Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Rather than pulling the blanket back and waking her up with my tongue, I set the tray on a chair near the bed before sitting beside her.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” I lean down and brush my lips against her cheek, temple, and bare shoulder. Slowly she starts to awaken, a little bit at a time, sighing drowsily as she does.
“What time is it?” she mumbles, though most of it is muffled by the pillow she buries her face in when sunlight touches her open eyes.
“It's past nine o'clock.” I gently brush a stray hair away from the side of her face. “You slept like a rock.”
“It's Saturday,” she grumbles. “Ever heard of sleeping in?”
“Ever heard of burning daylight.” I run my lips down her arm and watch as goosebumps erupt across her skin. “I couldn't wait another minute for you to wake up.”
She rolls over, her mouth curving up into a smirk. “Were you lonely?”
“You can't keep yourself away from me for days at a time and expect me not to take advantage of having you here.” The fact is, though, it was almost a lonely experience, as much as I enjoyed the chance to watch her sleep. She's someone whose presence I can't imagine ever growing tired of.
There's never an end to the questions I want to ask, the stories I want to tell, or the skin I want to touch and kiss. I'm an explorer who finally found what he sought amid a long, rough, almost deadly journey. Now I’m supposed to find a way to cope when she wants to sleep in; I don’t think so.
“It just so happens I should get up now, anyway.” She stretches her arms over her head while she purrs like a cat.
“Hungry? Sheryl made sure to send me back with some of your favorites.”
“Muffins? Is there brie, too?” The excitement in her voice makes me smile. Here I am thinking I was the only person who could make her eyes light up like that.
She sits up, pulling up the blankets, while I tug the tray and settle in beside her. I almost can hardly believe the man I’ve become—one who eats breakfast in bed with a woman and can't imagine being elsewhere. I can practically imagine us lying here on Sunday mornings, reading the paper and maybe listening to music while we talk. It's enough to be with her and bask in her presence. I can hardly recall what life was like without this sense of peace and rightness.
However, things are still looming over us. It would be so easy to pretend everything's fine, that we worked it all out. To gloss over the reason she came here last night and the questions she had. Yes, I promised to help her, and I will, but that isn't the end. Not even close. And if she doesn't trust me, if she's hesitant to believe in me, that's nobody's fault but my own. I have to face it. If this is going anywhere—and I need it to, more than I've ever needed anything—I have to be the man she needs.
“So.” Once I've had a little coffee and feel the gears turning in my brain, I set the cup back down to pick out a fresh blueberry muffin.
“So?” She lifts an eyebrow before popping a strawberry into her mouth.
How do I do this? I'm navigating uncharted territory without a compass or map. “Does this mean no more running away? Or am I going to be forced to endure life without you again?”
She’s suddenly very interested in her coffee, staring down at it while cream swirls in a cloud. “It depends.”
“On?”
“On you.” She throws a glance my way before averting her gaze again. “I'm sorry. I’m just being honest.”
“I understand that and accept my role in what's happened before now.”
Again with the arched eyebrow. “Really?” Even though I deserve it, there's more than a healthy amount of skepticism in that. If we're going to make anything out of this, I have to accept the truth and be honest with myself. I usually am, sometimes to a fault. I don't deny my negative or less-than-savory qualities.
“Yes. Really.” When all she does is frown at her coffee, I add, “I want to be together, to be one. You know this. I’ve told you this numerous times when all you kept doing was insisting we were nothing more than sex.”
“You have an interesting way of showing it.”
“I've made mistakes. I can admit that. But part of relationships is finding a way through that, right? I’m not exactly great at it, but I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.”
Finally, she sets the coffee aside in favor of frowning directly at me. “This doesn’t feel like a relationship? Because up until now, from where I'm sitting, the most we've had is sex.”