I stir in the big comfortable bed, the urge to seek out the scent of bacon almost as strong as the one telling me to roll over and go back to sleep. I open my eyes, blinking slowly, absorbing my surroundings: dark wood furniture, light colored carpeting, and a big fluffy down comforter. I lift the comforter, glancing under to where my body is covered with Chance’s sweatshirt and flannel bottoms. I smile, flashbacks of last night coming back to me. We made love, talked, and made love again, with constant reassurances from Chance that we belong together.

I don’t want to think about what this means for us, for him. I just want to bask in the feeling of being with him without thinking about tomorrow or Paul or Audrey...oh God, Audrey. She’s probably worried sick. I’d hung up on her in my lowest hour. A time when I thought nothing was worth fighting for. I glance around the room once more. Chance is worth fighting for. After last night, I’m certain of it.

I climb from the bed, smiling when I reach the bathroom. Chance said I belong here, that his house is now mine. I know he didn’t really mean that, but seeing that he’s unpacked my bathroom bag, spreading my things all over the counter, it allows me to fantasize for a bit longer.

I quickly pee, wash up, and pluck my toothbrush from the holder where he’s perched it next to his. I brush my teeth and comb my hair quickly before seeking out the delicious scent.

I take my time, crossing the living room, my eyes fixed on Chance. With his back turned toward the stovetop, it gives me an opportunity to revel, without shame, on the beauty of his backside. Last night, I’d felt his strong arms, followed the planes of his chest with my hands, felt the indentation outlining every one of his abdominal muscles with my fingers. Seeing him standing here—shirtless, smooth skin covering his broad shoulders, muscular back that tapers into a narrow waist line before disappearing into a pair of low hanging sweat pants—gives me an entirely new appreciation for his physique.

“Ouch,” Chance mumbles, jumping in time with a sizzling pop.

“Good morning,” I whisper and he turns, his face brightening into a wide smile. My eyes fall to the lettering on the front of the apron I hadn’t realized he was wearing before. ‘My meat is better than yours.’ I press my fingers over my lips, doing a poor job at hiding my smile. His meat certainly is better than I’ve ever had, in my limited experience.

His eyes drop, following my line of sight, and a slow bashful smile forms, exposing a dimple I also hadn’t noticed before. “Good morning, baby. You weren’t supposed to see this,” he says pointing to the bright yellow and red-flamed writing. “I was going to serve you breakfast in bed, the apron wasn’t part of the plan, but that bacon grease explodes like a son of a bitch. I think I have a third degree burn on my nipple.” He slides the apron over his head, puts his hand over his right pec and rubs soothingly.

I reach around him. “It’s too hot. You can’t cook it that high or it’ll do that,” I say turning the heat off from under the pan of burned bacon and then wrapping my arms around his waist.

“I was in a rush to get back to bed with you.”

“Awe, that’s sweet. In that case, you want me to kiss it better?” I tease, craning my neck to look up at him. Without shoes, it’s more obvious how much taller than my five-foot-nine he is.

“I was hoping you’d ask that,” he says, lowering to press his lips softly against mine. “Do you like coffee?”

I smile. “This is going to be fun,” I say, only half meaning it. I lean back in his arms to see his eyes.

His expression pinches. “What is? Coffee?”

“Learning about each other, Chance. You invited me to live with you and we hardly know one another.”

He smiles like the cat that ate the canary. “First, I didn’t invite you. I insisted. We could have done that at your place or mine. I’m a nice guy, I gave you the option.” I smile, but it quickly falls slack as he peppers slow kisses down my jawline. I tilt my head, giving him better access when his lips slide down my neck. “Second…”

“Yes,” I whisper, trying to stay focused on his words and not the heated flutter that’s rushing through my body.

“I know that you want me. I knew it the minute you stepped into this kitchen,” he whispers, his breath heating my skin, causing goosebumps to erupt. His hands sneak under the waistline of the oversized flannel bottoms and with very little effort, pushes them toward the floor, leaving me in only his sweatshirt.

His fingers bite into my hips, pulling me against his thick erection and rocks into me as his mouth covers mine. His tongue pushes into my mouth as his hands cup my ass and lifts me, my legs instinctively wrapping around him, and he carries me to the center island.

I hiss when the cold granite bites against my warm skin, but Chance’s mouth lands on mine, silencing me. His hand goes between my legs, pushing my panties to the side and pushing into my slit. Stepping closer, his large body forces my legs wider to accommodate him and another finger goes in.

“I think learning about you is going to be the highlight of my life, Mia,” his voice deepens. He pushes me back against the granite, watching where his fingers disappear into my body. “Do you like this?” he asks, huskily, and I nod. His fingers curl into a come-hither motion. “Or this?” he asks speeding up his ministrations.

“Chance,” I breathe heavy, the feeling almost too much to bear. His fingers lift and curl inside. With an intense pressure, my vision blurs and with an unexpected shriek of pleasure, my muscles go weak as my climax hits me without any warning.

“I think this is going to be a lot of fun,” he whispers, leaning down and wrapping me in his arms. He sits me up and presses me against his shoulder as if I’m a boneless ragdoll, weighing nothing. “Is now a good time to confess, I can’t cook for shit?” he adds through a quiet chuckle. I hold him tighter, kissing his neck and falling a little harder.

“Clearly your skills are in other areas,” I whisper. “What was that?” I add without thought.

He pushes back, his green eyes glittering brightly. “You don’t know?”

“No.” I lay my head back on his shoulder, partly embarrassed he may know something about my body that I don’t and the other still too lost in the euphoria to care.

“That was your g-spot. No one has ever found your g-spot before?” he asks, incredulously.

“No,” I admit, ashamed that my sex life has been so limited. I thought an orgasm was an orgasm. Clearly, I was wrong.

“I feel like Christopher fucking Columbus. I may need to step away for a minute and run around this kitchen while beating on my chest that I was the first one.” He chuckles and I smile into his neck. He holds me against his chest as his hands leisurely rub up and down my spine, allowing me to slowly regain my senses. I’ve never had an orgasm like that. I’ve been happily living in a world where I considered myself lucky just to have an orgasm.

“I love coffee,” I mumble into his shoulder several minutes later.

“Is that my sign to get off you? Are you one of those that can’t join the real world without your morning cup ’o joe?” he teases, slowly uncoiling his arms from around me. He kisses me on the nose before stepping completely out of my grasp. I immediately feel cold from the loss.

“I think I need it to bring me back to life after that orgasm. I don’t want to feed your ego or anything, but shit…the bar’s been lifted.” I laugh, only half joking. “Do you have creamer? Because coffee’s not coffee without all the good shit.” I hastily change the subject, embarrassed that slipped out. I push the big sweatshirt over my lap, not ready to hop down, fearing my legs won’t hold me and I’d go straight to the floor.

“Of course, I have the good shit.”

“I love the good shit,” I say, giggling until my eyes flick to the tent in his pants. My laughter stops and I hop off the counter, dismissing my wobbly legs, solely focused on remedying that.

“I’m fine,” he says, turning to wash his hands before I can get to him.

“Chance…”

“Mia, there’s going to be exchanges and then there will be times it’s all about you. You came in here needing something and so this was all about you.”

“Needing something?”

“Yeah, don’t act like you weren’t ready to eat me up when you walked in here. You needed something.” He smirks, kissing me on the nose as he walks to the huge stainless refrigerator.

“What about when it’s all about you?”

His pushes the large stainless door closed. With creamer in hand, his eyes meet mine, their emerald irises shimmering mischievously. “It’ll never be just about me. Ever.” The conviction in his last word has me leaving the subject alone. I like that he’s willing to give and not receive, but I can’t deny the hint of disappointment of not pleasing him right now.

I look at the remnants of a few bacon slices left soaking in grease in the pan and half a package sitting, uncooked on a plate. “I can save this,” I declare as I fish the burned pieces out and turn on the burner—to a much lower setting—excited to get to cook in his incredible kitchen.

“I’d say fuck it and take you out for breakfast, but they’re predicting another four inches this afternoon. They’ll be lucky to get the roads clear for tomorrow morning rush hour,” he says, handing me a warm cup of coffee.

My gaze hardly registers the heavy blanket of snow outside before roaming over the living room and landing on the framed picture of my family. It’s the same one Chance picked up in my house, but now it sits proudly on display in his.

“Chance,” I whisper as my eyes go misty.

“I told you last night, you belong here, with me. I wanted to unpack it all, but everything in those boxes is a piece of your past and I want you to share that with me,” he says gently. His smile softens when he takes in my crumpled face. “Don’t cry Mia. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He wraps his arms around me and I fight the surge of emotions from getting the best of me. He really wants me here. “We can unpack after breakfast, but I want you to decide where it all goes. Just promise me you’ll stay, Mia. I want this.” I nod, too choked up to tell him how much I want this too.