Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

“You’re staring at me,” she whispers.
I nod, bend, and press a kiss to her jaw, then her neck. Everything about her
is smooth and soft, so impossibly tempting.
This is why I put on fresh sweatpants when I got into bed last night—I’m so
hard, the brush of the sheets, the weight of the blanket over us is nearly
excruciating. I want so badly to spread her thighs, grasp her hips, and sink inside
her—to feel Frankie’s body tight around mine, to move with her and hear her cry
out, but now’s not the time. Not yet.
You say that a lot, Bergman. Not now. Not yet.
Tell me about it. Or rather, tell it to my tortured morning wood.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper against her neck.
Throwing off the sheets, I jump out of bed and pull on a shirt. Another noise
coming from Frankie makes me spin around, shirt halfway down my chest.
“What is it?”
She frowns at me. “I wouldn’t have minded my coffee delivered by a
shirtless Søren, that’s all I’m saying.”
I tug down my shirt the rest of the way. “I’m feeling rather objectified right
now, Francesca. Now, I planned on bringing a breakfast snack and some coffee.
Need anything else?”
She shakes her head. “Besides your nakedness? Nope.”
Pazza’s been lying dutifully at the foot of the bed but she bolts upright when
I open the bedroom door. There’s a happiness to the pound of her paws, her nails
clattering on the hardwood floors, that makes me smile. I pull open the sliding
door, watch her run across the deck, down the steps and to the sand, where she
promptly pees on the row of fescue that partially shields my property from the
shore. She runs a bit farther off, sprinting across the hard sand, terrorizing a
seagull.
When I whistle, she comes running back up the deck, pausing long enough
for me to hose down her legs and towel her off.
“Breakfast, pup.”
She jogs over to her bowl of food that Frankie packed, while I make
Frankie’s coffee how I know she likes and warm two of the cinnamon rolls that I
baked.
It’s domestic. And peaceful. Letting out the dog, making coffees while
Frankie rests in bed and has some time to get comfortable for her day.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. She said she’s nervous to do this. She said she’ll
try. That’s it.
Worry tightens my stomach. While I value Frankie’s honesty, her forthright
communication style that seems to go hand in hand with autism, being so keenly