Chapter 5
514 Words
5
Sara
I wake up to the quiet beeping of my alarm. Shutting it off, I roll over onto my back and stretch, feeling both sore and satisfied. After we cleaned up the kitchen and showered, Peter took me one more time before we fell asleep, and then again during the night.
Someone needs to bottle up the man’s s*x drive and sell it as a drug. They’d make a fortune.
Grinning at the thought, I hop out of bed and run into the shower. I can already smell whatever deliciousness Peter is cooking in the kitchen, and my stomach is more than ready to start the day.
“Morning, ptichka,” he greets me when I step into the kitchen after quickly showering and getting dressed for work. On the table are two plates with avocado toast and egg, and on the counter is a lunch bag—I presume for me to take to work.
“Hi.” My heartbeat accelerates as I take him in. He’s shirtless today, his dark jeans riding low on his hips and the tattoos on his arm gleaming in the morning light. His body is a work of art, with perfectly defined muscles and broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Even the scars on his torso have a kind of violent, dangerous beauty to them—just like the man himself.
“Do you have time to eat?” he asks, and I nod, fighting the urge to lick my lips as his ab muscles flex in front of me.
Maybe Peter is not the only one with an insane libido.
The condition might be contagious.
“I have fifteen minutes,” I say huskily, forcing myself to walk over to the table instead of toward him. If I give him a good-morning kiss now, we’ll end up right back in bed.
“Good. I’ll take you to work this morning,” he says, joining me at the table. Picking up his toast, he bites into it, and I do the same with mine, enjoying the zesty lime flavor combined with the savory fried egg and crisp rye bread.
“Is this a busy week for you?” he asks when I’m almost done with my toast, and I nod, patting my lips with a napkin.
“Yes, actually. Really busy. Wendy and Bill—you know, my bosses—just took off for vacation, so I’m seeing some of their patients in addition to my own. Oh, and I’m inducing one of my patients tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll probably be home late. Plus, I have some shifts at the clinic in the second half of the week.”
“I see.” Peter’s expression is neutral, but I sense a subtle darkening of his mood. He’s not happy about this, and I can’t blame him.
I’d also rather spend time with him than go to work.
“Will you be home for dinner tonight?” he asks, and I smile, glad to be able to give him some good news on this front.
“I should be. If there are no emergencies.”
“Right.” He stands up. “Let me grab a shirt, and I’ll drive you to the office.”
“Thank you—and thanks for the delicious breakfast,” I call out, but he’s already gone into the bedroom.
- Writer
