I bury my face in her neck, biting back a roar as I spill inside her, my whole body trembling with the intensity of it.
Eventually, I press a kiss to her shoulder and slip out of her, rolling onto my back with a contented sigh. The morning sun iswarmer now, painting stripes of a new day across the rumpled sheets.
Her breathing evens out against my chest. I trace the line of her spine, as my brain clicks into gear, planning my day.
Willa at ten, team meeting at noon, maybe meeting up with Zoey’s brothers for lunch.
Shit.
Morgan’s room is right down the hall.
“Zoey?” I whisper.
“Mmm?”
“How soundproof is this apartment?”
"Huh?" Zoey shifts, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow with a muffled groan. "What time is it?"
"Doesn't matter," I say, rubbing her back. "Go back to sleep."
She makes a noncommittal sound, but her breathing evens out almost immediately. I watch her for another minute, then I slip out of bed, pulling on slacks and shirt from last might and treading quietly out of the room.
I head straight for the kitchen and raid the fridge and cabinets, pulling out eggs, milk, flour, and butter. I find a bag of chocolate chips and a container of fresh blueberries in the freezer, and when I look at both options, the debate begins in my own head.
Chocolate chip pancakes are a classic. They'd be Morgan's favorite.
But Zoey would prefer blueberry, hands down.
I decide to make both. Because why the hell not?
I'm whisking batter in a large glass bowl when a small voice pipes up from the doorway.
"You're going to need more butter in that,Buddy."
I glance over my shoulder and Morgan is standing there in unicorn pajamas, her hair a wild mess of morning tangles. She's been watching me with the critical eye of a tiny, terrifying food critic.
"Good morning to you too, Morgs."
She climbs onto a stool at the kitchen island, propping her chin in her hands, polite enough not to comment that I'm wearing the same clothes I was last night.
"You're not using enough butter. Mom says butter is love. You gotta show the pancakes you love them."
I bite back a smile. "Is that so?"
"Yep."
"Right." I grab another knob of butter from the dish on the counter and drop it into the sizzling pan. It melts into a golden pool. "Better?"
She squints into the pan. "It's a start. Now, are those chocolate chip or blueberry?"
"Both."
She nods, a serious expression on her face. "Good choice. Compromise is key in any successful kitchen endeavor."
I laugh, pouring the first pancake. "Where'd you learn that?"
"Food Network." She hops off the stool and rummages in a drawer, pulling out a deck of cards. "Wanna see a card trick I learned on YouTube?"