“Pancakes can wait,” he whispers in my ear, kissing his way from my cheek to my breasts, then lower still. I don’t fight him. I love it. He worships my body and masters my heart. I’mfalling with no safety net in sight, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t try to control this. Every time I let myself go, he shows me he’s got me, and I love him a little bit more. Turns out he wants to eat me for breakfast, and I’m not complaining about that.
He says he likes watching me go about my day with a blush on my cheeks, and I’m totally happy with that plan myself. Not complaining. Nope.
I finally pad down to the kitchen wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts, my hair slung up in a messy ponytail, and make the man pancakes. He watches me, nursing a cup of coffee, sitting on one of the kitchen stools wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans.
Some people want riches or fame. I’ve got what I want right here.
I place the platter of pancakes in front of him and hop on a stool beside him. We slather butter and syrup on stacks of pancakes and eat in amicable silence. Outside the window, some of the men walk by, and I see a car I don’t recognize. I swallow my bite of pancake, then turn to him.
“What’s up with the car out there?”
“What car?” he asks, looking at his plate. “I don’t see a car.”
Normally, he’d be on his feet and at the door, never one to miss a single happening at the compound, so his reaction is a little suspicious.
“Stefannn,” I say, hopping off my stool and trotting to the window.
“Get your ass over here.”
I stop and turn around to look at him.
“Do you know something I don’t know?”
His blue eyes are twinkling at me. “I know lots of things you don’t know. I’m the pakhan, remember?”
I pout a little.
“No pouting, little girl,” he says. “I’ll clean up the kitchen. Why don’t you go get your shower?”
“Alright,” I agree. “I shall do that.” When I walk past him, he gives me a teasing swat. I smile to myself. I like this domestic arrangement.
I trot up the stairs to the clinking sound of the dishwasher being loaded and get my things out for the shower.
I frown, looking at my drawers. I swear I just did my laundry. But I’m definitely missing things. I look in the shower, too, and realize a few of my basic essentials seem to have disappeared. Weird.
I shower as usual, but a few minutes in, when I’m shaving my legs, I hear the door open and he joins me.
“Gotta speed it up,” he says, lathering me up and rinsing my hair.
“Why?” I ask. Now I know something’s up. “What are you hiding from me?”
“You’ll see in a minute.”
And then it dawns on me. Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe he’s shielding me from another show-down with a rival group, or they have plans to do something dangerous today and he doesn’t want me to see.
“Is everything oaky?”
He frames my face between his large, rough hands, and holds my gaze. “Yeah, baby,” he says softly. “Everything’s okay. Hell, everything’s perfect.”
He leans down and kisses me, all wet and slippery and sensual, before he releases me, spins me around, and finishes rinsing me off.
We towel off and go to the room, and I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. But when I towel dry my hair, I cast a glance outside the window. The car I saw earlier is parked right out in front of our door. I don’t bother asking him what’s up again. He knows, and he’ll tell me when he’s ready. If there’s anything I’ve learned about managing this man, it’s that he does things on his terms, but there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s more than leader to all these men. He’s the father-figure, the one they all look up to for guidance and support. And I love him for that.
I’ve never been able to trust anyone the way I do Stefan. But he’s proven himself worthy of my trust so many times now. So many times.
He dresses beside me in silence, but I can feel how tense he is. When I look at him, his eyes are still twinkling though his mind is elsewhere.
Stefan has a surprise for me.
“You ready?” he asks, after I’ve fixed my hair.
“Depends,” I say teasingly. “Ready for what?”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
I shrug. “If I were… corrigible… that’s a word, right? Then where would the fun be in that?”
He tugs my hair and grins at me.
“Too true.”
“Yeah, daddy,” I say, smiling at him. “I’m ready.” Because I am. Whatever he’s going to tell me, I’m ready to go with him. I don’t really care where we’re going or what we’re doing. I just want to be with him. Wherever he is, as long as I’m with him, it’s my happy place. It’s home.