A Love So Bright (Insomniac Duet 2)

PEYTON

Rolling over,cool sheets greet me along with the morning sun brightening my lids. With a groan, I pat the bed in search of Micah’s warm body and come up empty. Slowly peeling my eyes open, the room comes into focus.

Why are the blinds not shut all the way? I never forget to crank them closed before bed. But I answer my own question as flashes of Micah’s lips and hands and weight on me replay in my memory. His body hovering as he slowly moved in and out of me, eyes always connected.

As of recent, sex with Micah has been different. Better. More… just more.

Some nights feel like a fight to the death. Me ripping off his clothes, or vice versa. Lips smashed together and tongues at war as we try to fulfill our hunger, our insatiable need for one another. Growls and screams of pain and pleasure and everything in between.

But… there are also nights filled with tenderness.

A subtle touch of fingertips. Kisses so soft, I question whether his lips met my lips or skin at all. I know they did, though. The prickling tingle they leave in their wake grows, grows, grows until heat licks my skin from the inside out. Spreads slow and steady until it consumes every inch and I combust internally. Our bodies rock and glide in sync without hurry. Unearth a bond, a force we never knew existed but can’t live without.

Now that I have Micah in my life, I don’t picture a day without him. Nor do I plan to.

Laughter echoes down the hall and through my door. Laughter from the man missing from my bed. And laughter from the man who sleeps across the hall.

I toss the covers aside and slip on the sweats and shirt I wore last night. Combing fingers through my tangled hair, I pull it back, twist and secure it with a hair tie. After a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up, I wander down the hall as quietly as possible. Tiptoe to the edge and hope neither of them spot me right away.

Peering around the corner, I catch sight of Micah and Reese. Both in the kitchen, backs to me, and cooking. Not sure who cooks what, but the scent of biscuits, peppers and onions, bacon, and eggs hits me with the first full breath I take.

My stomach rumbles so loud, I am surprised neither of them hear. I press the heel of my hand to my stomach. Just another minute.

Micah and Reese carry on a conversation as they cook breakfast. They speak loud enough for me to hear their voices, but soft enough the words are gibberish. No doubt, I have been the subject of their conversation at some point, if not now. And that is okay.

Seeing them like this—talking like old friends, sharing a laugh, existing in the same space—creates this ever-expanding warmth beneath my breastbone. A merriment of my past and future—not that I am getting ahead of myself. I do see Micah in my future for years to come, though.

Unable to deal with my stomach trying to eat itself any longer, I step into the open living space that connects with the dining area and kitchen. Neither Micah nor Reese hear me, so I sit at the breakfast bar until one does.

“You seriously can’t cook anything other than breakfast?” Reese asks Micah.

“Don’t judge me,” Micah retorts on a laugh. “Mom tried. Just didn’t stick.”

“Trust me, you want to learn.” As the words roll off his tongue, Reese reaches for his coffee and spots me. “Morning, sunshine. How long you been eavesdropping?”

Micah peeks over his shoulder and gifts me with my favorite smile of his. He doesn’t care if I heard every word.

I stick my tongue out at Reese. “Only long enough for you to learn Micah can’t cook. He does make kick-ass breakfasts, though.”

“Thanks, hellcat.” He winks.

Jutting my chin toward the stove. “Speaking of breakfast. What’re we having?”

“Southwest omelets, bacon, and biscuits,” Micah answers.

Before I voice my opinion, my stomach groans and responds loud enough both guys laugh. “Shut up.” I flip them both the middle finger. “Is it almost ready? I need to get dressed soon.”

As if they have worked in kitchens together their entire life, they plate up my food. Micah places the omelet on the plate, then Reese adds three strips of bacon and a biscuit. Micah sets the plate in front of me and hands me a fork. Reese fetches the butter and honey while Micah pops a mug under the Keurig drip and presses the large button.

If they aren’t careful, a girl could get used to this. Two guys tending to her. But I keep the thought to myself.

One—Reese and I will only ever be friends. I know that. He knows that. But Micah may still misconstrue the statement if said aloud.

Two—I honestly don’t think I would ever be able to mentally handle more than one person in my life. My romantic life, that is. If I were into one-night stands or casual, no-strings-attached relationships, I might consider the idea. But I’m not. So, the point is moot.

Halfway through my breakfast, Micah plops down beside me and starts eating his own. Considering I eat slower than the average person, we will probably finish at the same time. Mine and Micah’s plates are almost empty when Reese sits on the third stool.

“You seeing Ms. J today?” Reese asks around a mouthful of omelet.

“Yeah.” My fork clatters against my plate. “I hate not being there as often. Seeing her every other Sunday feels wrong. Like I’ve abandoned her.” I pick at my biscuit and eat it bit by bit. “Hope she’s better today.”

“Me too, sunshine.” He swallows his bite. “Having lunch with Aunt Leanne after?”

“Yes.” Spending time with Aunt Leanne is one of the week’s highlights. “She wants to take me to some new deli. If she says it’s good, I’ll love it.”

Micah bumps my knee with his. “Busy day.”