“Yeah, I’m good. I’m sorry about?—”
“You better not apologize for being upset.”
“But—”
“No, Juls. If you feel the need to apologize for anything, apologize for keeping it from me for as long as you did. Do not ever apologize for telling me how you feel. Even if you need to scream or cry while you tell me, I want to hear every detail.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me for loving you.”
“I’ll always appreciate you.”
Dylan smiled a huge, beautiful smile just inches above my lips.
“You got me, baby. I appreciate you too, everything about you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say back, but we’d said enough anyway. So instead of answering, I lifted my hips.
“Oh, yeah? You’re done talking?”
I nodded and rolled my hips up again.
“I’m going to show you just how much I appreciate you,” Dylan said as he kissed and caressed his way down my body to settle between my thighs.
Four orgasms later—one from his tongue, one from his fingers, and two from him inside me—I did indeed feel appreciated and loved. Boneless and replete too.
“Take your time getting up. I’ll go make breakfast.” Dylan kissed me sweetly and walked out of the room.
I took a quick shower and got dressed in sweatpants and the SAFD t-shirt he’d come in wearing last night, the delicious aroma of coffee and toast wafting in as I worked the curling cream through my hair and twisted it up in a loose bun.
When I got to the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of Dylan in just a pair of gym shorts making himself at home in my kitchen. Warmth filled my heart—and lower—as I watched the muscles ripple across his back as he flipped an omelet on the stove. A moment later he retrieved the toast and put it on a plate, then returned to the stove without missing a beat. I admired the smooth efficiency that was so foreign to me.
He turned and I saw his eyes flare as he took in my clothes. I knew he liked it when I wore his shirts, which was perfect, because I loved it too. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning,” I said, running my hands up his chest as I leaned in for a quick kiss.
I poured our coffees out of the pot he’d started, added the half-and-half—a drop in his and a lot to mine—and brought them to the table, just as he brought over our plates filled with a feast of omelets, toast, and fruit.
“Everything looks delicious, but you didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to take care of you. You don’t know how hard these last few days have been, knowing you were hurting and not knowing why or being able to help you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t want to worry you while you were working.”
“You think I don’t know you by now, baby? It was clear as day to me that you were upset. I heard it in your voice and your words, even in your texts. And before you decide you should avoid talking to me even more the next time you’re upset, I heard it in all the words you didn’t say also.”
“Well, shit. What if I don’t want to tell you, and I don’t want to upset you either?”
“I want you to tell me.”
“But what if it’s just stupid stuff? I’ll tell you anything big, but I don’t want to be constantly complaining to you about little things.”
“Like what?”
“Did you not just hear me say I don’t want to tell you?”
“Are you afraid of what I’ll think of you? Because I promise nothing you can say will make me think badly of you.”