Page 63 of Wanting the Winger

“Hey, good morning.”

His morning voice is even deeper than his usual one, and it sends a delicious shiver down my spine.He’s lying next to me, shirtless, looking at his phone.

“Good morning.”

He sets his phone down and turns onto his side, facing me.“How’d you sleep?”

“So good.You?”

“Great.”He brushes a strand of hair away from my face.“Since we’re both off today, I was thinking we could have our second date.”

Warmth fills my chest.“Were you?What did you have in mind?”

“Thought we could go out for breakfast, maybe do some shopping.Have you ever been to the West Side Market?”

“No.”

“It’s nice.Lots of produce and fresh meat and fish.We could get something to make for dinner tonight.”

My gaze slides from the shadow of scruff on his cheeks down to his chest.I’ve seen it before—muscles for days and dark hair—but there’s something about seeing it when he’s beside me in bed that’s next level.

“I’m down for all of the above, but I’d like to make an addition.”

“What’s that?”he asks.

“Morning sex.”

His lips part, quirking at the corners.“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He comes closer, about to kiss me, when I put my hand over his mouth.“First, we have to both brush our teeth.I know too much about the science of morning breath—sorry.”

His laugh tickles over my fingers.“You’re good.I’ll go get a root canal right now if that’s what it takes.”

He’s out of bed and in the bathroom in about three seconds flat.I bite my lip because even though he was practically sprinting, I still got to enjoy the view of him in nothing but boxers.

I’ve never dreamed I’d have all six feet, two inches and two hundred twenty pounds of Sebastian Stone focused entirely on me in bed.I’m nervous but mostly excited.I’m not letting IBS ruin this for me again.

When I get to the bathroom, Bash is inside the separate toilet room, peeing.I hurry into my bathroom upstairs and pee, brush my teeth and swish around some mouthwash.

I give myself a little high five in the mirror and then go back downstairs, checking off boxes in my head.

Legs: shaved.Pits: also shaved.Vag: kinda trimmed.Breath: good.

When I get back into the bedroom, Bash is lying there on his side, his erection tenting his boxers.

I suck in a breath, wishing I could take a picture of him right now.But why look at a picture when I have the real thing?He’s warm and hard and waitingfor me.

“Get over here right now.”

His command makes excitement swirl in my stomach.I take a step forward, then stop, reaching for the first button on my pajama shirt.When I unfasten it, Bash’s eyes widen.

“Fuck yes, baby.Strip for me.”

He gets to his knees on the bed, his erection infusing me with confidence.I move a little closer–slowly—and keep unbuttoning my shirt.Once it’s all the way open, I stand at the foot of the bed and open it for him, sliding it off my shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

“So beautiful,” he breathes, mesmerized.

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