Page 95 of CowSex
“Sure thing, boss. Catch ya later, Gracie. See if you can’t keep a smile on this miserable motherfucker’s face for me, would ya? I just caught a glimpse of a Carmichael that’s not been seen around these parts in a long, long while.”
“I’ll do my best,” I assure Lee as he starts to leave the room.
“Keep walking, Conway, and stay off that phone. All non-work related calls are now banned during office hours.”
I watch Lee’s shoulders shake as he makes his way from the kitchen to the stairs, flipping his middle finger at Koa as he goes.
My light headedness returns when Koa steps back into my space. His hand slides around my hip, and he grabs a handful of my arse, pulling me flush against him.
“Meant what I said, Essex, hated leaving you in bed alone. Tonight, we’ll head up early, that way we can get some sleep and wake up together.”
My belly rolls and rolls, twists, turns and ties itself in knots.
“Kettle?” Yep. I’m English. Tea is how we deal with everything.
Koa smiles before leaning in and giving me a kiss laced with coffee and a hint of mint.
“Don’t have a kettle, Essex. Either use a pan to heat your water, or nuke it in the microwave.”
“Why don’t you—how can younothave a kettle?”
“Just don’t.”
“Heathen,” I mumble. Koa laughs his low rumbly laugh, Whorey Wanty me pops her head over my shoulder as we both listen and enjoy the sound.
“You want a kettle; I’ll buy you a kettle.”
“I could go into town and buy one. Would’ve got one Saturday if I’d known there wasn’t one here. I still don’t see how you don’t have a kettle. Who doesn’t have a kettle?”
“People who don’t drink tea? Who doesn’t drink coffee in the morning?”
“I do drink coffee. Just notyourcoffee. It’s shit.”
“My coffee’s not shit, Essex. It’s French press. I just bought the Kuerig week before last. If I’d known the Queen of England was gonna come crashing into my life, I would have purchased a kettle and a shitload of Earl Grey. Fuck, I would have hired Jeeves, the fucking butler, to serve it to you from a China cup and saucer. But I didn’t, so water heated in a pan or nuked is all I have to offer—”
“You’d do that? For me?” I interrupt his rant.
“Babe, I drove through the snow, bought chocolates and arranged flowers, and then carried them to our bed for you while butt naked last night. Hiring a—”
“Okay, you’re scaring me now. Who is this and what in the hell have you done with Carmichael?”
We both turn to see Lee standing at the entrance to the kitchen with his hands on his hips, staring at us.
“He’s scaring you? I’m fucking cacking myself.”
Okay, probably a little inappropriate and definitely not ladylike, but it’s the truth.
This is not the Koa I was expecting to find this morning after waking to an empty bed.
“You”—Koa points to Lee—“fuck off and do what I’m paying you for. And you”—he looks at me—“cacking yourself?”
“Cacking, crapping? Pooing my bloody self. What happened to no strings?”
“I thought we said we’d...you want no strings?” He frowns, concern suddenly etched on his face. I like it.
I shake my head.
“Okay, if this is gonna get heavy, I’m gonna—”
