Before this morning, I’ve never come so hard in my life. It was a near religious experience. Sweat drips from my forehead, and my fingers are still wrapped around Ripley’s hips.

I let go immediately when I realize how tight a hold I have on her.

“Crap, did I hurt you?”

A rusty laugh falls from her lips. “Are you joking?”

I shake my head as I inspect the red marks I’ve left on her skin. “I didn’t realize—”

She pushes up on her elbows. “It’s fine. But we have a bigger problem.”

My gaze cuts to hers. “What?”

She glances down to where I’m still buried balls deep. “No condom.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even think.”

“I didn’t either. Hell. I’m sorry, sugar. That’s all on me.”

Her eyebrows dive into a deep vee. “You don’t . . . have anything. Do you?”

It takes me a second to realize what she’s asking. “No. Fuck no. I’m clean. I always use a condom.”

I can tell she wants to ask a question by the way her mouth keeps opening and closing, and given her hesitation, I can guess what it is.

“Even with my ex. She didn’t want to take a chance that she’d get pregnant, so we’re good. I haven’t been with anyone else in two years.”

Now her eyebrows wing up in surprise.

“Really?” Her question comes out on a tone of disbelief.

“Yeah. I don’t screw around. That’s not my style.”

“But—I mean, I thought . . .”

This time I raise an eyebrow. “What? That just because I get more pussy thrown my way than a major-league catcher gets balls, I must’ve cheated on my girlfriend?”

Ripley bites down on her lip but doesn’t answer. Her lack of response is enough, though.

“Not a chance. I might be an asshole, but I’m not a cheating asshole.”

I pull out, pissed that we’re having this conversation while I’m still inside her, ready to get hard again and go for round two. Turning around to head to the kitchen, I snag a paper towel and bring it back to Ripley. It’s been so damn long since I’ve had sex without a condom, I forgot how much of a mess it is.

She takes the paper towel from me, but grabs the T-shirt and pulls it back on first. Her shields go up fast, but it’s good to know that I have at least one way I can get her to lower them.

I return to the kitchen, wanting to give her some privacy. And maybe also because the donuts are there. I’m already on my second when she speaks again.

“Crap. The fryer has been on this whole time.” She climbs off the table, probably intent on rushing forward, but I stop her with my shoulder against her belly as I lift her up.

Her screech, not nearly as sexy as the sound of her screaming my name, almost blows out my eardrum.

“You’re not walking on that ankle.” I carry her around to the bar stools pulled up on the other side of the island and settle her on one. “Sit your ass down and put your foot up. I’ll finish the donuts. It can’t be that hard.”

With a frustrated huff, Ripley follows my instructions, which surprises me.

“Easy? Really? Have you ever made donuts before?” Her gray eyes, no longer cloudy with that haze of lust, shoot me a look stamped with challenge.

“You can talk me through it so I don’t screw them up.”

“And the icing?”

I look at the bag of powdered sugar. “They can be powdered donuts. I’m not Martha frickin’ Stewart.”

At Ripley’s giggle, a smile breaks over my face, but it also reminds me that I didn’t ask a question I need an answer to. No point in waiting for later to satisfy my curiosity.

“You on the pill? Or do we need to start wondering if there’s gonna be a little Boone running around for my ma to spoil?”

This time, her eyebrows almost hit her hairline.

Surprised I’d want her to have the kid if she got pregnant? Either way, I decide to wait for her response before I attempt donut-making.

“We’re good. I’m on the shot.” She slaps her hip. “Part of the reason my ass is so damn big.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “You better leave your ass alone because I’m a pretty big fucking fan of it. In fact, I got some plans for it.”

Her cheeks turn red. “What kind of plans?”

I give her a wink. “I’ll let you wonder. Don’t want to give it all away.”

“I’ve never . . . done the butt stuff before.”

First donuts, then mind-blowing sex on my kitchen table, and now we’re diving into anal territory. One hell of a perfect morning, in my book.

A smile tugs on my lips even as I try to hold it back. “What do you mean, done the butt stuff?”

Ripley drops her gaze to my granite countertop, tracing a vein. Her response is a mumble. “You know . . . my back door has never been . . . open for business.”

Laughter starts deep in my gut and rolls through my body. Ripley grabs a pen off the counter and throws it at my head, but I bat it away.

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s not like I’m the only one in the world who has never—”

“Had your back door open for business?”

It’s not her inexperience that’s the reason for my laughter, it’s the way she describes it, which only goes to highlight just how genuine that inexperience is.

I lean forward and place both forearms on the counter. “Don’t worry, sugar. We’ll start with a soft opening.”