Not a problem, sweet thing. I’m going to get as close as I possibly can.

Her flavor was sweet and spicy, just like Elle. I breathed it in as I devoured her pussy, circling her clit and teasing her entrance with two fingers. The urge to plunge them inside her was strong, but I wanted to draw it out. I wanted her to remember the first time I made her come. I planned to give this woman so many orgasms that this first one needed to be epic in order to stand out.

I worked her all the way to the edge, and her moans and orders to ‘let me come, goddammit’ bounced off the walls. When I slowed my pace, her scream of frustration told me I was close.

I slid both fingers inside her and found her G-spot. The quiver of her inner muscles signaled that I didn’t have long before she’d detonate. I toyed with her clit before tugging with my teeth and sucking hard.

Elle shattered with a scream.

Mission. Accomplished.

But I wasn’t quite done yet.

Another man might take issue with the fact that he’d just given his woman three orgasms and she’d promptly passed out, but I didn’t have a problem with it. Actually, it made me want to pound my chest like King-fucking-Kong. Elle was in my bed, and she was comfortable enough to let go completely. That was a victory in itself. I carefully eased her up to the pillows, pulled off her skirt, and debated whether to try to get her shirt and bra off without waking her up.

Her eyes flicked open.

“Shit,” she mumbled. “It’s your turn. I suck.”

Her choice of words made me laugh. “I think we can save your turn and any sucking for later. You want to sleep in your clothes or mine?”

She didn’t respond, just tugged her blouse over her head, reached around to unsnap her bra, and shoved off her skirt. Her brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, because as soon as her clothes hit the floor, she curled up into my pillow and closed her eyes.

“Elle?”

“Tired.” Her voice was a whisper. “Haven’t been sleeping much.” That last part came out on a yawn.

In that moment, I wanted to tear Rix to shreds. I swore to myself he wouldn’t cost her another moment of sleep.

“Then you sleep. I’m watching over you tonight. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I know.”

And then she was out.

If I could keep Elle in my life for half as long as the sight of her thick, red hair spilling across my pillow would be embedded in my memory, I’d be one lucky man.

When I woke, it was to an empty bed. I did not fucking like that. I sat up and scrubbed my face with one hand.

My first thought was: Did she bolt?

And then the faint scent of cinnamon hit my nose, and the sound of running water came from the kitchen.

What the hell?

I swung my legs around and climbed out of bed. When I reached the end of the hallway, I witnessed the sexiest sight to grace my kitchen: Elle, dressed only in one of my T-shirts, reaching up to pull a plate down from the cupboard. The shirt rode up, exposing the bottom of the curve of her ass, and my morning wood turned into a monster hard-on.

I said nothing, just enjoyed the view, scratched my stomach, and resisted the urge to grip my dick and stroke.

Fuck. The woman was so goddamn gorgeous—messy hair and bare legs—it would only take a few pulls for me to be coming where I stood.

Elle set the plate on the counter and turned to face the bar … and me. My waffle iron sat on the counter, which explained the good smell. I must have made a sound, because her eyes shot to mine—and a smile crossed her face.

“Hey there, pawn star. You hungry?”

As soon as her words were out, her eyes dropped to the tent in my boxers.

“For food, I mean,” she clarified.

“What if I want more than food?” I asked.

Her mouth twitched into a saucy grin. “Everything else will have to wait for dessert. Waffles first.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Did I even have waffle mix?”

“Nope. I made them from scratch. Hope you like cinnamon … because I started shaking, and the lid fell off into the batter. I scooped out as much extra as I could, but you’re getting a mostly cinnamon waffle this morning.”

I grinned. “Fine by me. Haven’t had a homemade waffle in … ever … I don’t think.”

“Then I’m doubly glad I made them, because that just isn’t right.”

She lifted the top of the waffle iron and cinnamon-scented steam wafted out.

“Smells good.”

Elle grabbed a fork and lifted the waffle out onto a plate before pouring more batter in its place.

“I may be a mostly crappy cook, but one thing I can do right is cinnamon vanilla waffles.”

“Vanilla, too? Shit. Almost worth waking up to an empty bed.” I came around behind her and dropped a hand on the counter on either side of her. Lowering my head, I spoke into her ear. “Next time, wake me, and I’ll help.”

She didn’t respond, just leaned back against me. I counted it as a good sign that she didn’t stiffen and tell me there wouldn’t be a next time. Because there’d be a next time even if I had to tie the woman to my bed.

“You better eat before it gets cold. Mine will be done in a minute.”

“Your turn first.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’m not going to watch you cook and then eat before you. I might not have been raised with much in the way of manners, but even I know that’s a dick move.” I pushed away from the counter, intending to grab silverware, but at the word dick, her eyes dropped to that very level. It might have distracted me from my task.

“Speaking of dicks…”

Mine pulsed. Obviously.

“Go sit your cute little ass down and eat your waffle before neither of us gets any breakfast.”

She bit her lip, took the plate, and moved around to sit at the bar.

I groaned.

“What?” Elle asked.

“Your naked ass is sitting on my barstool, isn’t it?”

Her shoulders shook with laughter. “Yep. Totally. Want to hand me a fork?”

“Shit, woman. I’m never going to be able to look at that barstool the same way again, and you’re over there asking me for a fork?”

“You’re the one who told me to eat first.”

“I did.” By the time I’d set it in front of her, Elle was pointing at the waffle iron.