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“No. I’m fine.”
He snuggles into my side, making little contented noises that are cute as hell, although I probably won’t tell him that. He doesn’t need any more encouragement.
“We should definitely do that again soon,” he says, moving his hand to tug gently on the dark hair covering my chest, then following its trail down my abdomen.
My cock likes that idea and his touch but doesn’t have the staying power to go for another round—at least not quite yet.
“It was that good, eh?” I tease.
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Honey, let’s just say you can butter my biscuit any old time you like.”
For some reason, I’m suddenly tempted to tease him back.
I feign exaggerated confusion. “What does that mean? Why would you put butter on a biscuit?” I shudder theatrically.
He blinks at me a couple of times, then narrows his eyes. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“Who me? Never,” I say with an affronted gasp.
That sends him into a fit of laughter and I can’t hold back a smile.
When he settles down again, he says, “Hats off, sir. You’re funnier than I thought.”
“I’m fucking hilarious,” I deadpan.
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Once you try Mama’s biscuits, you’ll never go back.”
Feeling playful, I get up and point a finger at him. “You wait right here.”
I hurry to the kitchen, pull out a packet of digestives, and bring it back to the bedroom with me. I toss them down like a gauntlet.
“These are biscuits, and they’re for dunking in your tea.”
He picks up the packet and scrutinizes it.
“These aren’t biscuits; these are cookies.”
I cross my arms and arch an eyebrow. “They’re biscuits.”
He laughs and then blows me a kiss. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree, sugar.”
Then Beau gets a mischievous glint in his eyes and leans over the bed, managing to grab hold of his trousers and triumphantly fish his phone out of the pocket. He pulls up a picture of biscuits and gravy and shows it to me with a look of challenge.
“Best kind of biscuits, hands down.”
I study them. I’ve heard of them but never seen the real deal. They look a bit like a cross between a crumpet and a scone.
“They’re savory, I take it?”
“You can go either way with them. I’m partial to biscuits and gravy, but a warm biscuit with some butter and honey is also a real treat. They’re quite versatile and a staple of Southern cuisine.”
I arch an eyebrow and smirk. “Well, I’ll just have to take your word for that.”
He chuckles and I get back into bed, pulling him back into my arms. Admittedly, I’m liking the feel of him there a little too much considering this man is just here for vacation.
I shove away those negative thoughts and focus more on enjoying the moment. I know better than most how important it is to enjoy the here and now. You never know how long it’s gonna last.
Now that the randy humans have finished their exertions, Poirot comes slinking into the bedroom and jumps up on the end of the bed. Beau sits up, eyes alight with interest.
