He takes another mouthful of smoothie that empties half the contents of his glass. “Do you have any idea how many calories the body burns having an orgasm?” he asks.
“No, how many?”
“A lot. Which means, not only are we both seriously calorie deficient right now, but if you want me to continue giving you four orgasms a night, you might need to give mesome real food.”
“Well, that’s certainly one way to bring up the awkward next day conversation. You presume there will be a next time, then?”
I can feel him fighting his own amusement as he moves around the kitchen counter and stands behind me, pressing his crotch to my arse, speaking against my neck. “The thing is, Coulthard, I prefer when you’re screaming my name and begging me to make you come to you screaming at me for no good reason.”
He pulls away from me and takes eggs from the fridge. I rest back against the worktop and watch the muscles of his back as he moves, shirtless, around the kitchen and starts cracking eggs. “Now, how would you like your eggs this morning? Over easy?” he flashes me a wink across his shoulder. In return, I launch the damp dish towel at him.
For once, I’m looking forward to my dose of protein. I don’t feel fat today; I feel like I could climb Kilimanjaro.