Page 94 of Her Filthy Grump
“With what?” I laugh and yank open the refrigerator door. What are we going to eat? Eggs. Tomatoes. Peppers. Milk. Cheese. And nothing else. The staples of a love nest. “Omelet it is.”
“I’ll try not to hurl over the smell.” She leans across the island, and her hair flows over her shoulders and touches her nipples. My cock jumps. Seriously? For the love of Christ.
She licks her lips. “After my bath, I’ll massage your tongue with my clit.”
“Sold.” Yep, I’m going to die. But I’m going to die one happy man. How long does it take to cook an omelet? Too long. I shove the tomato and pepper back into the refrigerator. Scrambled eggs it is.
Chapter Sixty-One
Layla
Bang. Bang. Bang.As I blink, my eyes try to adjust to the room.What in the hell?
Kameron grabs his head. “Is that my brain?”
“Someone’s at the door.” I sit up and clutch the blanket to my chest.
“No one knows I live here, but you, the landlord, and the delivery drivers.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.Someone taps the window of the bedroom. “Layla, are you in there?”
“Crap,” I groan. “It’s Harbor. She must have driven by and saw my vehicle outside your place.”
“Layla?”
“I’m coming.”
“That’s what she said.” Kameron rolls over and stares out of the corner of his eye.
“Funny.”
“I’ll leave her to you.” He yawns, yanks the cover out of my hands, and pulls it over his head.
“Jerk.” I punch at the blanket.
“Oomph.” He tosses it off and glares at me. “Good aim.”
“I should have aimed lower.” I waggle my eyebrows and hop off the bed.
“You’ve officially worn me out. I could have sworn two hours ago that my dick wouldn’t work again. Now, I’m fairly positive it’s going to fall off.”
“Poor thing.” I drag clothes on and walk to the door.
“I’ll be there in a second. Be sure to tell her I haven’t kidnapped you before I come out. I don’t want to be knocked up the side of the head.”
“I gotcha.” I grin and take one last glimpse at him. God, he’s gorgeous. Five o’clock shadow. Tousled hair. Broad shoulders. I inhale. And smells like sex.
When I reach the front door, I snatch it open and jump backward on the off chance she comes out swinging.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls? Texts. SOS calls.” She marches inside the room.
“My phone died.”
“Where is he? Don’t tell me you let him con you with some line of shit.” She swivels to my left and stomps across the floor. Then, she stops in mid-step and turns to me. “And why are you in Jenny Bowman’s house?”
“He rented it the day he found out his cousin was coming back. So he could have a place to live until he finds a house to buy.”
“And you believe that?”