Page 144 of Burning Ember
Mav kneeling, kissing my knees. His patience and willingness to wait until I was ready. Every sweet word that left his mouth and how they tore away at the protective wall I’d been trying to hide behind.
God . . .he definitely fulfilled his promise.
He took me over and over, until neither of us could move. Evident by the delicious soreness rioting though my muscles, and the wetness still residing between my thighs.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. I touch them and find they’re puffy, swollen from overuse.
The knowledge that we had unprotected sex threatens to send me into a tailspin of stress, and honestly for a second, it does. I have no idea what I would do if I also had to protect and support a child. I need to get the day after pill from the doctor today and ask Mav to use protection from now on. It was stupid. Irresponsible of us both. I won’t deny it. But hell, it felt good to just do what felt right. To let go and for once simply enjoy myself.
After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up, and groan in protest of my aching body. The room looks different in the light of day. But it fits Mav to a T. Architectural art on the walls, a matching coffee table, and a black leather couch. The dressers and end tables are the same sleek style as the bed.
I hear more banging coming from inside the house, and this time when I breathe in, I smell something mouthwatering.Mmmm. . . bacon.
Standing from the bed, I see a set of clothes laid out for me. Drawstring pants and a T-shirt. In the bathroom, I find a new toothbrush waiting on the counter, and a hairbrush. But looking at my wild hair, I affirm that yes, a quick shower is a necessity. Otherwise, there is no way I’ll be able to tame this lion mane.
I’m laughing a while later as I leave the bathroom. The drawstring pants are about eight inches too long and make me look like Dopey. I’m pretty sure if I attempt to walk down the stairs in them, I’ll fall, so I exchange them for my red shorts.
The heavy weight on my thigh has me instantly pulling the phone Mav gave me from my pocket. Four missed calls. Two texts. One missed call from Bethany, one from Lily, and two from Sundown.
A relieved breath whooshes out of me. Every time I’ve tried to reach Sundown, my calls have gone unanswered. And her damn mailbox is full . . . again. Something I’m always on her case to fix. I immediately dial her number back, but it only rings and then tells me her mailbox is still full. I try again and get the same result.
I read the texts.
Bethany: I’m sorry about the party.
Bethany: I heard you and Mav worked things out. So happy for you. Lily is covering my shift at the bar so I can spend the day with the kids, and you can spend yours with Mr. Fire and Ice. You can thank us later by giving us details.
I type back a reply.
Me: Thank you. You guys didn’t have to do that. Are you sure?
Her reply comes in seconds.
Bethany: Yes. Now, go lock that man down if you haven’t already.
Laughing, I type.
Me: Okay . . . okay . . . sheesh.
Then I quickly text Sunny.
Me: Call this number ASAP. -M
I pocket the phone and leave the room. I keep thinking she has to guess it could be me, but she does get a lot of calls from guys too, so she’s leery of private numbers.
The moment I get to the top of the stairs, I nearly jump out of my skin. A high pitch wail pierces the air, quiets, and goes off again and again. It’s not until I’m halfway to the first floor when I see smoke fogging the air in the kitchen.
I hurry in and see Mav standing by the island with his back to the stove. He’s waving a towel overhead and trying to fan smoke toward the open back door and the opened windows. Behind him smoke rises from a pan of charcoaled bacon that’s also popping with grease.
I have to shout to be heard. “Ummm . . .” I point at the stove. “Are you trying to start a grease fire?”
Mav’s head snaps toward me. Discomfort flashes over his amber eyes and he lets out a pent up breath. He drops the towel to his side, says something, but I can’t make it out. Maybe he couldn’t hear me either.
I start laughing as he strides past me with flushed cheeks and frustration evident in his posture. He pulls a chair from the dining room and gets on top of it. After cracking open the fire alarm, he takes out the batteries. Only the scream of the alarm keeps on going. He says something. I’m guessing another curse as he heads into the front room.
A few minutes later when all of the alarms are finally quiet, he comes back into the kitchen.
He strides toward me wearing a white V-neck shirt and worn jeans, and he’s barefoot. I find that sexy as hell, becausedamn. . . he has nice feet.
