“You could be on the cover of Hot Pilot magazine,” I mused out loud. “Or Hot Thirty-Somethings. Or Hot Chicagoans. Or Hot—”
He grabbed my hand and put it on his dick which was already hard as iron. “I sense a theme with these fictional magazines of yours.”
I stroked him slowly, enjoying the feel of the smooth heat of his skin. “Fine. We’ll stick with Hot Pilot.”
“Never heard of it, but I’d like a subscription. Maybe you can get that for me with the money you make from your Hot Nurse cover shoot.”
His voice was rumbly with sleep, and his face had a pillow wrinkle on it. How was this my life?
I leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his prickly cheek, noticing my pillow smelled like his cologne now. I was never, ever washing that pillowcase. He was so delicious, I felt like if I didn’t hop up now, I’d never get out of bed.
“Come on,” I said, throwing back the covers and scaring the pants off Waffles. “We have to go to the market, remember?”
A strong hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, and before I knew what was happening, I was facedown on the bed with Jack’s morning wood pressed hard between my ass cheeks.
“Or this,” I squeaked. “This is a good alternative.”
His morning stubble scraped its way across my tender skin as his lips trailed kisses down my back. By the time he got to my ass, I was humping the bed, and when those spiky whiskers made their way between my cheeks, I lost it completely.
By the time he reached for a condom and slid inside me, I was incoherent. The orgasm that rocketed through me a little while later made me rethink all of my plans for getting up and starting the day. Maybe Jack’s diabolical sex plan was the better idea.
Within seconds after shooting all over the bed beneath me, I was dead asleep again. When I finally awoke sometime later, I heard Jack talking to someone in a low voice. It took me a minute to make out his words.
“I don’t know which of these you guys prefer. Ocean mix or tender chicken entree? No. Not that one. That’s coffee for me and your dad. Let’s go with ocean mix. Socrates, you look like a fish lover.”
I lifted my head and saw him standing in my tiny kitchen area in his boxer briefs. Socrates was doing figure eights through his legs while Waffles sat on the counter like a bastard, trying to swat everything Jack laid out onto the floor.
I watched him for a few minutes while he continued talking to them about manners and admonished them to keep the meows down so “Dad” could sleep. My entire fucking dream was standing right there in my kitchen, and the realization hit me in the gut like a two-by-four.
Here was the whole package: someone I admired and liked, someone sexy as hell who also treated me like I was special, accepted my oddities, encouraged me, and was a superstar in bed. A man who cared about spending time with family, so much so that he changed jobs to be closer to them. Someone who was so selfless, he’d volunteered for three extra flights next week because the client felt more comfortable with him than the other pilots.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. If there was one thing guaranteed with falling in love so early on with my best friend, it was the joy of knowing I’d be able to avoid wanting someone I couldn’t have. Now here I was, unable to have Chris because he wasn’t ready and unable to have Jack because he wasn’t interested in long-term relationships and settling down.
You’re only twenty-six. Calm the fuck down. I tried talking myself off the ledge, but deep down it still hurt like hell. I didn’t care how old or young I was, I knew what I wanted. I wanted someone to spend my life with. I didn’t need marriage or a lifetime commitment. Honestly, I just wanted someone to spend a nice Saturday with.
You have that. He’s standing right there arguing with your cats.
I watched Jack move around the space, helping himself to the coffee mugs in the cabinet and the creamer in the fridge. With every move he made, his muscled ass flexed in his white boxer briefs, and his hairy legs flashed through a strip of sunlight cutting across the room from the window. The wide expanse of his bare back had a red mark in one spot that reminded me of the moment I reached back and clawed at him last night when I was begging to come.
My phone buzzed on the side table, drawing Jack’s attention. He turned toward me with mugs in both hands. “Morning.” He handed me one of the mugs and crawled back into bed with the other while I reached for my phone. It was a text from my sister.