He grabs my face in his hands and kisses me slowly and tenderly. This was dangerous considering he was still strong inside of me. He broke our embrace.
“Ms. Brimm, we have lots to talk about, but now we must start our day. If we stay here like...this...” He gestures to me on his lap, “...we’ll never leave. Boyd should be out there by now waiting on our orders. I have my session with Tyler, an insane amount of meetings and a dental appointment this morning,” he muttered, lifting me off of his lap, causing me to wince. He was evading my questions.
“I have to shower,” he said just before kissing me on the shoulder and exiting the bed for the bathroom.
After washing and dressing for the gym, I walk out into the kitchen. Azmir is there at the breakfast table on the phone and his iPad at the same time. He’s always working.
“C. Boyd!” I call out as I always do when seeing him in the morning.
Chef Boyd turns to find me, “Ms. Brimm, you look like you’re ready to run a marathon this morning! What can I fix you to help with that?” Boyd asks playfully as Azmir eyeballs me until I sit at the table with him. I could tell he was ending his telephone conversation.
“I'm starvin’ like Marvin! I think I’ll go with Belgium waffles with your wicked blueberry sauce,” I request.
Azmir shoots me a sharp gaze. “I wonder what Tyler would say about that.”
I’m not sure if he’s serious or not. In fact, I’m not sure I’m picking up the warmest of vibes from him at all, which is weird considering our time earlier.
I return his glower and hiss in return, “If you won’t tell about my breakfast, I won’t tell him about your kinky fascination with restraints this morning and how it’s the cause of my feeble shoulders and wrists.” I knew it wasn’t necessary, but my words were out there before I could weigh them.
Azmir raises his eyebrows as soon as he knew where I was going and before I was done. His neck extends forward and he cuts his eyes toward Chef Boyd, who was within earshot. I didn’t care. We were all adults. Shoot, he knows I live here. He’s followed Azmir to my place in the high hours of the morning. He knows we have sex!
Azmir doesn’t seem too pleased about me alluding to our intimate life in front of his staff. I didn’t want to piss him off, especially after our superb lovemaking this morning. Then it dawned on me: Perhaps Azmir was feeling vulnerable about his nearly slipped confession of wanting to get married. I’m not accustomed to seeing him in an insecure state. I bet very few get to sit in the seat I’m theoretically resting in now.
“Any meat or sides with that, ma’am?” Boyd ask, surely trying to cut the tension in the kitchen this morning.
“Turkey bacon would be nice. Thanks,” I reply with less zing in my voice. Azmir just knocked me down a peg. His eyes are still glued to me, though now he holds up his paper with both hands over the table. I roll my eyes at him. Yeah, he’s in a foul mood—again...but it’s so unnecessary.
Out of nowhere, he quietly reaches for my hand over the table. As I turn my attention back to him, his eyes soften. He turns my wrist up still in search of markings. They’re actually on my breasts.
We ate our breakfasts in silence. Azmir has his usual egg white omelet with spinach and tomatoes and turkey bacon. Boyd’s presentations are most exquisite.
As we were finishing up Azmir breaks his quiet, “Don’t forget to clear your schedule for our meeting with the attorneys this afternoon.” I nod and am once again reminded of the looming quagmire that I’ve been thrust into—we’ve been thrust into.