Page 63
He exhales a laugh. “’Cause we’re not married yet, babygirl.”
“What does that have…” I catch his eye, his slow blink, his innuendo, then I flush and look away. “Promises, promises…”
He smiles. Finishing his meal prep, he returns to the living room, sits on the couch, and melts against me with a sigh. Head on my thigh, he closes his eyes.
Untucking a hand from my cocoon, I comb my fingers through his hair.
The fire crackles. Wynnter breathes. Something in the kitchen begins a steady bubble.
“Wynn-Wynn…?”
“It’s rice,” he murmurs. “Heat’s low.” He turns his face, kissing my leg through the blanket.
I shiver.
His face lifts, eyes meeting mine, then he prowls over me, touching our foreheads and leaning me back into the armrest. Pinching my chin, he swipes his thumb along my bottom lip. “Pretty,” he whispers, then he kisses me, gently, a bare peck. “Soft.” He chuckles. “You excited for cake tomorrow?”
We’re going to be so OD’ed on all things sweet after both all the cake and the cookies we’re going to have. I couldn’t be more excited. “I am. I’ve never done anything like this before. Alister handled all of this planning stuff himself for August’s wedding.”
“I’m sorry my rotten sister’s choice in a mate ruined your life.” Wynnter nibbles my cheek, bites my ear, grabs my leg, and rakes me down so I’m lying flat beneath him. Bracing on one arm, he unlatches the clasp of my capelet, then he buries his face in my neck. “We can disown her later.”
My breaths thin as I thread my fingers into his hair. “Will the bakery really be able to have our cake done in time, during this season?”
“Yeah.” He nips and licks. “I know the owner, so we came to a…multi-tiered agreement.” His beard scratches and scrapes.
Shivering, I ask, “A multi-tiered agreement?”
“I’m going to pay him a lot of money and also if ever there’s a next time in which one of his employees starts a fire, requiring him to rush-order me rebuilding half his kitchen in a matter of days, you know. I’ll do that. Again.” Lifting his face, he smiles. “Mr. McDaniel is decent people.”
I daze at the sight of Wynnter. Over me. Touching me. Smiling.
“Baby…” he purrs.
“Mm?”
“What does that pretty face mean?”
My skin buzzes. “I want you.”
“Yeah?” His rough fingers slip against my cheek, cupping. “How badly?”
“Two and a half weeks feels like forever.”
Wicked, he dips to kiss my clavicle and says, “Good.”
“You want me to suffer.”
“You like suffering for me.” He licks; his beard scratches.
I fall to pieces. “Wynn…”
He lays his ear to my heart, letting his hum rattle my bones. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Pound just like that. Just for me.”
I go immeasurably cold when he drags himself away, striding into the kitchen to check on the food. In the freeze of his absence, I pout. I pout the entire time he’s putting our plates together. I pout until he sets a steaming pile of seasoned rice and chicken nuggets in my lap.
Then, I relinquish the expression, benevolently, and ask, “Is this going to be our life?”
He eyes me, shoving a bite of food in his face. “Not sure I understand.”
