Page 104 of Rooster

He shakes his head, slowly walking toward me. His hand finds my cheek, and I don't hesitate to lean into his touch.

"I don't think it's moving too fast to tell you that I plan to spend the rest of my life with you," he whispers. "I don't see a point in postponing the beginning of that."

I lean in when he kisses me, wrapping my arms around his waist and feeling at home for the first time in my life.

It thrilled me when he mentioned being in the hospital after having his babies, but I didn't let myself read too much into that since we were both still high on great sex.

"We better get dressed," he suggests. "If we keep kissing while standing here naked, we'll never leave the room."

"I'm okay with—"

My stomach interrupts with a loud growl, once again ruining the moment.

He smiles against my lips before pulling back a few inches. With his hands still on my face, he whispers, "We have a lifetime, Morgan."

I swallow, suddenly overcome with emotion as I dip my head in agreement, but there will always be that worry in the back of my mind.

Do we really have a lifetime if his twin brother is hell-bent on ruining what we have?

I know I can't live every second of every day worrying about when the other shoe is going to drop. That's no way to try and have a happy life, so I lift up on the tips of my toes and press my lips to his one more time before taking a step back.

"A lifetime," I agree. "Let's start with food."

"Let's start with clothes," he counters as he turns away and reaches into his dresser drawer for a t-shirt and some sweats, which he hands to me.

I pull the shirt over my head and work the sweats up my legs, having to roll them at the waist to keep them up, but they seem like they'll stay up long enough to get something to eat. I make a mental note to get with Ellis about getting clothes from my house as I look and find Robert glaring at me.

"What?" I say, looking down at the sweats. "There's nothing I can do about the size."

"You need a sweatshirt."

"The house isn't cold enough to need one," I argue.

He glares again, his eyes lowering to my chest.

"My nipples?" I ask, lifting my hands to the fabric of the t-shirt.

He grumbles something under his breath as he turns away, and although that possessive, bossy attitude never did anything for me before, I think I like how territorial he seems right now.

He pulls a sweatshirt from a hanger in the closet and walks it back toward me.

"Better," he says when I pull it over my head. "Let's go."

I stand stock still in the middle of his room.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks when he opens the bedroom door.

He holds his hand out to me, curling his fingers over and over to urge me to move.

"Really?" I ask, my tone filled with humor. "You demand I wear a sweatshirt because my nipples are pressing against the fabric, and yet you're going to leave the room like that?"

I wave my arm in his direction, indicating the erection he's had most of the morning that no matter how many times I've made him come, seems to pop right back up.

He looks down, his cheeks pinking with embarrassment.

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit," I say as I watch him scramble to find clothes for himself.

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