that lives in the laundry room. Max could’ve dropped them in here after he got home last night—it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that. Seeing his clothes sitting on top of the pile, I let out a relieved sigh. I’m not sure why it bothered me so much when it hasn’t in the past. Shrugging off the silliness of my thoughts, I drop all of the dark clothing into the washer and turn it on.