22. Pink

Pink

I woke on the right side of the bed, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. Then again, there was no wrong side of the bed when I had Nessa sleeping next to me. Or on top of me, or beneath me—I was flexible.

As it turned out, so was she.

We’d spent half the night fucking ourselves silly. Refractory period, who? I’d taken her in the shower for round two, bent over the tiled bench seat until the water raining down on us had gone cold. After a brief intermission—and a midnight snack—I’d had a snack of my own. Her sweet, tangy pussy.

By the time we’d poured back into her bed after our second shower of the night, she’d been jelly in my arms. She’d fallen asleep before our heads had hit the pillows, but I hadn’t. I’d spent the next few minutes—or maybe hours—studying her scars, tracing her freckles that dotted her arms and legs.

One particular freckle pattern had taken me by surprise: the Libra constellation on the backside of her left arm. A kiss on my birthday was one thing; the constellation for my sign on her body was another. Our story had been written in the stars.

The alarm on my phone buzzed, alerting me that practice started in an hour. It was just a strength training session, but something told me some of the guys were going to be dragging after last night’s gala.

An hour was still plenty of time to finish cooking our breakfast. While the sausage links sizzled in one cast-iron skillet and the pancakes bubbled in another, I sliced up some bananas and berries from the fridge.

I had just finished flipping the pancakes when a door creaked open from the opposite end of the house. Nessa’s bedroom was upstairs, so that told me that her brother and I were about to have one hell of an awkward chat. Not quite the morning after I had hoped for.

Maybe I should have put on pants.

A heavy set of footsteps clomped down the hall. “Dude, we’re going to have to come up with some kind of schedule.”

Nero planted himself in one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen island. He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“I never want to hear those sounds coming out of my sister’s bedroom again. There are some things a brother doesn’t need to know.”

I did my best to bite back a smile. “Sorry, man.”

His eyes narrowed on my boxer briefs. “I might believe you more if you were wearing pants.”

“Would a couple of pancakes and sausage sway you?” I slid a plate in front of him before he could respond.

“You trying to bribe me for my approval?”

“No.” I leveled him with a serious stare. “Your sister’s a grown woman who makes her own decisions. I’m just a nice guy who cooks one hell of a breakfast.”

He considered my words for about two seconds before answering, “Good,” and tearing into his plate of pancakes.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, savoring our food and taking in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window. Other than our late-night pizza break, this was my first time really seeing the house, beyond Nessa’s bedroom.

I had heard something once about dog owners matching their pets—a theory I knew to be true based solely on the uncanny similarities between Matty and Eenie—but I wondered if the same could be said for houses.

The cozy Craftsman was the perfect embodiment of everything I loved about Nessa. A bright peach front door offset the fireplace’s dark bricks and forest-green walls throughout the first floor. The stainless-steel appliances were a clear indication that the kitchen had been updated at some point, but the original moldings and windows were a fun nod to the age of the house.

It's probably a bitch to heat in the winter, though.

The best part, to nobody’s surprise, was her book collection. Floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves covered the length of the living room, each one of them stacked to the heavens with books—mostly romance novels, along with a few memoirs and mysteries.

The crossover between romance and mystery readers was real. Nessa and I had talked about that during one of our phone calls. Her theory was that both romance novels and mysteries offered readers a safe space to explore their desires and fears, respectively.

To be fair, love and fear often went hand in hand.

“I know you don’t need my approval,” Nero said a few minutes later. “But do you mind if I offer you a few words of advice?”

As much as I wanted to tell him no, I still wanted Nero to like me.

“Sure.”

“Don’t let her run you off.”

His warning gave me pause. “What do you mean?”

He got up to clear his plate and top off his coffee. It was probably best if he never knew that just a few hours ago, I had devoured his sister’s pussy in the exact spot where he had eaten his breakfast.

“Nessa tends to sabotage her relationships before they even begin,” he explained. “It’s more of a defense mechanism than anything else. Something she learned from our mom. And grandmother. We don’t really have the best track record for successful relationships in this family.”

“We have that in common.”

“Just give her grace, yeah?” His lips kicked up. “I think she might actually kind of like you.”

“What about you? Do you like me?”

He rolled his eyes. “I like your pancakes.”

By the time I finished cleaning up my mess, Nessa still hadn’t come downstairs yet. A small satisfaction warmed my stomach in knowing that last night’s activities had worn her out. I took her plate upstairs with me, grabbing up our discarded clothing from the night before along the way.

When I breached the bedroom door, I smiled to myself, pleased to see that the pots and pans hadn’t woken her. She was still fast asleep in the exact spot I had left her, only this time a lot more naked.

At some point in the last hour, she must have kicked off some of her blankets. Her quilt narrowly covered one of her legs; the other was spread gloriously wide across the bed, exposing the reddish-brown hair on her pussy. It was hard to believe that she had let me between those dimpled thighs. How lucky was I?

The sun cast a golden glow on her nude body, like something out of an Italian painting. I threw on the rest of last night’s clothes, save for the blazer, and sat down beside her.

I didn’t want to wake her up. Between her responsibilities at the bookstore and the festival preparation, she had been working around the clock. She deserved to sleep in on a Sunday morning, especially after the Saturday night we’d had.

But I also didn’t want her to wake up alone, naked, confused, and vulnerable. That was no way to start the day.

She stirred when I brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Wake up, gorgeous,” I whispered against her skin. My hand drifted over her front, gently caressing the bumblebee tattooed between her breasts.

Bella would love it. Bella would love her. Just the thought of the two of them palling around was enough to give me hives—pun intended.

“ Mmmm, ” she moaned, leaning into my touch. She stretched her arms out and rolled to her back. Her eyes blinked open before drifting shut once again.

“C’mon. Open those eyes, angel .”

They popped open, this time wide with surprise and a bit of apprehension. “Um, hi.”

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” She wiggled her hips. “A little sore.”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.

Her eyes roamed over my body, widening when they landed on the love bite on my neck. “Did I do that?”

“You sure did.” A blush creeped down her cheeks and across her breasts. I slid off my unbuttoned shirt and turned to the side, showing off the half-moons she’d carved into my skin last night while I’d fucked her. “You did these, too.”

“Oh my god!” She shot up in bed and covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she said from behind closed palms.

Laughter boomed out of me. “Angel, do I sound like I’m complaining? I should be thanking you for the souvenirs.”

Her attention caught on something behind me, and I had a good guess what it was. I reached around, snatching the plate of pancakes off the end table and setting it down on one of her eight-thousand throw pillows. The one shaped like a mushroom that matched her burnt-orange bedding.

“Cinnamon apple pancakes and chicken apple sausage.” She lowered her hands and opened her mouth. “And before you ask,” I said, cutting off her protest at the start. “There are no eggs. My roommate from college was vegan, so I picked up on a few recipes over the years.”

She blinked.

“I wish I could stay longer, but I have a practice at ten and I still need to go home and change.” I twirled a tendril of her hair around my finger. “Is it okay if I call you tonight?”

“Sure.”

She swallowed when I leaned down, holding her chin between two fingers while I pecked her lips. I kept it light, a barely there kiss. One taste of her tongue would have me crawling back between her thighs, and neither of us had time for that. I was already running a few minutes behind.

When I pulled away, she licked her lips. “Have a good day.” I had just cleared the doorway when an idea hit me.

“Oh, angel?”

“Hm?” she asked around a bite of pancake. Good lord, nothing beat watching a naked woman eat pancakes. Well, almost nothing.

“You might want to check the mirror. I left a few souvenirs of my own.”