Love on the Lake (Lakeside 2)

I work through all my emails and create three different Pinterest boards, including one for a brand-new account. That email came in yesterday at six in the evening, and I figured it’s a good idea to get a head start, since this weekend is going to be busy. Especially since I’m supposed to go to Chicago to visit with my dad and Danielle. And I have a care package I’m sending with my dad for the next time he goes to see Bradley. He needs more books, and newspapers. The last time I spoke to him, he mentioned the prison soap isn’t great for his sensitive skin.

The sound of Aaron’s alarm pulls my attention away from the screen.

“Babe?” The bed frame creaks with his movement. It drives him nuts that he can’t figure out where that one creak is coming from.

I realize that the sun is coming up and I’ve been working all night. I close my laptop and place it carefully on the coffee table, trying not to make a lot of noise, and then pad across the floor. “Morning, sleepyhead.” I slip around the divider and find him lying on his stomach, sprawled across the mattress, hugging my pillow.

I slip under the covers and snuggle up next to him. “Why’re you up so early?” he mumbles into my neck.

“I had some stuff I wanted to take care of. Can I make you pancakes for breakfast?” I run my fingers through his hair.

He shakes his head.

“No? What about bacon and eggs, then?”

He shakes his head again, nose dragging along my neck, lips following. “I want you for breakfast.” He bites the edge of my jaw and pulls my mouth to his. He tastes like mint, likely because he always has those Listerine tabs handy so he doesn’t have to get out of bed and brush his teeth in the morning. “Open for me, please,” he murmurs against my lips.

I comply, and his tongue slips inside my mouth, stroking softly. His knee finds its way between my legs, and his hand roams over my curves.

“What is that?” he mumbles, still half-asleep, judging from the rasp in his voice and the lazy way he’s touching me.

“What’s what?” I drag my fingers down his stomach, over the ridges and solid planes of muscle.

“That taste in your mouth. You’re fruity?” He pulls back, blinking a few times.

“And you’re minty.” I pull his mouth back to mine and wrap my fingers around his length. That’s all it takes to distract him.

Afterward, I make coffee and pancakes for him. He pulls me down into his lap. “Aren’t you going to eat with me? Where are your pancakes?”

“I’ll eat later.” I try to get back up, but he wraps his arm around my waist.

“You need to eat, Teagan.” He stabs a butter-and-maple-syrup-drenched bite of pancake and brings it up to my mouth.

“I don’t really like pancakes.”

“Who doesn’t like pancakes? These are delicious. Just have one bite so you know how amazing they are.”

I give in, not wanting to start an unnecessary argument. Then I steal the fork from him and start cutting up the pancakes so I can feed him one piece at a time.

His gaze meets mine while he chews, and I look away so I can spear another piece. “That one’s for you.”

“It’s huge. I’ll have the next one.” I poke his lip and he eats it, albeit reluctantly. I use the side of the fork to cut a chunk off a large piece and pop it in my mouth. My stomach is off, probably because I pulled an all-nighter and accidentally polished off a bottle of wine while doing it.

He watches me as I chew. His brows pull together, and his thumb brushes along the hollow under my eye. “You look tired. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“I can have a nap after you leave for work.” I feed him another bite, and he glances over his shoulder, toward the couch, where my empty wineglass sits.

“Did you even sleep at all?”

I don’t want to lie to him. “I had a lot on my mind, and I forgot to take my medication because I was busy having orgasms. I’ll catch up tonight, and I’ll be fine.”

He exhales heavily, questions in his eyes.

“I told you I have insomnia sometimes, remember? It usually only lasts a few days, and then I’m good again.” I’m off my routine, and I’ve needed to work extra hours while he’s asleep, which means I haven’t been taking my sleep meds every night, and I’ve needed more help staying awake than usual. But once I get the Stitches’ proposals under my belt and my emails under control again, I’ll be fine.

“I didn’t realize that means you don’t sleep at all.”

“I’ll be able to nap and then reset tonight.” I shift so I’m straddling his lap. “If you want to help, you can tire me out before you leave for work.”