I’d do anything for the woman I love.

Maybe that makes me sound pussy-whipped, or like a complete and utter sap, but I spend all my days thinking about her, dreaming of orgasms, sweet hot nothings whispered in each other’s ears, and happily ever afters of the not-so-Disney variety.

Love is why I get up in the morning. The last thing I think of at night.

Well, that and my beautiful daughter.

Luckily, the two can go hand in hand—and are often hand in hand, thanks to Romy’s love for my child.

I flick the coffee machine on. The familiar hum fills the kitchen as I get to work, pulling out the flour, mixing bowl, eggs, strawberries and banana. Coco’s out walking with Sophia, and I promised them breakfast when they returned. I just happened to feast on Romy first, setting me a little behind in my plans.

Kissing along her neck, her sweet tits, and lower, lower still . . .

Oh, fuck yeah. Waking her up with my mouth is one of my favorite things to do. I only wish it happened more often. While she spends most nights of the week here, she still insists on returning home every now and then to do menial things like check the mail. Water plants. Do laundry. Tasks I could do for her.

Tasks I want to do for her.

I crack the eggs into the well I’ve made in the bowl of dry ingredients, then add a splash of milk. I take the whisk and begin to beat. Yeah, I have an electric one, but some things are just better by hand. More personal. More . . . connection.

My mind gets lost in thoughts of other things I like to do with my hands for Romy.

“Do you know what I love most about having sleepovers with a man who owns a bakery?”

Romy.

I turn from my spot at the kitchen counter, keeping the whisk securely in the bowl in front of me. My mouth waters. Even hidden behind her silk robe, that body has the power to take my breath away.

“Is it the fact I have great buns?” I ask, since she’s still waiting for an answer and I’m starting to doubt my willpower to finish this batch of pancakes if I get lost in thoughts of what’s under that mulberry material for one more minute.

“No.” She walks farther into the kitchen, stopping right behind me. The heat of her body sends a rush through me as one hand hovers over my ass. “Although you’re right. They are pretty great.”

I let the whisk fall loose into the bowl, then turn around. One small step and any space between us vanishes. I curl my arm around her waist, jerking that body closer. A small gasp escapes her lips. “Is it because I own my own business, and that makes you hot . . .” I lean in, pulling away the lapels of her robe to reveal her décolletage, “. . . under the collar?”

“No,” she says, and this time her voice is a little breathier, a little less certain than before.

“I see.” I press a kiss to the shallow of her throat, take a deep breath in. Champagne. She smells like champagne, and maybe I’m drunk on her because pancakes be damned. I can’t take this anymore. “So it must be the discount I give you on your morning coffee then.”

“No.” She raises her chin to meet my gaze. Lust clouds her dark eyes. “It’s not the coffee special. And besides, I believe I pay for that in other ways.” She walks her fingers up my arm, leaning close to whisper in my ear, “And today, I can pay in full.”

Lust stirs my cock to life. Oh yes, she can.

“I love that on Sundays you have time off,” she says. “And the only coffees you make are for me.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true. I do make Coco a mean babycin—” My voice is lost as Romy’s mouth reaches mine in a scorching-hot kiss full of lust, of want, of need. I tangle one hand in her hair, arching her head back to expose that creamy skin of her throat. My lips explore it, kiss it, relish it; she’s the most delicious treat and I’m enjoying every bite. I want more, more, more.

“They’ll be back any second,” I groan as my hand moves to the tie of her robe. “We don’t have long …”

“Then it’s a good thing I came prepared.”

Romy steps back, flicks the tie at her waist, and the silky material falls away. My mouth runs dry. Hot damn.

She’s not wearing a thing. Her tits are full and glorious, the rosebud nipples peaked and demanding my attention. Her hips, her ass, the perfect curves of her waist are calling to me, demanding I explore. That hot, bare pussy needs my attention, and I can already taste her on the tip of my tongue.

In front of me is the body of a goddess, and I want to worship at her altar.

“Damn.” I shake my head. It’s been two months of bliss, yet she takes my breath away.

Every. Single. Time.

“You like what you see?” Romy’s eyes hood as she steps closer in full seductress mode.

“You know I do.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “More than anything.”

In one swift move, I curl my hands on her butt and lift her onto the counter. The bowl of pancake mix clatters as I shove it out of the way, because breakfast be damned. There’s only one thing I want to eat in this moment, and it’s not the kind of meal I’ll share with anyone. Mine.

I lower to my knees, my face in line with that perfect pussy, then look up at her. Her chest rises and falls fast, her breath coming in short pants of anticipation.

“Elio . . . we don’t have much time . . .”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, kissing along her thighs and stopping right at the juncture. I ghost a breath over her lips, and she quivers. “So I should stop?”

“You . . . we should . . .” She shakes her head, but I see the permission in her eyes. I hear her body telling me yes, more, more, more.

I lick her, one long lick through her folds, over her clit.

She shudders. “Elio . . .”

“You were saying?” I tease. I move in again, this time gently tracing one finger over her clit, hovering in front of her core. “You want me to . . .” I lick her again, giving her everything and nothing all at once. “Stop?”

“I . . . no,” she breathes. Her hands move to my hair.

“Tell me what you want, Romy,” I order huskily. Her shyness slays me. My cock is hard as steel.

“I want . . .”

My tongue flicks her clit.

She groans. “I want—”

I blow cool air over the sweet spot. Her grip in my hair turns vise-like.

“Fuck me with your mouth, Elio,” she begs, her voice, her words the hottest things I’ve ever heard. Two months is time enough for her to have grown confident when it comes to ordering me around, and I like my dirty goddess. I like her a lot.

And so I do.

I feast like a starving man who hasn’t eaten for days.

I lick her fast, my tongue dancing with her clit. She moans, her pleasure so loud in the empty house, and I love the way that sounds—I can never get enough. I thrust one finger inside her, then another, another, and she’s so damn wet, so damn ready that it takes everything I have not to stand and just sink my cock into her delicious pussy, fuck her until we’re both sated, sweaty, drunk on our own sex.

But that wouldn’t be my style.

After all, why give her one orgasm when she could have two?

At least.

At least two.

I lick, and I suck. I fuck her with my mouth and my hand. The taste of her—the taste of my woman is intoxicating. It’s better than any coffee, any liquid that’s ever passed my lips. I drink like I can’t get enough.

Her moans of pleasure send bolts of lust along my spine. I reach up to cup one of her breasts, so full, so perfect in my hand, and when my fingers gently tease one nipple, she grabs the other, an erotic show all for my pleasure.

“I’m going to come,” she breathes, raspy.

“Come for me, Romy,” I urge. I hum against her clit. “Come on my mouth.”

“Elio, yes!” she screams. She thrusts against me, fucking my face with wild abandon. Her thighs tighten around my jaw. I don’t stop, don’t lessen my assault on her body as she cries my name over and over, her orgasm twisting her face into the most exquisite mask of beauty.

“Elio!” she cries one final time. She comes in my mouth, and I drink it all in as her head tips back. Her legs relax. Her breathing relaxes, those pants turning longer, smoother.

Slowing my kisses, I watch her, stare at the most beautiful woman in the world. Her lips are swollen from my mouth. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair is wild around her shoulders, and I need her.

Now.

I stand, cupping one hand around her neck. My eyes meet hers as I tell her the one thing I love more than anything. More than coffee, more than sex—more than it all. “I love you, Romy.”

“I love you too,” she says, reaching down to stroke my rock-hard cock.

“I love making you come,” I say, and damn it, I can’t wait to do just that again.

“Me too,” she says, her finger flicking at the top button of my jeans.

“I love you in my kitchen.” I groan as she slips her hand inside, running one finger over my tip before pushing down my clothing.

“Me too,” she breathes.

“And I love—”

She slides one hand down my shaft. It’s the sweetest torture. The most exquisite pleasure. I want more, more, and more.

But they’ll be here any minute.

And there’s something I need to say first.

“I love you in the mornings,” I groan. Fuck. I can’t stand it much longer. “Move in with me.”

She stops.

Blinks.

Looks at me. “Wh . . . what did you just say?”

“I love you. I love you in my life, in our life. And I want you here all the time. You’re part of my family, Romy. I want you to move in with me,” I say, and why isn’t she saying yes already? “I want you to bring that laptop you’re surgically attached to, your collection of Disney movies—even that old wedding dress. I want them all here, all the time, because that means you never have to leave.”

She doesn’t say a word.

“Romy?”

“Did you just . . . did you just ask me to move in with you?”

“Yes. Sophia can stay with my folks. Or she can stay here. Whatever you want. But I want you in my bed every night when I go to sleep and every morning when I wake up.” I study her face. It’s a mask of confusion. Have I read the situation wrong? Is this not what she wants?

“Knock, knock!”

Romy stills.

This time, her face turns white.

“Hello?” the voice calls again.

Romy freezes. “Is that . . .?”

I nod. Now, my romantic gesture seems like the worst idea ever. “Yes. It’s—”

“Do you have help to open the door here? Or should we just come in?” Romy’s mother calls from the entryway.

“Mom!” Romy squeaks. She slides off the counter, pulls her robe around her. “You invited my parents for breakfast? And I’m in my robe?” she whisper-hisses, and I shrug.

“I thought it’d be nice. Give you the opportunity to have them in your space on your terms.” I shrug, reaching down to pull at my jeans.

“Hi! You must be Romy’s parents. I’m Bianca, Elio’s sister,” B says from the front door. Did they just hear their daughter’s climax?

I can’t help the slight puff of pride that courses through me. Can’t say I care if they did.

“The kitchen’s just through—” B stops abruptly. She looks at me, fastening the top button of my jeans, Romy, her cheeks as red as the strawberries on the counter as she clutches her robe. Her lips twist in a smirk, but thank God for my little sister, she turns around, stopping Romy’s parents at the pass. “Why don’t I show you the living room first?”

“The living room?” Nico’s voice reaches us. “What kind of tour guide are you?”

“One who actually knows her way around,” B replies.

“I know my way around,” Nico counters.

“Not from what I’ve heard the ladies say,” B says. Romy’s mother gasps.

Romy giggles, lacing her hands around my waist.

I rest my forehead against hers. “Surprise,” I whisper.

“I have to say, I am totally surprised.” She laughs.

“Ciao,” I hear Mom call from the door, and I grin. “I’ve brought some of Nonna’s love knots for you. And more strawberries. And—”

“And everything but your brother,” Dad grumps, and I smile.

“I wanted to invite everyone you loved here so we could tell them the good news together. If you want to. If moving in with me, with Coco, works for you,” I say, our foreheads still resting against each other. “I know we haven’t had the most traditional start to a relationship. And I know that when you planned how this moment would occur, it probably wasn’t with a guy who had a child, a family, but—”

“Daddy! Womy!” Coco squeals. She rushes into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around our legs. “’Fia said we had to wait longer, but I’m starving. Are the pancakes ready now?”

“Yes,” Romy says. She presses a kiss to my lips, and it’s the best kiss we’ve ever shared. It’s happening here, with our friends and family in the next room. And it’s going to happen again and again and again. She’s the love of my life, and no miscommunication will ever get in the way of that again.

There will be muffins though, because they’re her favorite.

And she’s mine.