Breaking Hollywood [CAMREN]

Chapitre 8

Camila

"Morning, sunshine."

That voice. So soft and sweet and sexy.

I went to bed alone last night. I was sober, which is a rarity for me, so I definitely know I was alone.

"I made you some breakfast."

Speedy.

She came back.

What? You thought she wouldn't? She isn't you, asshole.

"What time is it?" I scrub my hands over my eyes. When I move them away, the first thing I see is her face.

Her hair is down and tousled. And she's wearing this fitted gray dress that basically looks like an oversize tank top.

Her tits look spectacular in it.

Fuck, she's stunning.

Now, that is a fantastic sight to wake up to.

"It's nine," she answers. She puts the tray of food in her hands on the bed beside me and sits down. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay." I push myself to sit up, resting my back against the headboard. My foot starts to throb. Ignoring the pain, I ask, "You just get here?"

"I got here at eight. Cleared away your dishes from last night and washed them. Then, I made you breakfast. Blueberry pancakes okay?"

I glance down at the tray with freshly brewed coffee and a plate filled with pancakes and maple syrup. I pick up the fork, cut off a piece of a pancake, and put it in my mouth.

"Fuck me," I moan. These are amazing. The taste of blueberry is bursting on my tongue. "You made these?"

She nods.

"So good." I chew, swallow, and take another bite. "Anyone ever tell you that you're a fucking awesome cook?"

Her cheeks flush, and she chews on her lower lip. "Not in a while."

"Well, you are. Can I keep you?"

She laughs, but I'm only half-kidding.

"I'll leave you to eat." She gets up from the bed, heading for the door.

I want to ask her to stay while I eat, but it seems weird to do so, so I say nothing and let her go.

She stops in the doorway. "Oh, I used your washing machine. I washed your T-shirt that I borrowed yesterday. It's drying at the moment. My washing machine is, um...broken. But I didn't want to return it dirty. I hope that's okay."

You could have kept it if you wore it every day.

There's just something about seeing a woman in your clothes, and when I saw her wearing my T-shirt yesterday, my dick was so hard, it could have cut glass. If I didn't have this stupid fucking boot on my leg, then I would have gone over to her and taken her like I wanted to. I'd have fucked her with my tongue and then my cock.

I clear my throat at the memory. "You didn't have to wash it."

"I like to return things I've borrowed as I found them." She shrugs.

"Baaahhh!"

I pause mid bite. "What was that?"

"What?"

"That noise."

"Baaahhh!"

"There it is again." I sit forward, listening. "It sounds like a...sheep. You hear it?"