Page 71 of Sexting His Son's Ex
Lorenzo: “Yes, Sir.”
I tuck my phone in my pocket and notice Jovie checking every inch of this room for her shirt. She shucks the covers off the bed, the floor, and it’s nowhere to be found.
Snagging one of my T-shirts that will fall to her knees from my drawer, I stroll over to her just as she falls to her knees to look under the bed.
“While I do enjoy the view of you down there, wear this.” I hold out the black, nothing special T-shirt. It’s soft, expensive, and I hardly ever wear it due to how casual it is. I dress to always show who is in charge and who holds the most power in the room.
That is and will always be me.
She narrows her eyes at me with a cute smile that brings out one dimple on the side of her cheek.
Oh, I love that.
I love her, so that makes sense.
She unfolds it and her brows raise as she holds the shirt against her body. It will swallow her, but I like the idea of her wearing my clothes. It’s another mark. A way to brand that Jovie Morgan belongs to me.
“This is yours,” She tugs the shirt over her head and just as I suspected, it falls to her knees. Jovie holds up her arms to show how big it is, twirling to give me a better view.
“You’re so fucking beautiful that I can’t believe you’re mine.” I snag her by the waist and tug her against my body. “Are you mine, Jovie?” I tilt my head to the side, ghosting my lips over hers with a feather touch. “And only mine?”
Her exhale tickles my cheek. “I’m yours. Only yours.”
My arm tightens around her while my free hand cups the back of her head, pulling her even closer, her soft strands slipping through the space of my fingers. Our lips are so close, I can almost taste her. There’s a slight tremble in my hands from excitement—the familiar power I feel when I get what I want.
“Mine.” I ease my lips onto hers. A slow, soft kiss, the kind that appreciates every movement.
I break away, giving myself the needed space to catch our breath and not get ahead of ourselves. Taking her hand in mine, I drag her through the quiet house, the smell of pancakes in the air from the kitchen staff.
We climb down the steps and every time I look back at her, she’s appreciating the artwork on the wall, the high ceilings, and even staring at the polished marble of the steps. Her curiosity and amazement moves to the chandelier, eyeing the crystals in fascination.
I’ll drown her diamonds if she wants. I’ll lavish her in everything that sparkles because that’s what she deserves.
When we finally get to the kitchen, an entire spread is laid out on the kitchen island, and we’re the only ones here. A fresh pot of coffee is made, a big stack of fluffy pancakes sit next to giant bowls of fruit, along with crispy bacon on another plate. Freshly squeezed orange juice is in a pitcher, and I pour her a glass just as she takes a seat on the barstool.
I hand her the glass and make her plate, piling it high for her.
“Woah, I can’t eat all that. That’s a plate for five men.”
I stare at it, realizing I am making her plate how I’d make mine. I remove a few pancakes, leaving two, and add one piece of bacon, then two, and three, waiting for her approval. I add another before she tells me to stop.
So my girl loves bacon. Noted.
Next, I make a bowl of mixed fruit consisting of strawberries, blackberries, mangoes, and bananas.
“You aren’t going to make yourself a plate?” She frowns, staring down at her feast.
“Of course I am, but you are served first, Sweet Girl. Always. Now, open.” I pop a piece of strawberry into her mouth, and my mind wanders to bringing fruit and whipped cream to the bedroom.
“Do you want any coffee?”
She covers her mouth as she chews. “Please.”
I make my plate and then pour our coffees. When I sit down, I frown, not liking how far away we are from one another.Why are the barstools so spaced out?
Jovie doesn’t seem to mind. She’s pouring cream and sugar into her coffee.
“What is it?” Jovie asks, glancing around to see what could be bothering me. “What’s wrong?”
