Page 34 of Mended Hearts

“Fuck that. I’ll have someone deliver. What do you want?”

I hesitated. Pride screamed at me to decline, but I was too warm and too wrapped in Oliver Hart to leave this bed. He tucked me against him, nose nuzzling into my hair.

Absolute, ecstatic, bone-deep bliss.

His touch made my body sing. If heaven existed, I was pretty sure it felt likethis.

“Bacon? Eggs? Maybe some fruit?”

“Easy. Give me thirty minutes.”

I let my hand trail down his torso, grazing his thick morning wood. “I can think of something to do while we wait.”

“Not sore?”

Smirking, I shook my head. When he arched a brow, I admitted, “A little. But it’s worth it.”

The man pressed his lips to my forehead, humming contentedly, andI swooned. Somehow, I melted deeper into the mattress. Apparently, it was noticeable, because his hum transformed into a chuckle. I was just thinking I’d bottle that sound to play on rainy days when the alarm system chirped.

Then came the familiar baritone that popped our blissful bubble.

“Leighton Alexandra! Get your ass up. I come bearing espresso!”

Our eyes snapped open at the same time. “Is that?—”

“Paxton!” I hissed, springing upright, my brain flashing every single check-engine light as I rushed to find my clothes. Ollie followed at a slightly more dignified speed.

I loved my big brother. So, so much. But I could’ve punched him in his smug, gorgeous face.

“Where are my pants?” Ollie hissed, grabbing his hoodie from where it was crumpled on the floor. I blushed, remembering that I’d worn nothing but that sweatshirt into the kitchen at some point last night.

Oh fuck me.“Living room.”

“Leighton!” the wank biscuit sang. “Oh, Leiiiighton!”

His obnoxious, high-pitched sing-song was getting closer. I snatched a pair of oversized sweats off the armchair and hocked them at Ollie.

Just perfect. My brother was about to see us tumble out of my bedroom looking disheveled, me with freshly-fucked hair in a spider’s nest of a bun—and Ollie, pants-less.

Hisboss.

I’d just handed my virginity to my brother’s future-sculptor like an Amex card.

My stomach flipped. I pressed my palm to the slight ridge of my scar.

Oh god—Tillie. Matilda and Beau. Alice. Greyson.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Leighton! Family breakfast!” A triple-knock rattled the door, and about sent my stomach right out my ass.

“Keep your pants on!” I barked, eyeing Ollie where he stared down at my sweats clinging to his legs, barely covering the goods. He looked ridiculous. Ridiculous enough I had to swallow a laugh.

“Sheesh. Good morning to you too, Punky.” Smirking, Oliver mouthed, Punky? I narrowed my eyes.

“Fuck off, it’s early!” I hollered.

“It’s ten a.m.!” Paxton shot back.

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