Page 118 of Shroom for Improvement

I’d woken thirty minutes ago, propped myself up against the headboard, and grabbed the closest book in case Sonny opened his eyes and caught me staring at him. That way, I could pretend I’d been reading instead of counting the freckles on his torso.

The book happened to be one of Sonny’s. Yes, it held many pictures of his muddy fingers. There was a reason out of all his books, I’d chosen this one for my nightstand.

Sonny smiled at me from the cover. His raven hair was shoulder length here, and he wore an uncharacteristically plain, forest-green T-shirt. He held is hands out in front of himself,showing the camera a bunch of stringy white mushrooms. Beside him stood another guy.

Impossibly, the second man was a couple of inches taller than Sonny, and an entire foot wider. Furry, pointed ears poked out from his mop of shaggy blonde hair. His elongated canines glinted at the corners of his beaming smile, and his piercing green eyes were crinkled and trained directly on the camera. He was undeniably werewolf and disgustingly gorgeous. Intimidatingly so. His arm was slung over Sonny’s shoulder, his unnecessarily muscular body flush to Sonny’s. Their smiles were genuine, born from true friendship, maybe more.

I hated him.

Sonny’s book was titledA Woodwide Network: How Trees Communicate Underground Through Fungi.The man standing next to him was Dr Mash Cassidy.

This was who Sonny would be returning to.

This man.

With his stupid perfect face, and his stupid chiselled cheekbones, and his stupid cleft chin, and his stupid, stupid, stupid muscles.

The real Sonny stirred, huffed a soft waking-up whine that almost made my heart explode, and dropped his arm to his waist.

He peeled open his eyes, and they immediately found me. His face cracked into a smile. “Morning,” he said, his voice groggy with sleep. “I am very naked.”

“Me too,” I said, because for some reason anything requiring a higher number of syllables wasn’t possible.

Sonny rubbed a hand over his chest. “I had so much fun last night.”

“Me too,” I said again.

He reached over and took the book from my hand to peer at the cover. The sheets tumbled down his stomach, not enoughto expose his cock, but enough to give me a glimpse of the sparse petrol-coloured hair trailing down the taper of his torso.

“We’re working on the second edition of this one.” And then he leaned right over me to place the book on my nightstand.

I had no other option but to wrap my arms around him and bring his lips down to mine.

“Mm.” He pulled away. “Morning breath.”

“I don’t care. Do you?”

“No,” he said, so I kissed him again, pushing my tongue into his mouth, sliding it along his. Unashamedly taking everything I needed.

Three more weeks.

I flipped him onto his back, the sheets tangling between us, and rolled my hips against his. He was half-hard, growing harder by the second.

“How is everything, you know, down there?” I asked.

“A little sore.” He laughed. “But sore in a good way, I suppose. Sore in a way that reminds me how incredible last night was.” He laughed again and his cheeks flushed bright pink. “I’ll recover enough for us to do it again sometime if you’d like that.”

I went from half-hard to almost painfully full. “Have you recovered enough to take my finger now?”

Sonny’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” I kissed him. “Jenny?”

No response. The house had been suspiciously quiet this morning.

“Jenny?”

“Oh my gods, what?” it said finally.

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