“Please,” I beg.

“Fucking love when you beg me. It makes me feel like you want me as bad as I want you. Beg me. Beg me, and I’ll give you anything.”

“Please, Oz, make me come. Please,” I plead. I’m so close, a little more. He’s slowed down his thrusts, and I’m going insane. A little harder is all I need.

“Ask me to come inside you,” he moans against my ear. His words make my stomach do a little flip. He releases my leg, but I keep it in place while his hand travels down to my clit and his finger brushes over it, not giving me the pressure I need.

“Come inside me, Oz. Fill me up with you,” I cry out, and he does. Thrusting deep, his fingers finally give me what I need and he sends me over. He jerks behind me as I clamp down around him, my orgasm taking me. His warm release fills me and my desire deepens from the sensation.

I don’t know how long I lie there, enjoying the aftermath of our pleasure while he places soft kisses along my neck. Since I hit this bed last night, I think at least one part of him has been touching me nonstop. Almost like he can’t help himself.

“You didn’t leave,” he finally says, making me giggle. I don’t think I could’ve gotten out of this bed even if I wanted to.

“I could barely move with how you were wrapped around me last night.” I was lucky I could breathe at a few points.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against my neck, and I don’t believe for a second he’s sorry at all. I wiggle against him and he tightens his grip, proving my point.

“I really do need to use the bathroom.”

He sighs, reluctantly letting me go, and I shyly stand. The curtains in the room are pulled back and the morning sun fills the room, exposing every inch of me. Once on my feet, the moisture of our night together runs down my thighs.

“Fuck, I like seeing that.” Oz’s eyes are trained between my legs, and after a second he lunges for me. He pulls me back toward the bed, saying he wants a better look. My cheeks warm, which is silly because Oz has seen me there more than a few times now. He runs a finger up my thigh into the wetness, and damn him.

“Bathroom,” I whisper, making him look up at me.

He nods. “Don’t shower. I’ll cook for us, then we’ll shower,” he says, pulling himself from the bed and giving me a quick kiss. I try to deepen it, but he pulls back. “You’ll end up back in the bed, sweetheart,” he warns, making me smile. I like how I seem to test his control.

He walks over to a closet, pulling out a shirt and handing it to me. “You can wear this.” He slides it on over my head, not really giving me an option. But it’s not like I’m about to put on the dress from last night. It’s in a pile on the floor, and I’m not sure I’m ready to walk around naked, so I let him dress me.

“Scrambled eggs and bacon?” he asks, before giving me another quick kiss.

“Yes.” He kisses me on the cheek this time before turning to grab his boxer briefs off the floor and sliding them on. He walks out of the bedroom door, and I can’t help but watch him go. He’s got a great ass.

Pulling myself together, I make quick work of taking care of business in the bathroom, but stop to look at myself in the mirror. Leaning in closer to the mirror, I see something on my neck that makes me gasp.

I turn, storming out of the bathroom and toward the kitchen. He left a hickey on me! It might be light and I’ll probably be able to cover it with makeup, but still. A freaking hickey like I’m in high school or something.

“Miles!” I snap, making him turn from the stove, spatula in hand and a stupid, perfect smile on his face. No one should look that good in the morning, or while cooking. Who cooks in their underwear anyway? He’s trying to kill me.

“Yeah, baby?” he says easily, like he’s not worried about my temper.

“I’m about to yell at you, so stop smiling,” I snap again, which only makes him smile more. He turns, flipping off the stove and putting the spatula down before turning to look back at me. Still smiling.

“Hard not to smile when you’re standing in our kitchen, in my shirt, looking like I made love to you all night. As long as you’re not trying to slip out on me, I don’t think there’s anything you could be doing in here that won’t make me smile.”

I ignore his sweet words because, well, because they’re too freaking sweet. Like everything that comes out of his mouth. It’s utterly mind-blowing how he does that, so I choose to ignore his words and to keep my anger. I don’t savor any of his words. Especially not the one about our kitchen.

“You gave me a hickey.” I point to the spot on my neck. The same spot he attacked last night in the limo.

He lets out a breath, like he’s trying to stifle a laugh.

“This jealousy thing you’ve got going on isn’t going to work,” I tell him, putting my hands on my hips and standing my ground. We haven’t even been together that long and he’s lost it multiple times when guys have gotten too close to me.

He moves toward me, and I don’t budge until he’s right in front of me. He picks me up, and I can’t help but squeal. My butt lands on the kitchen counter, and his hands bracket my thighs. He drops his head and I watch his movements as he breathes. I can’t stop myself from running one hand into his hair, finally making him look up at me.

“It’s hard,” he finally says. “I’ve wanted you so fucking long. You have no idea. So fucking long,” he says. “Then when I see someone trying to move in on that, well, I slip. I get pissed, and something takes over. I know it’s crazy, but I can’t seem to stop it, no matter how hard I try. I can’t.” He says the last part like he’s pleading with me to see it, too.