Scratch the Surface

“You smacked my ass,” I muttered, my breath catching over and over with each undulating motion of his hips.

“I did,” he rumbled, rubbing his beard on my sweaty skin, “and seeing that beautiful golden skin turn red was fuckin’ hot, Cam. I could barely wait to see my cock slide back in.”

The whimper couldn’t be stifled.

“You’re so tight and hot, and all the cum and lube and spit is making this slide so good and easy, and I can feel how turned on you are by how hard your muscles are trying to hold on and pull me in deeper.”

I wanted him buried inside of me forever.

“You’re my miracle,” he murmured, and I turned my head as he lifted enough to kiss me deeply, his tongue tangling with mine as he slipped from my body.

He lifted up, our lips parting, and curled over me, lifting one leg over his shoulder, then the other, before pressing back inside, my body taking him in, needing him in, the slide to my core fluid and seamless.

When he thrust deep, using all that hard-muscled strength of his, I lifted my head and held his gaze, watching him love the feel of me, seeing his lashes flutter and his lips part as he lost himself in the frenzy of having me.

There wasn’t much left to give, but I managed to make his abdomen sticky with cum as he shoved in deep and came.

“Come here,” I ordered, and he collapsed on top of me, and I wrapped him up in my arms and legs, caging him to me, not ready for him to leave my body.

He was panting into my hair, and I could feel his heart hammering against my chest.

“So I need some water before we do it again,” I teased him.

His soft chuckle made me smile as I turned and kissed his cheek.

We made the mistake of passing out when he finally lifted up off me. He fell down onto his back, I rolled into his arms, he clutched me to him, and that was it. At some point in the night, he must have gotten cold because I woke up under the covers with him. Only when I tried to move them did I realize they were stuck to me.

“Oh dear God,” I groaned, and there was a snort of laughter into my shoulder before he kissed me there. “We’re cemented into this bed.”

More laughter as I was hugged tight.

“I can’t wait to do that again,” I confessed, savoring the feel of his skin plastered to mine.

“Me too,” he husked. “And more and less. It only matters that it’s us.”

“Yes,” I agreed, my voice rough with emotion.

“I love you,” he ground out, like it was hard, like he had to take a gulp of air in the middle. “Thank you for choosing me.”

“Thank you for taking a leap of faith.” I lifted his hand so I could kiss his palm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you like crazy.”

“Crazy’s good,” he clarified, before he turned me in his arms so he could kiss me, morning breath and all.

As expected, breakfast was being prepared when we arrived. It was just us, my parents, my brother and sister, and the people my brother and sister loved. My mother made homemade biscuits and her signature gravy with bacon grease, and Jeremiah went in and helped, making hash browns from scratch, peeling and shredding potatoes faster than I thought humanly possible.

“How?” I peeked over his shoulder as he flipped them in a skillet.

“To be a good manager, you have to be able to step into any position,” he explained. “I can cook all the things on the Kingman’s menu.”

“Holy crap!”

A short time later, I watched my dad’s reaction as Jeremiah set a plate of something on the table in front of him. Dad eyed it suspiciously.

“What is this?”

“That, sir, is an avocado, spinach, mozzarella, and egg white omelet, with pico de gallo and sliced jalapeños on top, that I made especially for you.”

“I want biscuits and gravy.”

He nodded. “I know, but that’s bacon grease and whole eggs, and that’s not so great for your heart.”

My father stared at him, leaned forward and smelled the omelet, and eased slowly back. Looking over at my mother with her crossed arms and death stare, he quickly cleared his throat, thanked Jeremiah, and started to eat.

After the rest of us sat down, she took a bite of my father’s meal and turned to my boyfriend. “That’s very good, Jeremiah. You’ll have to teach me how to make it.”

“I’m an okay cook, but Lance is great.”

He told her all about the restaurant then, and I realized, after taking a quick glance around the table, that everyone was listening and smiling and laughing as he hit the highlight reel of insane customers. It was fun to listen to him, and I wasn’t too surprised when, after breakfast, my mother asked him to walk the dogs with her.